Wicked Ride (6 page)

I almost hope to God it’s
true. If so, it means these people will be gone from The Silo soon
after the sale. If Auralie’s out of sight, she’ll most
definitely be out of my mind.

Fucking liar.

No way will she
be out of my mind when I’ve been using the fantasy images of
her lying beneath me to get myself off at night, or to chase away bad
dreams.

Fuck…
even last night after she left with Magnus, I waited a sufficient
time for them to be able to get out of the parking lot, and then went
to my little camper in the woods. What does it say about me—what
does it say about what she’s done to me with her sweet eyes and
curvy hips—that I gave up an opportunity last night for some
amazing sex at The Silo?

I just wasn’t
fucking into it, and that scares me more than anything. I need the
lure of sex. I need the numbing power of the almighty orgasm. If I
don’t have those available to me, I’m only stuck with my
thoughts and my bad deeds. I cannot live life that way. I won’t
survive it.

Chasing away those particularly
morose thoughts, I lift a leg over the edge of the boat, my Teva-clad
feet splashing down briefly into the shallow water before I haul
myself in.

My drift boat is a source of
pride for me. It’s
necessary for me to make a living, and it wasn’t cheap even
though I bought it used. It’s aluminum with a swivel,
high-backed chair at the bow and at the stern, as well as a bench
seat in the middle where I sit in between two nine-and-a-half foot
oars on either side. I use those oars not to propel me downriver,
because the current does that—hence the name drift boat—but
to steer me past small rapids and to move me from one side of the
large river to the other to hit certain fishing holes I know are
guaranteed catch spots.

When I take a party out on my
boat in the summer, I dress in cargo shorts and a tank top. While it
never gets overbearingly hot in Wyoming, the sun in still strong and
I’m always tanned to
a golden brown. I remember a few weeks ago I was in The Silo eating
some pussy, and I must have looked up at the girl—can’t
remember her name—and she gasped, “Oh my God… your
eyes… they pop against your tan. So hot.”

That caught me off guard. I
missed a targeted lick to her clit, but then I got back on my game
and got her off quickly thereafter. I put her words out of my mind
then, and the only reason I’m
thinking about them now is because five minutes ago, I was just
thinking about Jacob eating Auralie out and how jealous I felt. I
wonder if she would think my eyes were amazing as she stared down at
me when I—

Fuck!

Get your head in the game,
Logan.

“All right,” I tell
Magnus as I move past where he’s seated in the bow seat. I sit
down on the middle bench, use a winch crank to pull the short length
of rope and anchor holding us on the bank, and I use the oars to push
us off into deeper water. The aluminum bottom scrapes along the
rocks, but my upper-body muscles easily get us dislodged. “Let
me get us to the middle of the river, and then I’ll take a few
moments to show you some casting techniques.”

“Okay,” Magnus says
as he looks around at the stunning scenery, although I have a vague
notion he’s not the type to appreciate the blue waters, summer
green buttes, and rocky crags as we float downriver. I release an
oar, which is held in place by an oarlock that prevents it from
falling into the water, and reach down to my backpack at my feet.
Fishing around inside, I pull out an old baseball cap that I keep in
there.

Handing it to Magnus, I say, “Put
that on your head. And grab that life vest at your feet and put it
on.”

“You’re not wearing a
hat,” he says as he does my bidding.

“I’m used to the
sun,” I tell him as I direct the boat to mid river, lock the
oars so they’re out of the water and won’t drag, and then
pick up a fishing pole I’d readied by putting a dry stonefly
nymph onto the hook. They’re hatching now and the fish are
tearing them up. And I can’t help adding on, “Your skin
looks a bit delicate to go without a hat.”

He doesn’t
seem to take offense and just nods, watching me with interest. Over
the next ten minutes, I teach him how to cast the rod from a seated
position on the boat. I try to show him how to stand up when he’s
casting, but he’s not very balanced or coordinated. The slight
rocking almost causes him to pitch into the water.

