Chapter 8
Maggie
The front door to Bridger’s house opens, and he walks in as the clock is getting ready to strike one AM. He looks exhausted and the lingering flicker of disgust in his eyes tells me he did not enjoy his work tonight.
Woolf pushes out of the recliner he’d been sitting on and walks to Bridger, who remains by the door with it still open, a clear indication Woolf can leave. He’s a nice guy… Woolf, but he wasn’t overly talkative. I tried to get him to tell me more about Bridger and the sex club, because Bridger admitted to me this morning Woolf was his best friend and had started it with him.
I still can’t believe Bridger has a sex club. My mind ran away last night as I tossed and turned in bed, trying to imagine what all could possibly go on in such a place. And did Bridger partake? Was he with a different woman every night?
And what about the BDSM? I don’t know much about it… had a few tie me up, a few others spank me, but Bridger talked about whips last night and I sort of got the impression it’s not something you take casually or lightly. While I don’t mind a hot palm on my ass because it makes things interesting, I can’t even imagine handling the type of pain a whip would cause.
I also can’t imagine Bridger being the one to hand out that pain. Everything I’ve come to learn about him the last few days has led me to believe he’s a kind man. He’s provided me with a safe home to live in and promised to protect me. It’s almost inconceivable to me that he would whip a woman.
And he told me last night, It’s what I do. I have to do it.
What does that even mean?
Woolf and Bridger only talk for a few minutes in lowered voices while I hold my usual place on the couch sitting cross-legged. I nervously fiddle with the hem of my t-shirt, which has become almost my standard uniform, along with yoga pants. Finally, Woolf turns his head to me and says, “Later, Maggie. Nice meeting you.”
“You too,” I say softly as he walks out the door. Bridger closes it and locks it before setting the security alarm that protects us at night along with his guns.
When he turns around, he walks immediately to the couch, taking a seat beside me. He sinks back into the cushion, rests his head there, and sighs as he stares up at the ceiling.
“Rough night?” I ask hesitantly.
“For the woman I worked over… yeah… it was a rough night.” His statement is pointed. Clearly, it was just another day on the job for him, but it still makes my stomach curdle to think that Bridger hurt someone tonight. And because my imagination has always run rampant, and I am envisioning all kinds of awful things, I push at him to tell me more as I’m sure it can’t be worse than what I’m already imagining, and if it’s better, I’ll have peace of mind.
“What did you do to her?” I whisper, wishing my voice were stronger and more demanding so he wouldn’t think to dismiss my need to know.
He turns his head to look at me, still resting on the back cushion. “You really want to know?”
“I can’t envision you hurting someone,” I murmur in bewilderment. “I can’t reconcile that with the man I know.”
“You don’t know me, Maggie,” Bridger says gruffly. It’s an unkind statement. His eyes are hardened, and it’s meant to put me off.
“I know you took in a total stranger, had sex with a man to get me medical treatment, and then nursed me back to health. You’ve provided me a safe environment while I healed, and you’re putting yourself in danger by hiding me. I think I know a little about you.”
Bridger’s eyes warm slightly, turning from dark bronze to golden whiskey. “How much do you know about BDSM?”
“Not much.”
“Well, the people who participate in and like it… they get off on pain. It’s sexually gratifying to them. So yes, while I provide that pain, it’s because they want it and pay for it. I’m good at what I do, and I provide people with something they desperately crave. It’s as simple as that.”
“And the woman tonight?” I ask, because I can tell tonight was a bit different. The way he sits on the couch, looking totally defeated, tells me tonight wasn’t ordinary for him.
Bridger sighs, turns his face away, and stares back up at the ceiling. “I have no clue what her experience was, but she took what I handed out like a champ. Never used her safe word and orgasmed a few times. I think she enjoyed it.”
“Enjoyed what?” I press him, now not really understanding why I want the details. I think perhaps I’m fascinated by the concept that Bridger can make a woman orgasm but takes nothing for himself.
At least, I don’t think he took anything for himself.
Bridger mutters a curse. Pushing up from his reclined position, he turns to me, slinging an arm over the back of the couch. His look is dismissive of my last question and that’s verified when he says, “We need to have a serious talk about you and Belle.”
“What about?” I ask carefully, my heart now pounding that he’s mentioned Belle. He’s not asked me about her once since I told him of her existence and refusal to disclose where she is.
