Chapter 3
Bridger
Scooping the scrambled eggs from the pan, I transfer them to the plate next to the bacon I’d nuked in the microwave before turning to the toaster and pulling out two pieces of blackened bread. I curse at my ineptitude when it comes to the simple act of making toast, throwing them in the sink where I’ll jam them down the garbage disposal later.
Pulling two more pieces of bread from the bag, I put them in the toaster, adjust the timer to a lower setting, and try again. While that’s in process, I reach across the counter and pick up the bottle of hydrocodone, shaking two pills from it. I then do the same with the antibiotics. It’s time for my mystery guest to wake up, so I can feed and medicate her again.
I saw the bruises, welts, and cuts all over her body from the top of her head to her calves, and I know she’s going to need the strength from the food and the numbing effect from the narcotics. It’s going to take her a few days before she’ll be able to move around without these precious drugs.
Logan and I were utterly sickened the night before last when we got a peek at her back. We were both stunned when she tried to bolt out of my house, faster than I could have ever imagined anyone in her condition moving. I reacted on instinct, lunging at her and grabbing her from behind in a bear hold.
But the moment she shrieked at me to ‘stop,’ I immediately recognized the sound of pain in her voice, not panic, and I dropped her like a hot potato. When she fell to the ground and her shirt climbed up a bit, I had to swallow hard against the bile that was forming after seeing the black, blue, purple, and green that covered her exposed skin. Kyle had said she was tortured, but he clearly wasn’t conveying to me the brutality of what happened to the woman whose name I don’t even know, who is now sleeping in my bed.
After she passed out, Logan helped me get her to my room. We unceremoniously stripped her down, taking advantage of her unconsciousness so we wouldn’t hurt her while she was examined. Logan dispassionately cleaned her up as best he could with a warm, wet cloth and antiseptic. Both of us made sounds of disgust low in our throat as we took in the bruises that covered most of her body, and Logan managed to clean some of the blood off her for a better look. But bruises were only part of it as Kayla apparently took a knife to parts of the woman’s body. Mostly shallow cuts that coagulated and crusted over on their own, but one to the middle of her abdomen that was still open and oozing with blood, so it appeared to be fairly fresh.
It was patently clear to me without Logan saying a word that this was beyond his capabilities. Well, maybe not beyond his capabilities, but it was beyond his reach. He didn’t have a license and he had no access to the necessary supplies he’d need, not to mention the clear fact that this woman needed medication for recovery.
As such, I had no choice but to call someone else to help. I weighed the option briefly, remembering Kyle’s words of warning over the secret nature of his operation, but figured he’d want her to get the help needed. It justified the call to one of The Silo’s patrons, Jared Crossgrave. He’s a doctor who practices general medicine in Jackson and has been a member of The Silo since we first opened.
When he arrived, I sent Logan on his way.
I then impressed upon him the secrecy I’d require before I asked him for his help and revealed to him the woman in my bed. He promised complete confidentiality, but as I’d told the woman last night, he wanted a favor in return.
After he patched her injuries, then shot her up with something to kill the pain and ensure she’d rest for several hours, Jared asked for his favor.
A hard ass fucking, but I wasn’t surprised. The guy is as gay as they come, but in conservative, rural Wyoming, it’s not something he feels he can reveal to the public. So he keeps his oblivious wife happy with fancy cars and jewelry, and he’s managed to fuck her at least on two occasions as he’s got two kids, but outside of that… he gets his gay rocks off in The Silo.
I don’t begrudge him this. In fact, I’m pleased he has The Silo to turn to. It’s one of the reasons Woolf and I opened it, so we could provide a haven for people to express their sexual desires. For closet homosexuals, it’s probably more important to them than just people into generalized kink. Jared comes in a few times a week, happily sucking dick and getting his ass pounded as he prefers bottom. Because I know his dirty, dark secret he’s afraid to reveal to the world, I knew I could call him and be guaranteed relative security in obtaining his help.
As I said, I’m not surprised he wanted me to fuck him. He’s made no secret of his attraction to me, and he has subtly inquired to others how he could catch my notice. He’d learned relatively quickly that I don’t give my notice to anyone in The Silo unless they had a penchant for some hardcore BDSM and only then, I’ll hand it out without taking anything in return but cash. Jared might like his sex a little rough, but he’s not into the type of pain I would normally hand out.