Once he has the basics, I take
the oars in hand and start directing the boat as it rides the
current. I pull into a few well-known spots where he’s
almost guaranteed to get a hit, and by the third riffle he casts
into, he surprisingly does as I instruct and pulls the tip of the rod
up hard when he feels a trout snag the fly.

I talk him through the mechanics.

Keep the tip up.

Reel it in.

Keep reeling.

Tip up so there’s
tension. If you lower it, he can jump off the hook.

All right. Hold steady. Let me
get my net.

And sure as shit…
I swear he almost squeals when I offer to let him hold the fish
briefly before I release it back into the water. With his nose
wrinkled, he says, “No, thank you. They look terribly slimy.”

No shit, Sherlock.

As we continue downstream, Magnus
makes some more casts, but then he seemingly gets bored and says, “I
think I’ll take a break.”

After setting the pole down, he
kicks his legs out, crosses them, and says, “So,
how long have you been a member of The Silo?”

“Going on about a year
now,” I say as I periodically look over my shoulder at the
river since I’m sitting with my back to the direction we’re
headed. I use some small maneuvers with the oars to keep us in the
center, which is guaranteed to get us to our destination much quicker
than if I were going side to side to hit some popular fishing spots.

“And what do you think of
my sweet Auralie?” he slyly asks.

I think about playing dumb or
aloof, but despite what a shmuck I think this guy is, I don’t
think he’s overly stupid. “She’s extremely
beautiful. Surely, you know that.”

“I do indeed,” he
says. “She’ll fetch a good price for sure.”

“So it’s true then,”
I push at him, because I know he’s being intentionally coy to
make me ask. “You’re going to auction off her virginity?”

“That I am,” he says
like a proud peacock. “And I was wondering if you’d be so
kind as to perhaps give me some inside scoop on some of the wealthier
patrons there. Perhaps not just the wealthiest, but also those most
inclined to have a proclivity toward virgins. While I’m not in
an overall hurry to get this deal done, because I want to drive the
price as high as possible, it would certainly make things more
efficient if I can let those most likely to bid on her have a little
bit of time with her first. Sort of an appetizer, so to speak.”

My jaw locks and I want to tell
him to go to hell, because no way in fuck do I want to help him
perpetuate this travesty. I have no clue why Auralie feels like she
needs to do this, but I know without a doubt she doesn’t
want to. But before I decline, his next words almost knock me on my
ass.

“And if you’d be
willing to give me some good tips, I’d be inclined to reward
you,” he says in a smooth voice. “With perhaps a little
liaison with Auralie tonight?”

“Liaison?” I ask, my
voice croaking with tightness.

“Well,” he says with
a giggle—and Jesus fuck, men are not meant to giggle. “You
can’t have her virginity, but you can do whatever else you want
with her. Of course, it has to be in a viewing room so other patrons
can see. She’s still a very valuable commodity to me.
Everything is about making that sale, you understand?”

“I get to be with her
tonight?” I ask, terrified he’s bullshitting me. I want
her so bad, but I don’t want any part of this deal, which means
I’m equally terrified he’s being serious.

“Tonight,” he
confirms. “You give me the inside scoop on those I should be
focused on, and I’ll start focusing on them
after
you have her tonight. Deal?”

I’m
absolutely going to hell.

And I don’t
care.

“Deal.”

Auralie

Today was unbearable. I spent
most of it in my room, trying to read a book but constantly
distracted by worries and unwelcome thoughts. The only bearable part
of the day was that Magnus was gone for a good chunk of it, on a
guided fly-fishing trip with Logan.

God…
Logan.

He’s
been starring in the unwelcome thoughts all day. I keep analyzing
last night’s events, replaying in my mind every minute of
interaction with Logan in that back hallway.

His anger…
he was so angry last night over me being fed to the sharks and my
disgust with the situation.

Perceptive. Even though I told
him I was okay going with Jacob into the Orgy Room, he saw the real
truth in my eyes. He knew I didn’t
want any part of that horrid situation.

He was protective. Stepping in to
manipulate the situation to save me another painful humiliation at
the hands of stranger.

And regardless of how much you
could tell he loathed my situation, he looked at me in such a way as
no other man ever has. Yes, he wanted me physically in a way that
made my heart pound and my girlie parts tingle, but he also wanted
something else.

