Wicked Fall (25 page)

Ever.

He’s not afraid of pregnancy, but rather the intimacy of the act. I believe it’s the only thing that Bridger is afraid of in this world, and just like the tattoos that he wears on his torso, there’s a much deeper story that explains his aversion to that type of closeness with a woman. I know a great deal about Bridger’s horrific past, because he shares with me most everything, just as I share with him. But while I know many things that make up Bridger Payne, I think there’s much I don’t know only because he wants to spare me the pain of listening to what my best friend went through when he was growing up.

“Mmmmmmm, that was good,” Bridger praises Stephanie as he swirls a finger through the semen on her back before giving a light slap to her ass. “Better get to work.”

I shake my head and look back at Tenn’s email while the two fuckbirds get dressed.

What’s up, man?

Things cooled down? I hope so. And I’m sorry it went down that way. I know you have feelings for Callie, but trust me on this… sometimes things just don’t align the way we want them too. You spent a lot of time before I left telling me all about what drove you to open up The Wicked Horse. You and I are a lot alike… we have things that impassion us, and my best piece of advice to you is don’t let up on those goals. Do I like that you’re operating a sex club? Not particularly, but little bro… if it makes you happy and fulfilled, you have my support. I’m just really sorry that means you don’t get the girl, but hey… she really didn’t fit into that lifestyle anyway, right? It’s probably all for the best.

I read the rest of the email quickly, getting updates on Casey, Zoe, and Bree, then I focus back on the beginning. Tenn is pretty much telling me that I have his approval to pursue The Wicked Horse. This is something that should make me feel fantastic, but all I can concentrate on are the lines that keep jumping out at me.

I’m just really sorry that means you don’t get the girl, but hey… she really didn’t fit into that lifestyle anyway, right? It’s probably all for the best.

Tenn is hitting the nail on the head. My dream is The Wicked Horse. Callie doesn’t belong there. It’s simple fucking math. We just don’t add up.

“Later, guys,” Stephanie says as she walks out.

Bridger lounges back on the couch and squeezes his package while leering at me lewdly. “Dude… that was some amazing fucking right there. Would have been a shit ton better if you’d gotten in on it with us.”

I glance back to the email. “Maybe some other time.”

He snorts and pushes up off the couch. “Woolf… buddy. You need to man up.”

I look up to him in surprise. “What? Just because I don’t join you in a threesome, you’re suddenly questioning the size of my balls?”

“No,” he says with an amused shake of his head. “I’m saying you need to man up and go get your girl. I’m tired of your pissy attitude and so is everyone else to be honest.”

My walls start to rise up and slam into place. I don’t want to hear what he has to say. I’m far more interested in Tenn’s advice.

It’s probably all for the best.

I stare at Tenn’s email, maybe seeking some deeper meaning. Surely that’s not what he really meant. Because fuck it… I don’t want to accept that I can’t have Callie. It’s not for the best, at least not in my mind.

Bridger’s large hand comes down on my laptop, and he slams it closed on me.

“What the fuck?” I snarl at him.

He calmly rests an ass cheek on the corner of the desk, arms crossed over his chest, and says, “Admit it.”

“Have you lost your goddamn mind?” I ask, for the second time in my life wanting to punch Bridger. The first being when he was fucking Callie.

“Admit it,” he says again. So very simply, and now with a smirk.

“Admit what?” I grit out.

He just stares at me, calmly waiting me out. He knows me. He knows how much of myself I know, and he knows good and fucking well the answer to my problems wasn’t in Tenn’s email.

“Admit it,” he says again, softly.

With a sigh, I lean back in my chair and rub the bridge of my nose. When I look up at him, I grimace and say, “Fine. I love her.”

Because yeah… I fucking love Callie Hayes. It’s why she’s driving me mad, why my dick won’t look at another piece of pussy, and why I’m an asshole to everyone around me.

Bridger stares at me a moment before pushing up off the desk. “Man up. Get your girl.”

“What exactly do you expect me to do?” I ask him, slightly disgruntled that everything just seems so simple in Bridger’s mind. “Should I kidnap her? I’m sure I could shoot her dad before he gets me. And hey… if I do kidnap her, I could just tie her up and bring her to The Silo. Strap her to the St. Andrew’s cross so she can’t get away, and then I can fuck her whenever I want. That sounds like a brilliant fucking plan.”

