Wild: Hangman's Haunt Book 1

by Kay Elle Parker

  He tilted his head, eyes still on the road. “Touché, little witch.”

  “So out of those eleven—thirteen if we include your parents—who do I have to worry about most in terms of who’s probably going to rip my throat out?”

  “There’ll be none of that,” he promised. “A member of the clan is forbidden to cause harm to another’s mate. Clan is family; family doesn’t shed blood.”

  “Okay. So, now I’m wowed by the fertility of the women of the clan, what does this have to do with you coming to the Haunt?”

  He sighed in disgust. “A mission, one I was sent on by my father. Kaiyan is a wanderer, he disappears for periods of time. Father wants him back within the safety of the clan; Kaiyan wants his freedom, at least for a while.”

  “Your job was to bring him home.” Oh boy. “Your father isn’t going to be happy you brought me instead, is he? Maybe I’ll just sit in the truck for a while when we get there.”

  “On the contrary, he’ll be thrilled. Finding one’s mate, presenting her to the family, is a great triumph. Especially for me, as heir. My family will love you. I don’t envy you the hours you’ll spend kidnapped by my mother and sisters.”

  “Kidnapped?”

  “Girl time,” he said simply with a curl of his lip.

  “Wonderful. The truck idea is sounding better and better.”

  “Bekka and Thalia are twins, you might get sandwiched between them. They do everything together; if you see one, the other won’t be far behind. Pagan and Reena are friendly, they’ll most likely steal you away for a run. Saxa...don’t be surprised if she’s suspicious at first. She, more than any of us, is more in tune with the animalistic side of what’s inside us; it makes her unpredictable at times, and she abides by the fight-or-flight aegis.”

  “Oh, brilliant.”

  He reached out to grasp her clammy hand. “Mother will keep them in order, trust me. I’ll make introductions when we arrive, then squirrel you away to the house as quickly as humanly possible. I do have plans for you, after all.”

  “I thought the first hotel we came to...”

  He shrugged. “I have a larger array of toys at home, and we’d certainly have more privacy. Right now, food and sleep are of more importance than any debased intentions I might have.” He glanced at her. “And I do have several.”

  Baylee swallowed hard and looked out the window as the last of what she knew flitted by. Her heart grieved, but even in its despair, she felt an underlying exhilaration she couldn’t explain. The Haunt would wait for her, if she decided to come home.

  There was nothing wrong with going on an adventure, was there? Her whole life consisted of the same rut, one she’d rocked back and forth in, until Daxon came along and rammed her out of it. If this turned out to be the only opportunity she ever got given to spread her wings, she wouldn’t pass it up.

  She closed her eyes for a moment, tried not to think about the three women she’d left behind. Her first time away from them, without their influence, their opinions and their support. She hoped they could forgive her when Brenna broke the news; at least they wouldn’t mourn her, not in the way they were.

  With their faces in her mind, she didn’t feel herself fall headlong into sleep.

  SILENCE WOKE HER. THE oddest feeling, waking up to...nothing. It wasn’t a gentle awakening, more like a hard shove to the chest that popped her eyes open and sent her system on high alert. No soothing motion of tires on the road, no throb and rumble of the engine.

  Her eyes took a moment to focus, blinking rapidly as though jump-starting her vision. She was still in Daxon’s truck, still strapped in safely. Her neck had a crick in it from where she must have slept with her head resting against the glass.

  She remained in the truck, she noted with panic. Daxon, on the other hand, was nowhere to be seen in or out of it.

  The truck sat between a massive dark blue SUV and a sleek buttercup-yellow Porsche. Both empty. Sunlight bounced off the hoods, blinding her for a second as it caught her full in the face. Hand lifted to block the main of it, she squinted around and found herself in the middle of a hotel parking lot, a couple rows back from the actual hotel.

  Built from wood and stone, it looked rustic, almost like one of the hunting lodges high up in the hills at home. She estimated its length at two football fields, and counted the stories to six. Pretty flowerbeds flanked the outside, with trees here and there.