So Jared treated the mystery woman and after handed me two prescriptions written in my name for a painkiller and antibiotics, because he thought the open wound on her stomach looked a little irritated, he primly asked if he could collect his favor immediately.
I didn’t care one way or the other and gave him a careless shrug before leading him into one of the spare bedrooms. Because I know Jared is generally submissive and finds thrill in being controlled, I grabbed him by his hair, pushed him to his knees, and made him suck my dick for a few minutes just to get me hard.
I did this all with almost robotic precision, putting on a show for this man as much as I would if I was caning someone inside The Silo. I know how important it is to someone like Jared to feel as if I were as into him as he was into me.
But the truth is that I wasn’t into him at all. Nope… not into guys, preferring warm, wet pussy, but that doesn’t mean I won’t fuck ass, male or female. I’ll do anything with my cock really, as I see it as nothing more than a tool I can use for personal gain. Not talking about orgasmic gain, although that certainly happens when I let it, but rather as a way to meet my needs, whether they are sexual or not. In this case, I needed a doctor’s services on the sly. He wanted my dick.
So he gagged and choked on my cock as I fucked his mouth for a bit, because I knew that’s exactly the way he wanted it, then I fucked his ass. I lubed up good, and I pounded him hard, just the way I’ve watched him take it time and again in The Silo.
My mind wandered as I serviced him, worried about what to do with the woman in my room. I’d become adept at multitasking, able to fuck my way to an orgasm without much thought. My cock knows what to do and my body reacts because that’s what it’s been trained to do. I could probably engage in a focused chess match as I was ploughing someone, able to stealthily checkmate my opponent while getting my rocks off. That’s just how good I am at compartmentalizing my sex away from the rest of me.
So Jared squealed like a little girl as I tunneled in and out of his ass, all the while his hand worked his own little cock feverishly. It ended satisfactorily to him as he shot his load all over my guest comforter with a moan of relief—which I made a mental note to throw away and buy another—and I pulled out before I came, snapped the condom off, and shot my spunk all over the back of his legs as I wasn’t paying attention to my aim.
As I orgasmed, I had a very brief moment of respite. As with every time I come, it’s not necessarily pleasurable and it’s never earth shattering. Rather, it’s more like a purging of a sickness and there’s a second… maybe two… where I’m numb to everything. It’s the paralysis of all my senses that I enjoy, giving me relief from my existence even if it’s over all too quickly. Probably why I fuck so much, always seeking to extend that moment of oblivion.
Whatever shot Jared gave the woman, she was out of it for almost twenty-four hours. Didn’t mean she slept that whole time, and I’m sure she has no recollection, but I helped her get out of bed and to the bathroom twice during the night and once the next day. She mumbled her thanks and once called me Aunt Gayle, but then she slipped back into heavy slumber when I put her back to bed.
The reason I knew she needed to go to the bathroom was because I sat by her bed that entire time. I was terrified to leave her—sure she’d wake up at some point completely lucid and ready to bolt. But she didn’t, except for that brief conversation we had where I think I was successful in reassuring her she was safe, and then she was out again.
I’m pretty sure she’s sleeping so hard, not because of the shot Jared gave her, because that would have worn off a while ago, but because she was utterly exhausted both in body and in mind. I would like to think that she accepted my assurances of safety and was able to let her body fall into a restful sleep that would help to heal her.
But now it’s time for her to get up, and the two pieces of toast popping up brings me back to task. I pull them out, relieved they are lightly browned, and spread some butter, followed by some raspberry jam, on them. No clue if the woman will like it but if she doesn’t, she doesn’t have to eat it.
I take the plate along with cutlery and a glass of orange juice back to my bedroom. I put her in there because I wanted her to have the bathroom close by if she needed it, and also because I felt she deserved a nice bed after all she’d been through. Why that matters to me, I can’t figure out, but when I saw her injuries, something within me committed to helping this woman.
Just like I’m almost powerless not to equate pain and pleasure together, as well as harboring an extreme desensitization to sex because of my upbringing, I’m also equally as powerless to turn my back on someone who’s been abused.
The moment I turn from the hall into the master bedroom, I’m immediately relieved to see she’s awake and sitting up in the bed. She’s wearing one of my t-shirts, which swallows her up, and the blankets are pulled up around her lap.
“Brought you some breakfast,” I say as I walk in toward her, and I note with a measure of satisfaction that there’s less wariness in her eyes than I’ve seen before.
