Chapter 10
Maggie
My finger absently strokes over the reddish-purple mark on the side of my throat. It’s too high for my sweatshirt to hide it, but it’s low enough a turtleneck would do the job. Sadly, I don’t have one.
When I saw Bridger this morning, having sleepily stumbled out of my room at six AM when he woke me up, I was cognizant enough to see his eyes immediately drop to the mark on my neck. I may have been imagining it, but I swear I saw a look of triumph in his eyes. Which is weird, because Bridger clearly doesn’t want me. Not the way I clearly want him, and my face heats up with embarrassment as I think about the way he made me lose utter control in his arms before turning around and walking out on me.
I struggle to suppress a tiny snort that wants to come out. Despite this strange and enigmatic man who I don’t think I’ll ever be able to figure out, I find it comical he left a bruise on me. A hickey really, and it doesn’t hurt at all, but it is vivid. It’s funny to me because as my other bruises left by Kayla are fading, he puts a practically neon sign on me that says, “Bridger Was Here”. It also makes me want to laugh, because this man… who hands out pain to women with whips, left a mark on me that was neither painful nor scary.
Talk about irony.
In fact, his mouth on me felt too damn good. Even as he was sucking on my skin, I knew it would be visible to everyone, I couldn’t find it in me to care last night. While his fingers were in me and on me, and his mouth was on my neck, I didn’t have one single worry in my world. He made me forget everything.
Except this morning, those memories are dulling and I’m left with the brutal reality that Bridger doesn’t want anything from me in return. I was positive last night after the last rumbles of my orgasm faded, he’d fuck me… make love to me… whatever. It totally stung in a humiliating way that he walked out. I didn’t wait up for him to return, knowing when Bridger draws a line in the sand, he sticks to it.
It’s been evident all morning as we drive northwest across Idaho. It’s not been a silent and tense ride so far, but it’s been absolutely devoid of any conversation that would even remotely come close to what we did last night. I am too afraid to bring it up, and he’s clearly not going to.
Bridger had me pack an overnight bag as it is a good eight hours to Coeur D’Alene, Idaho where Aunt Gayle lives, and his plan is for us to stay the night after we pick up Belle before heading back. He ushered me into his sleek red Corvette I’ve seen but never ridden in, as I’ve been in hiding. We then drove a back road made of dirt and gravel that scraped on the undercarriage of his car, through the Double J Ranch, and came out at Woolf’s house, which was a massive monstrosity set atop a butte.
I stared at it with my jaw hanging open and asked, “I assume ranching is a profitable business?”
Bridger gave a snort, not quite a laugh, and said, “Double J is the largest cattle ranch in the U.S. and he also owns oil fields. Woolf’s pretty fucking rich.”
Woolf was waiting on the front veranda of the house, and he met us at our car when we pulled up. When we got out, he handed Bridger a set of keys. “It’s in the first garage bay.”
Bridger grabbed our bags from the tiny trunk space in the Corvette and led me over to a detached garage done in pine logs that matched the house and held several bays. We walked in and Bridger went straight to a black Range Rover that was backed in.
“We’re taking Woolf’s SUV, not only so we can fit Belle’s car seat, but also because if someone’s watching me, they won’t be expecting it.”
“You think someone’s watching us?” I asked tensely. “You mean Zeke?”
He shrugged as he opened the door for me. “I don’t think so, but last night, something about Kayla put me off. She saw Kyle and me talking to each other and looked skeptical about it. We’re just being safe. There’s probably nothing to worry about.”
And even as he said those words, he reached into his overnight bag and pulled a handgun out. Opening the glove compartment in front of me, he slid the gun in and snapped it shut.
“Nothing to worry about?” I asked skeptically.
He flashed me a tight smile. “Not with that gun I’m not.”
Bridger snaps me out of my memories by handing me his cell phone as he keeps one hand on the wheel. “It’s a decent hour. Call your parents.”
