Chapter 19
Bridger
I add a little more chili powder as well as some cumin and give the chili a stir. I’d put the pot on not long after we got back from Woolf’s, figuring that would feed us for a few days. Of course, Belle wouldn’t eat it as I’ve figured out she’s a picky little eater. So the fridge is stocked with some deli turkey, yogurt, and raspberries, three things that she can apparently eat for every meal.
My eyes keep flicking down the hallway to Maggie and Belle’s room. Maggie had put Belle down for a nap over an hour ago and had lain down beside her for a bit. When I went to check on them a few minutes ago, I saw Maggie was fast asleep.
I watched her like a certified creeper for a few minutes, my heart torn in a million different directions while my mind kept interjecting its own opinions.
I want Maggie like I’ve never wanted another woman. I want her so bad my teeth hurt, and I’d probably give my right nut for her. But fuck if I wasn’t telling her the truth today… in the long run, we’re too different.
Or rather, I’m too fucked up to ever really have a chance at a normal relationship. I might have gotten past a sexual hang-up by coming in her mouth, and I want to come in other places in her body too, but that’s all it is. A hang-up.
Poor Maggie would still have to deal with my entire fucked-up state of mind. That’s just not something that’s solved with an orgasm in the right place. Coming in her mouth, her pussy, or her ass if she gives it to me isn’t going to stop me thinking about my stepmom every day. I think about the things she did to me and how I caved to those things on a daily fucking basis. They are a part of me. The shame is a part of me. The nightmares are a part of me.
Just like The Silo is a part of me. I need The Silo like I need air. I need that place to constantly remind me that sex is good and real and should be enjoyed. I might not partake in much fucking that goes on there, but I need the existence of it to ground me. I need it to help ease the shame that seems to be immersed into my very skin.
Why did I say those things to her today?
I could easily blame it on her and the way she pushed at me for personal information, but truth be told, I knew I had to say those things to her when I was giving Belle a ride on the horse. I happened to glance over at Woolf and Maggie as they stood at the fence and watched us, and I knew they were talking about me. I know Woolf well enough to know he was probably giving her advice on how to handle me, and what I saw in Maggie’s eyes about slayed me.
I saw hope and determination, and I knew Woolf was egging it on too.
So I had to say those things so I could keep her expectations realistic and hopefully cut down on some of the hurt when she realized her ultimate efforts would be futile against someone as twisted as me. I did it because I wanted to save her pain and humiliation, two emotions I’ve felt plenty in my lifetime and would never wish on her.
But mostly I said those things so I could ground myself. I need a reminder that I couldn’t let things get out of control with her. I had to temper this insane need I seem to have for Maggie with the brutal truth that I ultimately don’t deserve her brand of beauty and light.
I hope I have her on track.
I feel like I’m back on track.
Doesn’t mean I’m still not going to have her though. I told her today, as we rode the horse up to Woolf’s front porch, that while we were too different for the long run, I was by no means finished with her yet. Because I’m not. Not ready to give her up until I’ve had my fill of her, and that’s the Bridger Payne who’s the selfish bastard coming out to play.
But at least expectations are clear and my line has been drawn in the sand. I’ll just have to tread carefully with her heart and make sure I never forget who I truly am.
I put the lid back on the chili pot, set the spoon down in the sink, and turn to the fridge for a beer.
But then my body freezes as I hear a low rumble of what sounds like thunder at first.
Then I realize it’s not thunder—it’s motorcycles. Harleys to be exact, and my blood pressure spikes. I run through the living room, peer out the front blinds, and count three Harleys coming down the driveway, kicking up a slight blowing of dust that’s settled over the pavement. Leading the trio is unmistakably Zeke Powell, President of Mayhem’s Mission.
“Fuck,” I mutter as I quickly turn the stove off and haul ass through the living room to the hallway. Maggie meets me, holding Belle in her arms with a look of utter fear on her face. “My bedroom. Now.”
Maggie turns and flees into my room with me hot on her heels. I go to the gun cabinet and unlock it, pulling down a shotgun. I quickly load two shells, cock it, and hand it to her. “Get in the bathroom. If anyone comes through that door that’s not me, you shoot first and ask questions later, okay?”
She nods furiously in agreement, and I see a determined gleam in her eye. It’s of a mother protecting her daughter and I know if Zeke makes it past me, Maggie sure as shit isn’t going to let him get his hands on Belle.
Reaching back into the cabinet, I pull out a pistol and quickly slam in a cartridge. I pull the slide back and chamber a round before tucking it into my waistband at my back. I turn toward my bedroom door, but Maggie calls, “Bridger.”
I turn to her and she whispers, “Please be careful.”
