Wicked Need (The Wicked Horse Series Book 3) (27 page)

“If you say
so,” Bridger says mildly.

I turn to him in
surprise, finally looking at the man who most people look upon as
some sort of god around here. He’s
been nothing short of nice and supportive of me, and I’ve
always had the distinct impression he takes care of those he calls
friends. I don’t necessarily think I’m in that category,
but I know damn well Rand is. So, I thought he might try to persuade
me otherwise.

For Rand’s
benefit.

“You’re
not going to try to talk me out of this?” I ask, my eyes
narrowing on him.

“Nope,”
he says with a confident smile. “You’re a big girl and
can make your own decisions. You’re also a smart girl. I’ve
got confidence in you.”

Huh?

I think this just
affirms for me that Bridger probably recognizes those same god-awful
qualities that I see in myself. He probably knows this is the best
thing. This should be affirmation to me of my decision but instead it
hurts me deep down to know that I must be right about myself.

“Besides,”
Bridger says as almost an afterthought. “Rand just pulled into
the parking lot as I was walking in. Figured he’ll have plenty
to say to get you to change your mind.”

“Rand’s
here?” I spin swiftly on my chair, looking back at the door.
And sure enough, he’s standing there just at the end of the
short hall that leads into the main room. His gaze is pinned on me
with an absolutely unreadable expression on his face.

He stalks across the
room, not looking anywhere else but at me. As he gets closer—when
I can see the green of his eyes—I note they’re filled
with disappointment.

When he reaches me,
he spares a quick look to Bridger and lifts his chin in greeting
before turning back to me. He just stares and I don’t
know what to say. Should I apologize? Explain my actions? Or maybe I
should just own them to make the break easier.

Before I can utter a
word though, Bridger stands up and claps a hand on Rand’s
shoulder I’m assuming in commiseration. He gives me a guarded
look and turns to head back across the room. Rand and I both watch
him walk out of The Silo.

“Why are you
doing this, Cat?” Rand asks softly, and I slide my gaze back to
him.

I lay open my heart
and tell him the truth. “Because
I’m not good enough for you.”

I expect him to
scoff, roll his eyes, and lay into me with a speech about all my fine
qualities. But he doesn’t.
He just stares at me with the look of a man who knows the ride will
be bumpy but who is prepared to hold on tight.

“If this is
what you need to do,” Rand says in a neutral voice, “then
you do it. Just so you know—it’s not going to change my
feelings about you.”

My mouth falls open
as I realize he’s
deadly serious. “You’d sincerely be okay with me fucking
someone else here tonight?”

“No, I won’t
be okay with it,” he says with a touch of anger in his voice
and his eyes firing a little hot. “If you’re going to
play around with others, I want to be involved. But if you feel this
is what you need to do to because you can’t deal with my
feelings, or maybe the feelings you have for me, then you need to do
it.”

“I need to do
it?” I whisper back in question since he seems to think he
knows what I need.

“You need to
do it,” he reiterates. “But I’m here to tell you,
Cat. You won’t feel better. You’ll feel worse because
you’ll know it hurts me. It won’t make the break any
easier for either of us.”

This angers me
because I know he’s
right and I don’t want him to be. I also don’t want to
fuck someone else, so maybe I should just really lay it on the line
so we can end things on words rather than actions.

I lean toward him,
keeping my voice just above a whisper. “Do
you know how much strange cock I’ve had in me? Multitudes of
men who I didn’t even know their name? Fucking me in my mouth…
my pussy… my ass. I never said no. I never thought to have a
tiny bit of self-respect and tell my asshole, evil husband that I
wasn’t doing those nasty things. I took it over and over again,
and you know why? Because I liked the money and the lifestyle. I
didn’t want to go back to a dirty, cockroach-infested apartment
or a sticky stage with a stripper pole. I whored myself out to be a
wealthy woman, and I did it without regrets. Is that the type of
person you could fall in love with?”