  Peaceful, she thought. The kind of place people came to relax and forget the world for a few days. Because God knew, a few days here would likely send her bank balance plummeting beyond red.

  A little calmer, she stretched and unfastened her belt. She tried the door, found it locked, and flipped the catch, opening the door just enough to slide out without hitting the muscular SUV. Her legs wobbled, numb from sitting so long, and she clung to the truck until feeling rushed back like a thousand needle pricks.

  Absently, she noticed her suitcase and Daxon’s bag had gone from the backseat. He took the luggage, she thought with a sleepy smile, and forgot me. Men. Carefully, she eased herself along the truck, wary of touching the SUV; her heart might stop if the owner confronted her. She didn’t do confrontation well at all.

  Where to go? Inside, through those stunning oak doors into what was surely an incredibly affluent hotel? Baylee studied the cars around her, found a variety of vehicles that cost more than she could hope to make in twenty years. Baffled, she wondered why there were none of those uniformed men who took keys from wealthy clients and parked their cars for them in high-security garages.

  This definitely looked like one of those places.

  She spotted a stone bench under a willow tree on a little green island of manicured lawn toward the far side of the parking lot. It radiated serenity. Without thinking, she stepped out to cross the tarmac. Without looking, she almost ended up crushed beneath the front end of a super-souped-up Range Rover.

  The driver laid on the horn at the same time as the brakes, and the noise blasted any trace of sleep from her head. The smooth hood stopped a bare hand’s-width away from her; she squealed and jumped back to safety, offering the driver an apology by way of lifting a hand.

  “What the hell, Baylee? Can I not leave you for five minutes without you wandering into trouble?”

  Heart shuddering with shock, Baylee turned and tripped into Daxon’s arms. They came around her, tightly, and she felt the tremors rippling down his muscles. He’d witnessed her nearly die under a car. Watched her absentmindedness almost cost her the new-found freedom she’d come to embrace.

  “Country mouse,” he murmured shakily into her hair.

  She chuckled weakly and pressed her face into his chest. “Country mouse visits the town mouse, and finds herself flattened by a Range Rover. Not an ideal story ending.”

  “Not really. Come on, let’s get you inside before you find another high-profile car to step in front of.” His arm snugged around her waist, urged her to follow him.

  “Dax, I can’t go in there,” she hissed at him, digging in her heels as he steered her toward those lovely doors.

  “You can’t?” he asked in mock surprise. “Why ever not?”

  “I don’t belong in there, look at me!”

  He spun her around so fast, her head snapped with the momentum. She blinked into his furious face as his hands clapped on her cheeks hard enough to sting, and he kept them there, holding her imprisoned in his lethal green eyes until her throat closed.

  He was stunning, beautiful and as deadly as a loaded gun in the wrong hands. “You belong with me, Baylee. With me, wherever I go. You can either walk in or I can carry you in. Make the choice.”

  “I don’t belong in there,” she protested.

  He growled, disturbingly low in his throat, and in a fluid move crouched and hauled her over his shoulder, straightening and striding away with her before she comprehended she hung upside down. “We’re not here to socialize with rich and famous, baby. Don’t think there’s too many of them
in this part of Idaho anyway.”

  “Idaho?” She screeched it, then yelped when his hand slapped her raised ass. She wiggled and only ended up making herself uncomfortable; she had a sudden, vital urge to pee. “Daxon, put me down!”

  “Mr. Gillies, always a pleasure, sir.”

  Baylee froze at the voice. Someone was witness to her being carted around like a limp rag tossed over his shoulder. The mortification astounded her into stunned silence.

  “Barry, nice to see you again. Missed you on my way in to check the room was ready.”

  “My apologies, sir, we weren’t expecting you. I was called away to escort a certain gentleman to his suite.” A polite clearing of a throat. “Yes, I’m afraid he’s in residence. If you’re planning to stay an amount of time, I would advise you to steer clear of him. I’m not sure he’s forgiven you the...embarrassment of your last encounter.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Daxon’s tone was light, touched with humor, but carried a distinctive edge. “Perhaps next time, he’ll keep his hands to himself and his tongue inside his mouth. We’ll be gone by this evening, all being well, so don’t worry, Barry. You won’t need security on standby.”