I’ve been dreading this. I need to do it, but my relationship with them is complicated and messy. I haven’t talked to them in almost six months. I send them periodic cards with pictures of Belle, but I never provide a return address because I’m too ashamed to have them see me living at some motorcycle compound with their only grandchild. They don’t approve of my lifestyle—what little they know of it, anyway—and now as a new mother who understands the worry a parent has, I can’t say as I blame them. My calls to them have always been stilted, awkward, and so very short. They always took the time to remind me of their disappointment, but they would also invite me back home. I never accepted, and it’s probably something I’ll regret for the rest of my life.
My mom answers on the second ring. “Hello?”
“Mom… it’s Maggie,” I say hesitantly, wondering what type of reaction I’ll get. Surprised delight or resigned disappointment.
“Maggie,” my mom says, almost in disbelief, and then a long pause of silence before she says, “How are you doing?”
“Not so well,” I say in a tremulous voice, and I have to give a slight cough to clear my throat. Bridger’s head swivels my way, but I don’t dare look at him. “Um… listen… I’m in some trouble and—”
“Honestly, Maggie,” my mom says in a brusque voice, and it’s clear I’m getting resigned disappointment today. “You’re always in some sort of trouble.”
“I know,” I say, and there’s no hiding the shame in my tone as I look down at my lap. “But this time it’s pretty serious, and it might involve you.”
“Oh no, you don’t,” my mom snaps. “We are not cleaning up a mess you’ve made. Are you in jail?”
“No, Mom,” I say with swift frustration, curling my free hand into a fist. “I’m actually in some danger, and so is—”
“For heaven’s sake, Magdalene,” my mother says in that “mom” tone. “You can be so dramatic sometimes—”
“Mom,” I grit out, my voice rising slightly. “I need you to just listen to me for a minute so I can—”
“Jim,” my mom calls out to my dad. “You need to get on the line… it’s Maggie. I’m not sure I can handle her latest—”
“Mom,” I yell at the phone. “This is serious—”
“Maggie?” my dad says as he picks up on the other line. “What have you done now?”
“She says she’s in trouble,” my mom interjects.
“Well, of course she is, Cindy,” my dad says dryly.
“Mom… Dad,” I say now in a pleading tone. “I really need you to—”
“Let me make this clear, young lady,” my dad says in a harsh tone. “You go months without contacting us, and when you do, you really have nothing to say. You keep our granddaughter from us, and you refuse to act like a responsible person.”
“That’s not true,” I whisper, but he rolls right over me. My hands start shaking.
“We can’t keep cleaning up your messes,” my mom adds.
“I’ve never asked you to—” I try to defend myself.
But he cuts me off again, going off on a rant about personal responsibility and a failure for me to abide by my moral upbringing. I listen to my father laying into me when what I really want to convey is that he needs to pack up and get out of the house before danger comes knocking on his door, but he’s on a roll now.
My eyes mist up with tears at the futility of it, but before I can try to interject anything else into the conversation, Bridger snatches the phone from me while growling, “For fuck’s sake.”
I turn to face him, my jaw hanging wide open, and he puts the phone to his ear. “Mr. and Mrs. Waylon… this is Bridger Payne. I’m a friend of Maggie’s.”
His jaw locks hard when my father clearly interrupts him, but he can’t get more than a word or two in because Bridger says, “With all due respect, Mr. Waylon… I need you to shut the fuck up and listen. Your daughter and granddaughter are in very real danger by a man who’s being investigated by the ATF for all sorts of vile criminal activity. Now, you can save your soapbox rant on all the ways in which Maggie has failed to live up to your expectations for another time, but this call is just a courtesy to you to tell you that this man… who is the president of a very large and very dangerous criminal organization… could very well be on his way right now to extract whatever information about Maggie and her whereabouts that you may have. So, it would behoove you and your wife to heed this advice, pack a bag, and go somewhere for a few days. Hopefully, the ATF will be taking them down soon, and if you can just stay under the radar until then, everything should be okay.”
I’m astounded over the way in which Bridger has commanded this conversation, and the succinct way he gave my parents the relevant information they needed to know. Bridger listens for a few seconds, and then nods in agreement with whatever my mom or dad are saying to him. “That will work. I’ll call you on your cell phone a bit later so you’ll have my number. We’ll stay in contact about the situation.”
Another pause, shorter this time.