When I finish my rant, Bridger just shakes his head and asks, “Are you done?”

“No,” I say in a completely pouty voice, but then I ask seriously, “What the fuck should I do?”

“Dude… it’s not that hard of a problem to solve.”

I cock an eyebrow at him skeptically, because I’m a pretty smart guy. I should have this shit figured out by now, but since I haven’t, I guess I need someone to walk me through it.

“You love her,” he says.

“Yes.”

“Her dad is the governor,” he presses on.

I roll my eyes, but he just waits patiently for me to play his game. “Yes.”

“And Callie can’t be affiliated with you because if knowledge of the club came out, it would kill her father’s reelection campaign?”

“Yes,” I say with a dramatic sigh. “So what?”

“So the only thing blocking you from her is the club.”

“Yes.”

“Then Woolf,” he says in exasperation while he thumps me on the back of my head. “Back out of the fucking club and get your girl.”

“No fucking way,” I say automatically, almost like a robot in fact. “This club is my life.”

Bridger gives out a harsh bark of laughter. “This club is your rodent wheel.”

I blink at him, confused. “Rodent wheel?”

“Yeah… one of those fucking wheels hamsters and shit run on to get exercise. They run and run and run, and go fucking nowhere.”

“That’s not what this is,” I say as I wave my hand around this office. “This was my dream.”

“This was your way out of a boring job managing a company you don’t have any interest in. It was a way to get lots of pussy and explore your sexuality. It was your way to stay tied to me, because you think you owe me for what I did for you.”

“No, that’s not—”

He holds a hand up. “It’s your rodent wheel, man, and I’m here to tell you… if you stay on that wheel, you are going to pass up something that I personally believe is the greatest thing to ever happen to you. A woman that cares for you, will love you, give you beautiful babies, and fuck you like a rock star. Who the fuck wouldn’t want that?”

“You,” I point out.

“I’m an anomaly,” he counter argues. “Unlike me, you have a heart, and it’s going to take a motherfucking beating if you let her get away.”

Closing my eyes, I lean my head back against the chair. I try to picture what it would mean to give this club up. No more wild nights of random, kinky fucking. No more threesomes with Bridger… except, well… maybe Callie would still want to do that. But no more pushing the envelope… not with sweet Callie.

I have to consider… what would I be giving up if I let her go?

That glorious pussy, her heart of gold, her love.

Wait? Does she love me?

I’ve done nothing to elicit that. I’ve left her in the dust so many times I can’t remember them. I’ve been trying to convince her the last few weeks to just let me fuck her on the sly without any offer of more stability.

I’m a motherfucking prick is what I am, and there’s no way in hell she could ever love me.

Giving up this club and going after her would be the biggest risk I’ve ever taken in my life. And I’d be giving up a lot without any guarantee that I’d get the girl in return.

Callie

I pull open the door to The Wicked Horse and push my way inside. Some type of rock-a-billy music I don’t recognize is playing, and it’s quite packed for a Wednesday night. I push my way through the crowd, craning my neck left and right trying to find Woolf.

I still can’t believe I’m here.

I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for his crazy threat this afternoon. After I’ve been ignoring his steady stream of calls since our fight outside of my doctor’s office, he sent me a text this afternoon that said if I didn’t come and see him and give him at least fifteen minutes of my time so we could talk, he was going to camp out on my front doorstep until I talked to him. He also pointed out that meant he’d probably get shot by my dad, but it was a risk he was willing to take.

Unfortunately, I know how serious my father is and I wasn’t willing to take the risk, so I told him I’d come by The Wicked Horse at nine PM, figuring this was safe and neutral territory. No way he could seduce me with his sexy words and skilled fingers. He’d keep that rock star penis away from me in a public setting, and I’d give him his fifteen minutes.

It would kill me.

Absolutely slay me to have to be in his presence for fifteen minutes, which was going to do nothing more than tear down all the walls I had been building up against him. I’m so damn sad and miserable that we can’t be together, and I’m pissed. I’m pissed that his solution is to keep me in some dark closet like a dirty little secret so he can still fuck me.