“I will,” I tell her. Then I race down the hallway and through the living room. I can hear the bikes come to a stop and the engines cut, making the air heavy with the silence. I take a deep breath, let it out, and open the door to step out on my front porch.
Zeke dismounts his bike and removes his sunglasses, hanging them from the collar of his black t-shirt. The other two guys, who I recognize from the club but don’t know their names, remain on their bikes.
Zeke walks to the bottom of the porch and looks up at me. “Bridger.”
“Zeke,” I say in acknowledgment. “What can I do for you?”
He looks off to the side of my yard, taking in the work shed before turning back to me. “Looking for Kyle… seen him around?”
“Nope,” I say and it rings with truth because it is the truth.
“Kayla seems to think you’re pretty buddy-buddy with him,” Zeke says as if he’s just attempting some casual conversation with me, but I don’t buy it for a second.
“No more than I am with you,” I tell him.
Zeke nods, glances back at the two other bikers, and then raises a booted foot to rest it on the bottom porch step as he looks back up at me. “Something was taken from me… something very precious, and it seems that maybe Kyle had a hand in it.”
My fucking stomach cramps and sweat breaks out on my forehead. Still, I try to keep a level voice when I say, “Got nothing to do with me.”
“Kayla says you were in a fairly private conversation with Kyle the other night at the compound,” Zeke says, his eyes boring into me with cold calculation.
“I shared a joint with him on my way out to my car, Zeke,” I say with annoyance. “Would have done the same with you if you’d been there.”
He makes a low hum in his throat and gives me a tight smile. I’m not sure if he’s buying my shit or not, but I’m tensed and ready for a battle if need be.
“Alright,” Zeke says, putting his sunglasses back on his face. “You see Kyle… give me a call, will you?”
“Sure thing,” I say as my stomach unclenches slightly.
Zeke nods and turns toward his bike. Then, as if he has a second thought, he turns back and says, “You know… I could stand a stress reliever now that I think about it. Why don’t you come out to the clubhouse tonight… work Kayla over a bit?”
Every instinct in me wants to tell him to go fuck himself, but I know I’m walking a very dangerous line right now with this man. I give him a nod. “What time?”
“About eleven,” he says and turns away, satisfied with my answer.
I stay on the porch and watch Zeke mount his bike. All three men kick start them to life. They carefully back their bikes up, maneuver them into turns, and then head back down my long driveway that winds at least a full half mile before it connects to the main highway.
As soon as they’re out of sight, I turn back into the house and call out to Maggie as I close the door behind me.
“Mags… it’s all clear,” I shout as I walk back toward my bedroom. She comes out of the master bath, Belle toddling behind her, and hands me the gun with the barrel pointed downward. I uncock it but leave the shells inside.
“Go get packed up. Two separate bags, one for you and one for Belle,” I tell her as I lay the gun on the bed and go to my closet to pull out a large duffle bag.
“Why?” she asks fearfully. “What happened?”
“He knows,” I tell her as I go back to my gun cabinet and pull out three more guns. I put them in the duffle and head to my dresser to grab clothes.
“Knows what?” she whispers.
“He knows I know where you are,” I say confidently. “He might even have a clue that I have you.”
“Then why didn’t he just bust in and take me?” she asks, and it’s a good question.
But I saw how Zeke was checking out the landscape and figuring out how it would look to find my dead body and possibly Maggie’s once he had Belle. He wasn’t going to risk that move right then.
“He wants me to come to the club tonight,” I tell her. “He wants to lure me there; I’m sure he thinks it’s better to kill me on his turf rather than mine. They can dispose of me quietly and then come get you.”
“Please tell me you’re kidding me,” Maggie begs.
I stop pulling clothes out and turn to face her. “I’m dead serious, Mags. Just trust me on this. Now, we’re leaving immediately, so go get bags packed.”
She hesitates only a moment before she races out. I throw the clothes in the duffle and grab several boxes of ammunition from the cabinet. When I turn to toss them in the bag, my eyes lock on Belle still standing there, watching me curiously. My heart fucking squeezes at the thought of Zeke getting his hands on her, and I double my efforts to get packed.
“Don’t worry, Belle,” I murmur more to myself than to her. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you or your mommy.”
I zip the bag, grab it and the shotgun with one hand, and then bend to scoop up Belle. Her little arms go around my neck, and I’m amazed at her trust in me. I hope to fucking God I don’t let her down.
I pause just outside of Maggie’s bedroom door, noticing her zipping up a backpack before grabbing a small tote from the bed and turning to me. She looks determined but fearful, and I want to kiss her to reassure her, but we don’t have time. For all I know, the entire club might be rumbling down my driveway in seconds.
