Chapter 23
Bridger
I scan the last page of the payroll summary report, feel satisfied it’s in order, and then sign off on it. That task complete, I put it aside and my thoughts immediately go to Maggie. I growl in frustration, because I don’t want to think about her. I grab the inventory order sheet that my senior bartender, Ted, had placed on my desk last night before he headed over to The Silo. In addition to being a fucking fantastic bartender, he’s one of my best Fantasy Makers as well. All the ladies and men love Ted and his eight-inch cock. He doesn’t discriminate where he’ll stick it.
Perusing the inventory sheet, I make a few notations in the side column, noting our stock of white wine has been depleting faster than normal. Must be a run on tourists or something, but my mind involuntarily thinks of Maggie again because she likes white wine. This is something I learned about her just last night after I fucked her.
And what a spectacular fucking it was. I’m sure we were both overly sensitive to emotion based on learning about Kyle’s death that day, but I rode her hard from behind, that same animalistic need overtaking me and causing me to practically try to crawl my way inside of her because it felt so good. But when I felt myself getting close, I flipped her over, because I really wanted to suck on those perfect tits because I’d come to realize they are very sensitive. I figure if I can ever get to a point where I can control myself around her, I’d want to see if I can make her come just by working her nipples over.
So I hammered into her, my teeth biting at her nipples before I’d suck on them, and it was well on its way to being another existential experience for me until she grabbed my hair again.
Maggie wasn’t kidding. She’s a hair puller.
I, however, am not a hair pullee.
Never will be simply because she got off on grabbing a fistful of my hair, which I’d always worn long as a kid, and she’d hold me there while she would alternate blows to my face with kisses. When I was twelve, she once dragged me through the house by my hair as I tried to madly scramble on my hands and knees to keep up with her. She dragged me right into the bathroom where she slapped the shit out of me repetitively before she put me in the bathtub and bathed me with apologies.
When Maggie grabbed onto my hair, my hips never missed a beat in their jackhammering and my hands pulled hers away from me so I could hold them pinned above her head until I came inside of her with a loud groan of stupendous relief.
After, I was feeling mellow and because I’d loved the way Maggie’s body felt against mine the night before when we slept in the motel bed together, I was content to let her cuddle into me.
As she stroked my stomach, she said, “Sorry about the hair thing.”
“It’s okay,” I muttered, my own hand stroking her hip.
“It could be a repetitive problem,” she said, humor in her voice, but I didn’t reply.
And when I didn’t reply, she asked me somberly, “Why does it bother you?”
I could have given her a million different answers. I could have lied a million different ways. But instead, I told her the truth. “My stepmom used to beat me. She often did so while holding me in place by my hair.”
Maggie gave out a cry of protest. “Oh, my God. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s in the past,” I mumbled as I reached for her hand and moved it from my stomach to my cock to distract her unwanted pity. I’d just got done coming in her not fifteen minutes prior, but the minute I made her fingers curl around me, I started to come alive again.
Because my body wants Maggie in a way that it’s never wanted anything before.
I actually believe it needs her, because the thought of me getting this anywhere else is like shoving rancid meat down a starving man’s throat.
So she got me hard with her hand, and then harder yet with her mouth. She gobbled my cock up and swallowed me whole, after which I ate her beautiful pussy still leaking with my cum. It was a beautiful experience.
Would have fucked her again this morning given the opportunity, but when I woke up, she was gone. I assume she slept with Belle, and I’m not sure if that relieved or irritated me. Regardless, I found them both in the kitchen when I came out, and Maggie served me eggs and bacon.
We all three sat at the table together and ate breakfast. I smiled appropriately and teased Belle. I helped Maggie clean up after. And the entire time, I analyzed every feeling running through me. Bodily repletion from amazing fucking. Companionship from a beautiful and kind woman. Joy from an energetic toddler who is cute beyond words.
And fear that I don’t deserve a single minute of it.
I want Maggie, no doubt. For sure in my bed.
My heart? Not so sure.
She’s so many wonderful things to me, but she’s still a complication. My life is orderly. I have certain proclivities. I have unbearable demons that are well controlled with the very structured life I lead. The Silo gives me comfort, and it’s a part of me.
I know for sure I cannot let this carefully ordered world deconstruct on me.
Maggie has the ability to tear it all apart.
Ultimately, I had no great epiphany as to what to do. My cock was winning my war of indecisiveness, and I left the house after breakfast to get some work done. I didn’t kiss Maggie goodbye, but I did tell her I’d see her at dinner. It sent a message as mixed as my feelings.