“I know all of
that,” Rand says back in a low voice, and I don’t detect
a trace of bitterness over my “used goods” status.
Instead, his voice is gentle as he reiterates, “I know all that
and I don’t care. But you are wrong about one thing… you
do have regrets. If you didn’t, it wouldn’t bother you so
much right now.”

I blink at him,
unsure of what to say.

He’s
so right.

I regret everything
I’ve
ever done from the moment I met Samuel Vaughn. I regret marrying
someone without love, for choosing money over respect, and for
hurting Rand in any way.

He leans in closer,
lips hovering just inches away from mine. I breathe in, and he smells
so good…

“You do what
you have to do, Cat,” Rand says softly. “It’s not
chasing me away.”

He kisses me.
Nothing but a tender kiss on the corner of my mouth.

Then he turns away
from me and walks out of The Silo.

Rand

I’m
not a fan of Vegas. Been a handful of times, usually for a bachelor
party. Not big on gambling, definitely don’t want to see Cirque
de Soleil or Celine, and all-you-can-eat buffets are overrated.

This part of Vegas
isn’t
much better. No glitzy lights. No throng of people walking around
with stars in their eyes.

Nope. Cat’s
mom lives in a small trailer park on the outskirts of town with
nothing but flat desert as far as the eye can see. When I pull my
Suburban onto the dirt path that leads into the entrance, dust kicks
up and swirls all around.

I left Cat in The
Silo going on almost twenty-four hours ago.

I left her behind
and told her she needed to do what she needed to do, and I don’t
regret that. I can’t make Cat into something she doesn’t
want to be. I have to let her figure things out so she accepts them.

She has to be in
control of her destiny. Of that, I’m
absolutely certain.

So I went home,
packed a duffle bag with a few days’ worth of clothing, and
hopped in my SUV. I drove straight out of town and headed south,
intent on doing something for Cat that might help her regain her
identity. It’s
a long shot, but I don’t have anything but time on my hands.

I thought about
flying because I hate long drives, but then immediately discounted it
for two reasons. First, I needed space from Cat and I needed it at
that moment. Probably couldn’t
have caught a flight out last night and that would mean a potential
run in with her at the apartment. She needed the space to figure
things out as well, so I knew driving the ten-plus hours would do the
trick. Secondly though, and most important, it gave Bridger time to
do what he needed to do.

As soon as I hit the
road, I called him and told him I was going to find Cat’s
father. He seemed neither surprised nor skeptical of my actions, but
just asked what he could do to help. I told him I needed to first
find Cat’s mom because she was the only one who knew who he
was. Cat told me her mother said he abandoned them and she didn’t
even put the name on the birth certificate.

No clue if that’s
true or not, but I’m going to find out.

Bridger also showed
me why he’s
got the respect of everyone in The Silo, and why people turn to him
when their troubles get too much to handle.

“I’m
heading back over to The Silo now,” he’d told me last
night. “I’ll keep an eye on her for you.”

“Let her do
what she wants to do,” I told him, even though the thought of
her fucking someone there made my stomach knot up.

“You got it,
brother,” he replied. “And for what it’s worth,
you’re doing the right thing.”

“Going to find
her father?”

“No,” he
said solemnly. “Letting her figure herself out. Only way it’s
going to work between you two.”

The words were a
small comfort as I traveled mile after mile to Nevada. But even his
wise words started to dull when I saw Vegas come into view around
eight AM. I went straight to the Bellagio and checked in.

Pulled my clothes
off and fell on the bed in an exhausted heap.

Sleep came easily
despite my worries.

When I woke up
around five, Bridger had sent me a text with Trish Lyons’
address and two additional words,
Good
luck
.

After a quick shower
and a room service meal, I got my Suburban from the valet and headed
out of town to hopefully get the information I need.

I navigate the neat
rows of trailers, all fairly well-kept with underpinning and
permanent decks built on although they all have some age on them. As
I pull up to Trish’s
home, I see a silver sedan parked perpendicular to the porch steps,
and I hope it’s hers. I’m prepared to camp out and wait
if it’s not, but I’d sure like to get this over with
because I doubt it’s going to be pleasant.