I lead Maggie out the back door of the house and we trot to the truck, throwing our bags in the back. I get Belle quickly buckled into her seat while Maggie scrambles in from the driver’s side. No more than five minutes after Zeke left, I have the truck pointed down the back road that leads to Woolf’s house on the Double J.
He’s the first person I call and he answers on the second ring with a, “What’s up?”
“I’m headed to your house now. I need you to take Belle and head to Cheyenne,” I tell him, my voice conveying the urgency of the matter.
Maggie’s hand grabs my arm and she says, “What? No. I’m not leaving Belle.”
I shrug her off and ignore her, continuing my instructions to Woolf. “I’m pretty sure Zeke knows I have them, so I need you to take Belle in one direction and I’m taking Maggie in another. They’ll hopefully follow us if we’re spotted.”
“I’ll be ready when you get here,” is all Woolf says before he disconnects the call, and that is the power of true friendship right there. I know he’d lay down his life for me if I asked, and he’d do it for someone I care about too.
“Bridger,” Maggie says in a panic. “I don’t want to be separated from Belle.”
“Mags,” I say softly, taking my hand and putting it on her thigh to squeeze reassuringly. “I can’t protect you both, and if we’re being actively hunted, I’d rather lead those fuckers as far away from Belle as I can get them. That means you’re bait.”
I look over at her and I see awareness dawn on her face as she understands what I’m saying. I hate myself for calling Maggie “bait” to her face, but I knew she’d understand me. Maggie will do anything to protect her daughter, and she withstood torture in doing so. She would have no qualms about leading an entire gang of bikers on a chase if it would put distance between them and Belle.
“Okay,” she says with a shaky voice. “I understand.”
“Good,” I say with another squeeze to her thigh and I about lose it when she leans her head on my shoulder.
“Thank you,” she says quietly.
I don’t take my hand from her thigh.
“Wheels on the Bus,” Belle cries out, and Maggie and I burst out into nervous laughter. Then we sing “The Wheels on the Bus” three times on the way to Woolf’s house.
As promised, he’s waiting in front of the detached garage with two bay doors open. Maggie wrestles Belle out of the seat while I collect the bags from the back of the truck. Woolf walks into the garage and around the back of a vintage Hummer. It belonged to his dad and sometimes we’d take that bad boy out four-wheeling on the ranch.
“You take the Hummer,” Woolf says. “If those fuckers come after you, you run them right over.”
“What are you taking?” I ask as I throw the bags in the back, and then walk out to the truck to get Belle’s car seat. Callie’s already out there, holding a large duffle bag in her hands, so clearly she’s going with Woolf and Belle.
“I’m taking the G550,” he says stoically. “It can run motorcycles over too.”
I unlatch the car seat and tug it out, walking in long strides to the G550. Woolf opens the back door while Callie, Maggie, and Belle follow. As I’m putting her car seat in the back on the passenger side, I tell Woolf, “I probably bought some time so I don’t think they’ll follow us. I’m just being more safe than sorry.”
“How’s that?” Woolf asks as he watches me work.
“Zeke invited me out to the club tonight to work on his old lady,” I tell him as I maneuver the seatbelt to secure the car seat.
“Kill you deader than a doornail if you went,” Woolf posits.
“Yeah,” I agree. “Figured that much. Just hope he believed me when I told him I’d be there. If he does, we have a good head start. It’ll also help we’ll be in vehicles they don’t know and coming out of the Double J main entrance versus my driveway.”
“Where are you going?” Woolf asks as I finish and turn toward him.
“Salt Lake City,” I tell him. “Long, flat roads in between so I can see what’s coming.”
“Good idea,” he agrees.
“You locked and loaded?” I ask him.
“To the hilt,” he assures me. Woolf owns as many guns as I do. It’s what Wyoming men do.
“Thank you, brother,” I say, my voice getting a little choked.
Woolf studies me for a moment before he pulls me into a hug. He claps my back roughly a few times before holding me tight. I’m not weirded out in the slightest and return the hug hard.
“Do me a favor,” he mutters so only I can hear him. “Try not to get killed. I think you might finally be on your way to a fulfilled life, if you know what I mean.”
I do know what he means.
He means Maggie, but I’m not about to tell him I have serious doubts about that. Instead, I clap him on the back a few times and pull out of his embrace.
Woolf turns and holds his arms out to Belle. Maggie hugs her fiercely for a moment, and then kisses her cheek. “I love you, Belle.”
Belle smiles back at her mom and says, “Chee-chew.”
It’s Belle talk. I love you is “chee-chew,” strawberries are “joppies,” and for some weird reason, cereal is “bee-boss”. I hope to fucking God I get to hear more Belle talk in my future.