“I’ll call you tonight,” Bridger says, clearly winding the conversation down, but then he adds, “And for what it’s worth… you need to cut your daughter a break. She’s not the same woman she was when she left your home ten years ago. She’s survived something incredibly horrific and she’s an amazing mother, so you should really look at the positive things in your daughter for a change.”
Bridger doesn’t wait for a response. He just disconnects the call, calmly setting the phone in a center console tray. He puts both hands back on the wheel and says, “Your parents are going to pack up and take an impromptu vacation to Florida until this dies down.”
I continue to stare at him, perplexed over his swift defense of me to my parents, because I have not been a good daughter. Fuck, I haven’t been a good mother in all possible ways to Belle as I let her live her first two years in a shitty motorcycle club.
“Why did you do that?” I murmur in confused wonder.
He gives me a brief glance before turning back to look at the road before us. “Because you don’t need to hear whatever shit they were handing you. You made mistakes. You’re paying for them. You’re moving on and making things right. They need to grow the fuck up and move past it themselves.”
“Well, thank you,” I say hesitantly. “I’ve never had anyone defend me before.”
Bridger snorts but doesn’t say anything, a clear indication he doesn’t want to hear my gratitude, and I’m thinking that’s because he wants to maintain the distance he put between us last night.
“I’m going to call Aunt Gayle again,” I tell him as I reach for his phone.
I’d called her as soon as we hit the road a few hours ago, but there was no answer. I left a voice mail but we haven’t heard from her, and of course, I’m imagining the worst.
I shouldn’t be though. There’s no way Zeke could know about her if he hasn’t talked to my parents, and that is where Zeke would go first. I don’t have any siblings, so they would be the ones he’d want to pump for information. And the minute he applied any pressure to them—a thought that makes me nauseous because his pressure would hurt—they would give up Aunt Gayle.
My great aunt Gayle is the one family member I do have who loves me unconditionally. Even during all those years I partied, fucked up, and got into trouble, she never gave up on me. When I was in between jobs and had nowhere to go, her home in Coeur D’Alene was always open to me. I’d stay for maybe a few weeks, vow to get my life together, and then let the lure of the next great adventure pull me away from her. She never chastised or judged me, but always accepted me back with open arms.
It’s why I knew she was the one who would need to keep Belle safe.
I dial her number and listen to it ring, each successive one causing me more anxiety when she doesn’t answer. My stomach flips when her answering machine comes on, and I have to leave another message for her. “Aunt Gayle… please call me as soon as you get this. It’s really important.”
I rattle off Bridger’s number and hang up, not leaving any more details than necessary.
Placing the phone back in the center console, I turn to Bridger and say, “What if Zeke—”
“Just stop,” he says gruffly. “No way Zeke knows about her when he’s not even been to your parents.”
“But what if—”
“Mags,” Bridger says softly as he takes one hand off the wheel to grab onto one of mine. The gentleness and confidence in his voice immediately settles me, even if my heartbeat picks up a fraction from his touch. “Stop worrying. Why don’t you just assume she’s out shopping or something?”
“I guess,” I grumble, and then immediately regret capitulating on my worries because Bridger gives me a quick squeeze and puts his hand back on the steering wheel. I gaze down at my hand, almost longingly, wanting that warm reassurance coating me again.
Wanting Bridger to want something more from me in return.
*
I direct Bridger through Aunt Gayle’s small neighborhood that’s made up of mostly single-story homes built in the seventies. Her husband, who was a Coeur D’Alene native, died before I was even born, and Aunt Gayle’s lived here ever since in their marital home. She’s seventy-four years old but acts about half her age, and while her arthritis can limit her at times, she’s strong as an ox. I had no qualms that she could care for an active two-year-old when I begged her to take Belle.
Of course, she begged me to stay, but I couldn’t. I knew Zeke would put all his energy into finding me, so I ran in the opposite direction, hoping I was leading him as far away from Belle as I could. I had no long-range plan when I decided to run. Just figured I’d always be on the run and foolishly believed Belle would be safe forever. It was shortsighted on my part, and I consider it a tremendous stroke of luck that Zeke is in the middle of a huge criminal investigation. Hopefully, he’ll soon be put away and no longer a threat to us.