I park behind the
silver car and shut my engine off. As I open the driver’s
door, I see a flutter of movement at the window so I know someone’s
definitely in there.

By the time I exit
my SUV and hit the top porch step, the front door is opening, leaving
the screen door in place as a barrier. I assume that’s
Cat’s mom staring out at me, but I can’t be sure as they
look nothing alike. This woman is shorter than Cat by several inches
and has thinning blonde hair that’s pulled back into a bun. Her
skin is overly tan and although she can’t be more than
mid-forties, the damage from the sun creates an almost leather-like
look that adds hard years onto her.

“Can I help
you?” she asks in a voice that’s unfriendly and brusque.

“Trish Lyons?”
I counter.

She could deny it,
but I can tell by the look on her face that it’s
her. Still, she plays dumb. “Depends who’s asking.”

I don’t
have time for this shit. “My name is Rand Bishop. I’m a
friend of your daughter’s. I want to find her father, and I
want you to tell me his name. I’m prepared to pay well for the
information.”

Her face morphs from
skepticism to interest the minute I mention money. Her hand shoots
out, and she pushes the screen door open. “Come
on inside and we’ll talk.”

I step inside,
pleased to find the interior cool. Her house is well kept but a
little worn. Carpet and furniture looking as if it dated back to
Cat’s
childhood days. I glance around and don’t see a single picture
of Cat and while it doesn’t necessarily surprise me, it does
sadden me. This woman hasn’t minded taking money from Cat over
the last several years but she doesn’t care enough about her to
even have her photograph on display.

“Would you
like something to drink?” she asks me as I follow her into the
kitchen that sits right beside the living room with a short,
half-wall divider between the spaces.

“No thanks,”
I say.

She sits at the
small, round table in the center, nodding at the chair opposite of
her. I take a seat, lean back, and clasp my hands on the table.

“How much
money are you willing to pay me for the name of Cat’s father?”
she asks, her eyes now gleaming with the possibilities.

“Ten
thousand,” I say, ready to haggle with this woman. She’s
going to try to squeeze everything out of me, no doubt.

“That won’t
do it,” she says and rubs a finger over her chin thoughtfully.
“But twenty-five would.”

I know I can get her
down more because I recognize the lust for the money in her gaze. But
I want something more than just the name of Cat’s
father from her, so I tell her, “Done. However, after this, you
don’t ever ask your daughter for another dime. You can contact
her to inquire as to how she’s doing, wish her happy birthday,
or just in general try to be a mother. But you don’t squeeze
her for money ever again.”

Rather than respond
to my offer, she says, “That
husband of hers is dead. I expect she’s inherited a ton of
money. Seems like I’m selling out short at twenty-five now that
I think about it.”

I could lie to this
woman, tell her that Cat didn’t
get any inheritance, but that doesn’t necessarily sit right
with me. So I hedge a little and tell her the truth as it stands
today. “Cat doesn’t have anything other than a little bit
of money she got from pawning her jewelry. She was kicked out of her
home and told she’d been cut out of the will. She’s
working a job right now making fifteen bucks an hour. She’s got
nothing to give you.”

That was all truth.
Her eyes are calculating as she considers what I’ve
said.

“But I do have
money… lots of it, and twenty-five thousand is more than fair
to pay for a name and a final payoff for you to leave Cat alone.”

“What does she
hope to gain by finding him?” she asks, not because she cares
for Cat but because she’s trying to see if there’s
another angle to exploit.

I ignore the
question because she doesn’t
deserve to hear anything about Cat’s need to find herself. It’s
partly this woman’s fault that her daughter is so lost.
Instead, I say, “I’ll give you half now for the name and
the other half when I find him.”

“What if you
don’t find him?” she asks, leaning forward with shrewd
eyes.

“If I don’t
find him, then you don’t get the rest of the money.” I
lean forward and hold her stare.

“That doesn’t
seem fair,” she pouts.

“Take it or
leave it.” I was done negotiating and I knew she was going to
take it. No way she was turning her nose up at $12,500 in cash right
now.