“I heard you banging around out there,” she says softly, but there’s no humor in her voice. In fact, it’s quite flat.
“You must be starved,” I tell her as I sit the plate down on her lap and place the juice on the bedside table, along with the medicine. “And there’s some more pain medicine as well as antibiotics to take after you finish.”
Her eyes slide to the pills, and then back to the plate before she gingerly picks up the fork I placed on top of the food with the handle hanging off the side. “Thank you.”
“How do you feel?” I ask as I take the chair beside her bed. While I want her to eat, I also want more answers.
She gives a shrug and scoops up a forkful of eggs. Before she puts them in her mouth, she says, “Maggie.”
“Excuse me?” I ask, confused by her answer.
“My name’s Maggie. Thought you’d want to know.” She places the eggs in her mouth and chews as she stares at me.
“Maggie what?” And I feel a little shitty for not having asked that first.
She swallows and murmurs, “Waylon. Magdalene Waylon, but my friends call me Maggie.”
Interesting she lumps me into the friend category, but I know deep down she doesn’t mean it. She may not have that wariness in her eyes and she may be accepting my food, but I can tell she’s still holding herself out as an island amidst a sea of sharks just waiting for one to take a bite out of her.
And because I know a little something about abuse and how to deal with it, I start off with more reassurances. “Just want to remind you about our short talk last night. You’re safe here. No one knows you’re here outside of my friend Logan and the doctor who treated you last night, but they won’t tell a soul.”
“And Kyle,” she says, fear edging through her quiet tone.
“He helped you,” I remind her.
She doesn’t argue, just picks at the bacon, removing a tiny portion and putting it in her mouth. It’s a sweet mouth, actually… now that my focus is drawn there. She has full lips, and I got a peek of straight, white teeth when they parted. Yeah… I know most guys look at lips and think of blow jobs, but I look at them and think of biting. So lips are interesting because they hide the teeth that can cause sweet pain, and I love a soft, generous pair that peel back just before the teeth behind sink into skin.
My cock twitches at the thought, but I banish it. This woman is off limits, and besides, she’s not all that attractive.
Well, that’s not exactly true. I can’t really tell as she’s still covered in a lot of dirt and some blood Logan didn’t get off, not to mention black and blue all over. But her hair is long and wavy, a pretty shade of brown that has hints of caramel and rust within. And her eyes… very nice… a soft, summer green. Body is definitely to my liking, and by that, I mean she’s soft and curved with a figure I think most women think makes them “fat,” but I find the soft swell of a woman’s belly and an ass I can sink my fingers into hot as fuck. I suspect this has to do with the fact I was abused by a stepmom who was nothing but a skinny sack of bones, and so my attraction is for the exact opposite of that.
But whatever.
I shake my head and tell her, “I need you to tell me what’s going on so I can figure out the best way to keep you safe. Kyle didn’t say much other than you were being tortured by Kayla and that he had to get you out of there.”
“You trust he’s with law enforcement?” she counters, not answering my questions.
I’m honest with her. “I’m not sure. I don’t know him all that well.”
“You know Kayla though,” she guesses. “I could hear the familiarity in your tone.”
Christ, did I know Kayla. I’d whipped and caned her before. Did lots of kinky shit while her husband watched. Still, I’m careful when I answer. “I know both Kayla and Zeke, but I am not friends with them. I don’t owe them any loyalties.”
Except I kind of do. Zeke turned over one of his men who’d attacked my friend Cat to the police, and in return, I’d promised to put on some “shows” for his club with the bevy of free and loose pussy there. Not sure when I’d have to fulfill that obligation. If I’m lucky, Zeke won’t call to collect before Kyle can bring the club down.
Assuming Kyle is telling the truth.
“Can I finish eating, and then perhaps get a shower first?” Maggie suggests tentatively. “Then I’ll tell you everything.”
I have no clue if she’s playing me. She could crawl out my bathroom window for all I know, but I really can’t keep her prisoner here.
So I place my hands on my thighs and push up from the chair as I say, “Sure. You can rummage through my drawers. I have some sweatpants and stuff in there. Take whatever clean stuff you want, and we’ll get your clothes washed after. I’ll be waiting in the kitchen.”
I don’t wait for her to answer, and I figure she’ll either come in there after she gets cleaned up or she’ll sneak out and run. I find I’m probably okay with either choice she makes.