  Baylee thought she heard the man mutter, “What a pity.”

  She closed her eyes as they started forward again, the blood rushing to her head and the floor rushing by in a blur making her stomach churn. Throwing up in the opulent lobby of a posh hotel would cap her day off nicely.

  Daxon paused, and she heard the quiet ding of elevator doors opening. He stepped inside, turned carefully—she felt her hair brush the sides—and pressed a button. “Are you going to behave yourself, little witch?”

  “Behave, yes,” she said between hard breaths, “but I can’t promise not to throw up all over this presumably nice and shiny elevator.”

  That got his attention; she landed gently on her feet, his hand on the back of her neck as she staggered slightly. Her stomach pitched, once, twice, but she managed to hold the nausea back. “Don’t ever embarrass me like that again, you...you...ass!”

  The concern in his eyes dimmed, replaced with that cocky glint. “Do as you’re told then,” he retorted with a lifted brow. “Next time I’ll haul you in here bare-ass naked.”

  Baylee glared at him. “You wouldn’t dare!”

  “Try me, little witch.” The elevator doors pinged open and he escorted her out as though he hadn’t just threatened her with a display of public nudity. “Room service shouldn’t be far behind us. I think Sheba will be pleased with the meal choice; Vex is certainly looking forward to it.”

  “Don’t change the subject.” She gaped as they stepped into a long hallway, sparsely yet elegantly furnished. Paintings depicting western scenes lined the walls, cowboys and their horses, Native Americans on their painted ponies. Droving scenes where cattle rushed through a river, spurred by the dogs at their heels and horses at their flank. “How can you afford a place like this? And on a regular basis, I’m assuming, as Barry certainly seemed familiar with you.”

  Daxon chuckled. “Family businesses bring in a certain amount of income. Folt, Bansh and Caleb—three of my youngest brothers—are considered financial wizards. What we make through those businesses, they invest. They oversaw the family finances by the time they were twenty-one—well, twenty-three in Folt’s case—and within five years they’ve managed to triple the bank account.”

  She stopped dead. “So you’re rich?”

  “Filthy and stinking,” Daxon confirmed.

  “Well shit.” She looked down at herself, the sleep- and travel-worn clothes, and saw herself as she imagined his filthy, stinking rich family would see her. Her self-esteem plummeted. “They’re going to think I’m a gold-digging whore.”

  His snarl was so thick and wet, Baylee wondered if he’d choke on it. His eyes lit up with that scary back-lit radiation so they glowed. He gripped her wrist and stormed off with her down the hall, jerking her to a stop when they reached a door. He yanked a key card from his pocket, shoved it into the security slot. When the little red light above it turned green, he ripped it out and slammed the door open, pushing her through roughly and shutting the door with a crack.

  She didn’t have time to take in the room and its undoubted beauty; Daxon dragged her to the bed and pushed her face-down onto the sinfully soft covers. She yelped when he shoved her pants down to her knees—why the hell hadn’t she put on underwear?—and growled at her.

  Baylee had a horrible feeling she’d not only pissed Daxon off, but Vex as well. Possibly a dangerous combination to enrage, she thought, but too late to change now.

  “You are not a whore.” His hand rubbed roughly over one buttock, then landed with a savage crack. Heat exploded over her skin, made her jump and squeak and arch. “Don’t you ever refer to yourself that way again, do you understand me?” Her other buttock got the same treatment, leaving her breathless.

  She couldn’t get out any words but it wouldn’t have mattered anyway. He was lost in the mad, so infuriated by her choice of words—words she should have thought about before saying, she reminded herself—he couldn’t hear her.

  “Unacceptable. How long have you been thinking like this? Do you think I think of you like that? For fuck’s sake.” Another volley of strikes, one-two, one-two, across her ass.

  Baylee whimpered, the fire consuming her skin creating an unexpected reaction between her thighs. She clenched them tight, trying to stem the flow of moisture from her pussy, but the hard spanking, the taboo aspect of what was happening, overpowered her shyness. “Daxon, please.”