“It’s right there… on the left.” I point to a small two-bedroom house done in tan plywood siding with dark mocha shutters and an open carport attached to the side. The yard is pristine with late-blooming fall perennials bordering a walkway from the driveway to the front porch. The first thing I notice is that Aunt Gayle’s car isn’t in the driveway, and this gives me some small measure of relief that I’m not going to walk in and find her dead on the floor.
Bridger pulls into the driveway, parking just beyond the edge of the carport. I hop out of the Range Rover and scurry to the front door. As there is no doorbell, I knock, and then put my ear to the door to listen. I give a tiny twist to the knob and find it locked.
Absolute silence greets me, so I knock again… louder this time.
Nothing.
I turn to see Bridger walking up the steps to the porch. He cuts right to look in the front window that goes to the living room. The drapes are pulled shut, but there’s a small gap that he peers through for a moment before turning back to me.
“She’s obviously not here,” he says. “But everything looks fine… nothing out of place I can see.”
“Let’s go around back… see if we can get in.”
He nods and walks to the far end of the porch, hopping off and heading around the back of the house. Before I can even jump down, I hear a man’s voice “Just what the hell do you think you’re doing?”
Without any regard for my safety, I jump off the porch and turn the corner of the house where I see an old man with a shotgun trained on Bridger, who is standing tensely with his hands in the air.
“Jesus, Randall,” I say in exasperation as I look at the spritely man who tops out at just a little over five feet holding the monstrous Bridger Payne at bay. “Put that gun down.”
“Well, hey, stranger,” Randall says with obvious delight and he thankfully lowers the gun. “Assume this guy’s a friend of yours?”
Bridger’s hands drop but he remains in place… seeing how Randall is still holding the gun with his finger on the trigger.
“Yes, he’s a friend… Bridger, this is Randall, Aunt Gayle’s neighbor,” I say as I walk up to him.
“Pleasure,” Randall says to Bridger with a wily smile, finally taking his finger off the trigger.
“Friend of Gayle’s?” Bridger asks dryly.
“Oh, I’m Gayle’s sweetie,” Randall says and cackles, showing off his gleaming white dentures he proudly told me about when I was here a few weeks ago dropping Belle off.
“Randall lives next door,” I explain. “They’ve been neighbors for years.”
“More than neighbors,” Randall says proudly, but then leans in to Bridger and whispers, “We’ve been sneaking over to each other’s houses quite often since my wife passed a few years ago.”
I give a cough and look at him pointedly.
“Well, of course not while she’s looking after little Belle, you understand,” he says with an unapologetic grin.
“Where is she?” I ask with worry.
“Oh, she went off with a group of her church ladies to Spokane. Some kind of book signing for a romance author they all like. Took Belle with her, of course, although I would have been right happy to watch the little monkey. I mean… that author they were going to see… she writes some really sexy stuff, if you know what I mean, and I wasn’t sure Belle should be tagging along.”
Bridger manages to suppress a laugh, and I roll my eyes. “When’s she coming back?”
“Tomorrow morning,” he says affably. “In fact, since you’re here… maybe Gayle and I can go out on a date. It’s been a while since we had some alone time since Belle’s come to stay.”
I cock an eyebrow at him.
“Well, not to say I begrudge Belle being here, you know,” he says quickly with another unapologetic grin. “But we have to be… you know… respectful of the situation with the little monkey always around.”
“Let’s go get checked into a hotel,” Bridger suggests to me. “We can come back in the morning.”
“Aaahhh,” Randall says with a waggle of his eyebrows. “You two taking advantage of some alone time as well, I see.”
“No, it’s not like that,” I say quickly, despite the fact Bridger fingered me to orgasm last night.
“We’ll have separate rooms,” Bridger says tersely as he turns back toward the Range Rover.
My heart sinks with disappointment, and I stare after him for a moment.
“So,” Randall says and I turn my attention back to him. He nods toward Bridger. “Y’all not together then?”
“Nope,” I say in a matter-of-fact tone, hoping it hides my disappointment. “Just friends is all.”