I know I’m worth more than that, and it feels like my heart has been shredded as I realize that Woolf clearly doesn’t think I’m worth more than that.

I also know the consequences if Woolf wanted to give it a real shot with me. That would mean he’d walk away from the club and I didn’t want him to do that either. As angry as I am over the thought that I wouldn’t be the obvious choice for him, I also feel strongly in not taking away something that has brought him a lot of happiness in an otherwise pressure filled and stressful career.

So it’s going to hurt something fierce to listen to him try to talk me into an illicit relationship tonight. It’s going to hurt and I’m going to be weak and consider it, because I’m so miserable without him. Sadly, the Old Callie Hayes sometimes thinks even just a small part of Woolf Jennings would be good enough to sustain me.

Ugh… I need my head examined for even thinking like that.

As I stomp my way through the crowd, looking for a man it hurts to look at sometimes, I get angrier as I consider something.

I’ve just never really been good enough for Woolf Jennings. He turned his nose up at me when I offered him my virginity. He walked away from me the night of the branding party. He wants to keep me tucked away right now, only for his use and satisfaction.

Fucking asshole, now that I think about it.

Just as I break free from the crowd toward the end of the bar, I’ve worked up a good head of steam. And holy shit… the sight that greets me causes my annoyance to turn into blistering rage.

Woolf is leaning casually up against the wall, talking to a few people. Nothing unusual about that, except a tall, blonde woman is standing next to him with her arm casually wrapped around his waist, and his arm is slung over her shoulders. They’re all laughing at something one of the men in the group says.

I just stand there, looking at the man who doesn’t seem to want to give me up, and I have to wonder why. He’s clearly got a good and happy life going on right here. Friends to laugh with and a gorgeous woman on his arm to fuck. And man, is she stunning. Long, wavy blonde hair, perfect facial features, and a body that would put any Victoria Secret’s model to shame. She’s wearing a blood red silk camisole with black jeans tucked into black, high-heeled boots. Her nipples are pebbled and poking hard through the silky material of her shirt, and I’m sure Woolf has gotten a good gander at that.

God, I’m so stupid.

I think about snagging a beer from a nearby patron and chucking it at his head, but then tears start pooling in my eyes and I realize my aim would be way off. I start to turn on my heel just as Woolf raises his eyes and looks at me. I expect him to flush with guilt that I caught him with another woman but instead, he steps away from the blonde and smiles at me brightly in welcome.

Yeah, well, fuck you, Woolf. Not interested in that threesome.

Spinning around, I push my way back through the crowd. I elbow a few people in the ribs to get them out of my way, but the first tear spills before I even make it to the door. Just as I reach out to push my way to freedom, a hand clamps down on my arm and I’m being spun around to face a very angry Woolf.

The minute he sees the silvery streak down my cheek though, his face immediately turns to worry and he asks, “What’s wrong?”

What’s wrong?

What’s wrong?

Is he fucking serious?

“Get your goddamn hands off me and just go back to the two-bit floozy who was hanging on your arm,” I shriek at him as I try to jerk away.

He blinks at me in confusion but holds me tight. “You mean Jenna?”

“Not really interested in her name,” I hiss at him and tug harder.

“Well, I want you to meet her,” Woolf says as he starts to pull me back through the crowd.

Since I have no chance of breaking free from his hold, I do the only thing I can think of. I kick out with my foot, catching him square in the back of his knee. His leg buckles and he has to release me to catch himself in the fall. I use the opportunity to jet back toward the door and almost make it before I’m being hauled up in the air, and once again, slung over Woolf’s shoulder.

Right where it all began.

He even swings me around hard and my boots hit someone, but he doesn’t care. He’s marching me straight back toward his office and from my upside-down perch, I push the hair out of my eyes and see Bridger following us in.

The minute the office door shuts behind us, Woolf lowers me to the floor and I go supreme Tasmanian devil on him, all of my anger and misery pouring out all at once. I slap his chest hard in a one-two-three combo. “You big bully motherfucker,” I yell at him. “How dare you drag me back here like a fucking caveman? I am not your property.”