I want you, but I don’t. I like having you here in my house, but I’m just not sure I’d want it forever.
I didn’t go straight to The Wicked Horse though. Instead, I drove into Jackson and went straight to my barber. Anyone who knows me knows I don’t give a shit about my appearance. I’ll often grow my hair long, and when it becomes a nuisance, I’ll shave it all off and let it grow back again.
My hair is long, but not quite to the point where it’s bothering me.
Still, I didn’t hesitate a moment parking my ass in that barber’s chair and telling him to take it all off. Took no more than ten minutes and some sharp electric blades before I had nothing but stubble over my entire head that looked like an early five o’clock shadow. I killed two birds with one stone. Got my haircut out of the way and ensured that Maggie’s hands would never grab hold of my hair again.
Finishing up the inventory sheet, I put it on the edge of my desk. I’ll walk out and hand it to Ted a little later. He’ll call in the new stock order. I turn to my email, relishing in the minutes it gives me of Maggie-free thought.
There’s one from Cal, letting me know again how much he and Macy enjoyed The Silo. I feel bad I didn’t spend more time with them, but it was a quick in and out trip for them. Still, I should be the one thanking them. They inspired me to get up the courage to come down Maggie’s throat and forever changed the way I would have sex.
At least I think.
Not sure I’d want to come inside another woman.
Not sure I could.
My phone rings. I grab it from the desk where it sits next to my laptop. Flipping it over, I see it’s from Kizner.
“Payne,” I answer the phone brusquely.
“It’s Joseph Kizner,” he says, although it’s not needed as he’s in my Contacts now. But still, in just those three words, my body goes stiff with alertness because there is no mistaking the urgency and concern in his voice.
“What’s wrong?” I immediately ask.
“Local authorities still haven’t processed a warrant for Kayla Powell’s arrest, and probably won’t until they actually interview Maggie,” he says, and this doesn’t surprise me. I didn’t expect it to move fast. But his next words send a cold shiver of fear up my spine. “I interviewed Zeke today, and he made some threats against Maggie and Belle.”
“What kind of threats,” I ask thickly, my mouth suddenly dry.
“When we told him we’d be amending the charges against him to add kidnapping and assault, he didn’t take kindly to it. When we told him we were going after Kayla, he just laughed at us. Said we’d have a hard time proving that against his old lady without any witnesses. Threw it in our face that Agent Sommerville was dead and couldn’t testify.”
“But Maggie’s a witness,” I rasp out.
“I’ve got cops headed there now,” Kizner says, but I’m already shooting out of my chair and running for the door.
“I’m closer,” I tell him before I disconnect. I careen through The Wicked Horse and fly to my Corvette parked right at the front door.
Kizner calls me back as I toss my phone on the passenger seat, start the car, and peel out of the parking lot, leaving lots of rubber behind. When my phone goes silent, I grab it and dial my house phone. It rings repetitively five times until the answering machine picks up. It’s a model that has a speaker on it so you can hear the person leaving the message.
“Maggie,” I say in a voice that I struggle to keep calm so I don’t freak her out. “Zeke has made some threats against you, and I’m headed there now. I want you to take Belle and go into my room. I have a shotgun on the top shelf in my closet. Lock yourself in the bathroom until I—”
The message cuts off. With a curse, I dial back. She doesn’t answer this time either, and I hope to fuck she’s just outside playing with Belle. I continue my message. “I’m sure it’s all fine, but you never know with someone fucked in the head like Zeke. He has members who weren’t arrested and were loyal to—”
The machine cuts off again with an offending beep.
“Fuck,” I yell and throw the phone down into the passenger foot well.
It rings again. I almost drive off the highway trying to lean over and grab it because it might be Maggie. After I get it in my hands, I curse again when I see it’s Kizner.
I connect the call. “I can be there in about fifteen minutes. Where are the cops?”
“At least twenty-five out,” he says. “You armed?”
“No,” I say, cursing myself for assuming Maggie and Belle were safe.
“If you can tell someone’s in that house with them when you get there, you do not go in. You wait for the cops to get there,” he orders me like an overbearing father.
“Not gonna fucking happen,” I tell him.
He sighs into the phone, and I can hear the worry in it. “I’m headed that way too,” he says softly. “Just in case.”
“Got it,” I mutter, and then disconnect. I put both hands on the wheel and bear down on the gas.
The fifteen-minute drive seems to take thirty, but in reality, I made it in eleven thanks to the power of my Vette and my erratic driving as I passed people on the highway without prejudice.