  You like this, Sheba stated in a baffled tone. Why do you enjoy this?

  Damned if I know, Baylee thought. Bewildered, she lay passive, counting the blows as they landed, drifting on the afterburn like a junkie rode a high. She couldn’t form a sentence if her life depended on it. The spanks grew lighter and further apart, the rubs between each one became longer, gentler.

  The desperate urge to pee no longer concerned her. The tenderness of her bottom no longer registered in her blissed-out brain. Even the swollen slickness of her pussy and the unspoken promise of being filled and pleasured couldn’t anchor her.

  Vex would like to speak with you, Sheba’s voice murmured through the empty space in Baylee’s mind. You’re worrying Daxon with your lack of response. They think you may communicate with Vex if you cannot converse the usual way.

  So formal, Baylee thought dismissively. Six words used when one would suffice. Still floating along, she flopped a weak hand at the voice and said simply, “Shush.”

  Don’t shush me. I’m hungry and room service is here. The boys ordered steak. I want my steak, Baylee. I’m not joking around here. Get up!

  Annoying little voice. Baylee swatted it away. But the mention of food allowed the very real scent of meat to breach her happy place, and her stomach twisted into several taut knots. She took a moment to weigh up staying here in this dream versus the reality of appeasing her belly.

  Much to her disgruntlement, her belly won.

  Grumbling under her breath, Baylee rolled onto her side and waited for the rest of her senses to come back online. Her system was slow to boot up, her eyes reluctant to open, and her muscles definitely not open to offers of work. She felt remarkably loose, a lot disorientated and just a tad sore around her gluteus maximus.

  “There you are. Thought I’d lost you for good.” Daxon’s face filled her vision, blurring in and out of focus for a few moments. He smiled at her, his hand resting on her hip, rubbing gently. “How are you feeling?”

  She sighed contentedly. “Like a big puddle of warm molasses.”

  Daxon laughed, low and soft. “I should apologize for reacting that way, for taking your choice in the matter away from you, but it appears you don’t regret the experience.”

  She hmmm’d in response. No, no regrets here. “Surprised me.”

  “Glad I wasn’t the only one. I’ve never reacted quite that vehemently before. We really didn’t lik
e you calling yourself a whore,” he said disapprovingly, obviously including Vex in the ‘we’. “We’d prefer it if you refrained from referring to yourself that way. It makes us...crazy.”

  “Kinda realized that when you dragged me in here, exposed my ass and spanked it. Hard,” she added with just a touch of complaint. “You could have warned me, Dax.”

  He had the good grace to look abashed. His hand stilled on her hip. “Looks like that apology is still in order. I’m sorry, Baylee.” His head cocked slightly to one side, much to her curiosity. “Vex, however, is not. He says he quite enjoyed himself, and you deserved the spanking.”

  Her lips twitched. “At least now I know how to provoke you into doing it again.”

  “Don’t tease the animals,” Daxon warned lightly.

  She didn’t want his—their—apology. The spanking had been unexpected, yes, she remembered as the last vestiges of stupor dissipated. Unexpected, bordering on violent, but she hadn’t been afraid. Her body quivered in recollective pleasure.

  She wanted to do it again. No holds barred.

  “Was that you best you’ve got?” she asked, batting her lashes innocently at him, knowing damn well she poked the bear—panther—with a pointy wooden stick.

  He showed her his teeth. “Baby, that was just the warm-up.” He stood, stretched, then helped her as she stiffly gained her feet. With care, he drew her pants back up, made sure she was fully covered. “Sheba’s complained about being hungry since you hit subspace and passed out; once we mollify her with the best part of a cow, we’ll get started on the main event.”

  “Handcuffs and anal?”

  “Not tonight. More toys at home, remember? No, I have something special in mind, something I’ve wanted to do for some time.” His hand cupped her elbow, leading her like a frail pensioner out of the bedroom and toward a table set in the plush, expensively-styled living room.

  Ever the gentleman, he pulled out her chair. He told her to wait a moment, then retrieved a cushion from the couch, setting it on the seat before lowering her gingerly onto it.