He wanted to accept this weird,
silent connection we have, but even as he wanted to, I could tell he
was both baffled by it and fearful as well.

As was I, because it was not
something I could ever act on.

When I was not distracted by
thoughts of Logan, I was plagued with worry and dread over the
approaching evening. Magnus didn’t
truly buy that I was not feeling well last night, and the only reason
he let it go as easily as he did was he felt it was a good tradeoff
to meet Logan and get some insider information. In fact, he came back
from his fishing trip today complaining of how slimy looking the one
fish he caught was, but he was practically chittering like a happy
squirrel that found a nut from the “abundance of information”
that Logan provided him on The Silo patrons.

When he told me that over the
dinner I reluctantly shared with him down in the kitchen, I wasn’t
sure what he meant. I’m not sure how I feel about the fact that
Logan seems to be helping Magnus. This is at odds with the way I know
Logan feels about the situation, unless I’m completely off base
about him.

Regardless, the worries and
unwelcome thoughts still plague me as I walk into The Silo with
Magnus. He’s dressed
in his usual dark, custom-fitted suit that he currently prefers with
a skinny-pant type of style that I find makes him look ludicrous. He
did not pick out my wardrobe tonight, which alerted me to the fact
that I probably wouldn’t be wearing clothes once we got into
The Silo. Because of this, I practiced deep breathing exercises I’d
been taught once by a yoga instructor I dated briefly, putting on my
“persona” of the shy virgin who is quietly, but with
abject acceptance, meeting her fate. I know it titillates some of the
patrons to watch Magnus ordering me around and for me to appear
powerless to argue against him.

So tonight, I went middle of the
road. I didn’t pick
one of the dozen or so dresses he’d bought for me that are
sweet and sugary like I wore last night, but I didn’t go for
sexy either. I chose a shimmery blue dress that was fairly loose
across the top. It had a neckline that ran straight across the top of
my chest, but it was fitted from the ribs down. The hem came down to
my knees with a modest slit up the back. I paired it with a pair of
silver, pointed-toe pumps. It was sexy without being slutty, and it
didn’t make me look too old or too young. It made me feel…
like me, and when Magnus didn’t say anything about my choice, I
considered it a very small victory to at least feel slightly normal
before the abnormality of this whole fucked-up situation was going to
start.

The inner core of The Silo is
packed. I suspect because it’s
almost midnight on a Saturday. While The Silo was busy the last three
times I was here, I expect just like any business, there’s a
slump during the workweek.

As soon as we clear the entrance
hall, I immediately hear grunts and moans coming from the
glass-walled rooms that run the perimeter. When Magnus first told me
about this “establishment,”
I simply couldn’t wrap my mind around a sex club. My first
visit here was spent mostly with my face burning hot—which lent
credibility to my virginal status—and my jaw hanging wide open
as I snuck glances at the wide variety of sex acts taking place.

Fortunately, Magnus does not keep
me here long. He normally brings me out late to The Silo, parades me
around for a bit, let’s
someone have a piece of me, and then ushers me back out again so that
he can let the gossip mill run rampant when we’re out of
earshot. This is something I’m grateful for, because even
though I don’t consider myself a prude or overly sensitive, I’m
still just having a hard time with the concept of so much public
display of sexuality and lack of inhibition.

With his hand on my elbow, Magnus
walks up to the bar and orders a white wine spritzer for himself and
a bottled water for me. He hands my drink to me without a word. To my
shock, he doesn’t
make any move to meander through the crowd, socializing and striking
up conversations, all while making sure I’m on prominent
display. Still, I don’t let my guard down because I know this
evening can only end with me getting humiliated in some way with some
strange man.

I stand beside Magnus, shoulder
to shoulder, and we just look out over the crowd. A few men come up
to Magnus to make small talk, all done while eyeing me lewdly. But
I’m surprised when
Magnus remains slightly aloof. He’d normally delve into
discussion on their backgrounds and what they did for a living so he
could determine if they were worthy to potentially have a crack at
me.