I barrel down my long driveway and my house comes in to view, my stomach sinking when I see a dark gray Dodge charger parked in front. I don’t know the car and have never seen it before. It could be an undercover cop car for all I know, and that would be a welcome scenario. It could be one of Zeke’s guys who didn’t want the rumble of a Harley to scare Maggie off.
I pull my car up, turn the ignition off, and get out. I consider sneaking around the house and peering in windows so I can verify the house occupants. But that would take time and would also keep Maggie and Belle in danger longer.
Besides, I’ve never been one for subtle.
I gingerly navigate the front porch steps, skipping over the third one that creaks, and walk right into my house like a man on a mission.
I’m not prepared for what I find.
My eyes first land on Belle, who sits in the corner of the living room near the back door. She has tears streaming down her face. My gaze slides to the right, five feet from Belle, and Maggie is sitting in a kitchen chair with Kayla in front of her. Kayla’s back is to me, but the minute the door opens, she swings around. My heart lurches when I see she has a gun in her hand.
I want to look back at Maggie, ensure she’s okay. I want to go pick up Belle and comfort her. But I don’t dare take my eyes off the gun that Kayla is now pointing at me.
“Oh goody,” Kayla sneers. “I can knock two people off my list now that you’re here, Bridger.”
I slowly raise my hands up and to the side in a message that clearly conveys, Just calm the fuck down and don’t do anything hasty.
“Come on, Kayla,” I say in a calm voice that I hope is soothing in nature. “You don’t want to bring this down on yourself, do you? Zeke’s going down, but you don’t have to.”
“Do you think I’m stupid?” she hisses at me, waving the gun erratically around but still pointed in my general direction. “You don’t think I haven’t figured the cops are coming for me, too?”
And they should be here in hopefully about ten minutes, I think to myself. But I tell Kayla, “You don’t want murder on your shoulders, Kayla. You’ll go away forever.”
“Think I give a fuck?” she yells at me. “Zeke’s gone. He ain’t comin’ back. You think I give a rat’s ass what happens to me?”
I take a moment to let myself look at Maggie.
Just a moment so I can assure she’s okay as I try to figure out how to talk this crazy woman off the ledge.
And in that moment, I see everything clearly.
Maggie’s eyes, which reflect to me the very depths of her soul, shoot a quick glance at Belle before looking back to me, and I see exactly what she’s saying.
I am not going to sit back and let this bitch get her hands on Belle.
I give a slight nod, which is intended for Kayla to see that I’ve just had a very important communication with Maggie. As I hoped, Kayla twists her neck to look at Maggie behind her. The minute her attention is off me, Maggie kicks her legs out viciously and catches Kayla behind her knees.
Her legs fold and she starts to go down as the gun aims upward. A piercing shot rings out, and a flutter of dust from my ceiling comes down.
I take the opportunity to charge, just as Kayla starts to stand straight again. I jump right over the couch, the quickest way to my destination, and I lower my shoulder like an enraged bull going after the matador holding the bright red cape.
I see Kayla lower the gun and swing it my way. It goes off moments before I crash into her. A hot, burning flash of pain hits the outside of my right shoulder just as it plows right into Kayla’s stomach. We go flying right past Maggie and into the heavy sliding glass door that leads onto the back deck. I’m immediately thankful it just shudders and doesn’t shatter, as I’m not sure either of us would have survived that.
Kayla lets out a whoosh of breath as the gun goes flying out of her hand. Her head flies backward and slams hard into the glass, and she literally starts to sag downward.
I don’t trust the murderous bitch, so I grab her shoulders, pull her away from the glass door, and slam her back into it. Her head hits against the window with brutal force, and she doesn’t even make a sound of pain as her eyes roll into the back of her head. I let her go, and she slumps to the floor, out cold.
Maggie scrambles out of the chair and runs to Belle while I grab the gun, removing the clip and chambered round before tossing it across the room. My hands go to my belt where I quickly pull it off before squatting down and rolling Kayla onto her stomach. I don’t feel an ounce of sympathy when I see the back of her head was cracked open and is leaking blood. No clue if I damaged her severely. Don’t care.
I pull her hands behind her back and secure them with my belt. When I stand up and turn to Maggie, she’s as pale as a ghost as she tries to console Belle. My hands are shaking as I reach them up out of habit to run my fingers through my hair, only to have them hit the bristles on my head.
Blowing out a breath of terror-filled air, I come to the realization that I almost just lost Maggie, and it scared the fuck out of me.
Scared the fuck out of me because I’ve never had anything matter to me that much, and I don’t like the heavy burden of responsibility that weighs down upon me in this moment.