“Zeke has all the Mayhem’s Mission chapters out looking for you,” Bridger says, and I go slightly dizzy at the implication. Not only is that a lot of fucking muscle going into this hunt for me, but it means he’s pouring some serious dedication in retrieving his property. I know Zeke, and I know that means he will not quit until he has his hands on me.
Before I can even think of a response, Bridger adds on, “Kyle thinks he might go after your family… to figure out where you might have stashed Belle.”
“Oh my God,” I moan as I push off the couch blindly, fear making me dizzy. “I’ve got to warn them. I’ve got to get Belle.”
Bridger’s hand shoots out, latches on to my forearm, and pulls me back down to the couch. I immediately go berserk, thinking he means to deny me my right as a mother to protect my child.
I try to launch back off, crying out, “Let me go,” as I slap at his hand on me.
“Just calm down,” he growls. That only infuriates me more. I twist viciously against him and launch a barefooted kick at his shin that only manages to send pain streaking through my bones.
Bridger wraps his arms around me and pulls me down onto his lap. I squirm and wiggle, trying to get free.
“Mags,” he says roughly into my ear, tightening his hold. “Calm down. I’m going to help you get Belle.”
I immediately go still, his words penetrating my fear. I twist my neck to look at him as he shifts me sideways onto his lap. “You will?”
“Yeah,” he says earnestly. “If Zeke is going to do that, and assuming she’s with someone your family knows, I think it’s best to move her.”
“Then let’s go,” I say as I try to push up again, but he holds me in place.
“Tomorrow,” he says softly. “Well, later today since it’s already tomorrow, but we need sleep. And Kyle’s not even sure Zeke is going to do that; it’s just a worry he has, but right now, no move has been made that way.”
“We should—” I start to say, but he cuts me off with another squeeze of his arms.
“And I need to get a few things worked out,” he continues on. “We’ll take Woolf’s SUV in case someone is watching me.”
“Do you think someone is?” I ask with panic.
“No,” he responds quickly and with a reassuring rumble. “I don’t. But let’s just be very safe about it, okay?”
“So we’ll go get Belle tomorrow?” I ask to make sure I understand.
Bridger nods. “She close by?”
“In Idaho… with a great aunt,” I admit.
“Then we’ll go get her tomorrow. After that, I think we should come back here,” he says confidently.
“Back here? Near Zeke? We should run,” I argue.
“Mags,” he says softly, another squeeze from his arms, and my heart trips madly as he uses that nickname for me. “It’s the last place he’ll expect. He’ll expect you to run, and it will spread him thin looking for you. We keep you hidden until Kyle takes the club down, which hopefully will be very soon. I can keep you safe here until then.”
His reasoning makes sense, but I’m still terrified to bring Belle so close to Zeke. It’s one thing if he gets his hands on me again, because after what I survived with Kayla, I know he’ll never get me to break and reveal her whereabouts. The big question is—do I trust Bridger and that he can keep us safe?
The answer comes to me clearly and swiftly.
I trust this man with my life, but more importantly… I trust Belle’s with him.
“My family,” I point out. “They need warned.”
“No sense in waking them up. You can call them in a few hours,” Bridger says. He finally releases his hold on me, which makes me feel oddly naked and alone. I don’t make a move off his lap, hoping for a reconnection.
We stare at each other, but I still make no move to leave my perch. His head tilts at me curiously. “What’s wrong?”
I drop my gaze briefly to my lap, take note of my legs draped sideways over him, and think about the fact I’m sitting right on his…
“Thank you,” I blurt out as I look back up at him. “I don’t know why you’re doing this for me.”
He doesn’t respond, just stares at me.
“I mean… why are you doing this for me?” I press him.
His eyes flick back and forth between mine for a moment before he answers. “I know a little something about being desperate for help. I had someone help me once, and it’s time for me to pay it forward.”
It’s not what I expected him to say. In fact, Bridger is so mysterious sometimes I figured he’d just play off his being a Good Samaritan. But his words are so sincere and full of gratitude, I’m a bit taken aback. In fact, I can tell by the tone of his voice that whatever his desperate times were, they were awful and his savior had a huge impact on his life.
I knew there was something elusive I couldn’t quite put my finger on that factored into my attraction to Bridger beside his obvious good looks and sexiness or the mere fact he saved me from certain death. But now I know it’s because we share a past that includes something horrific that molded us into the people we are today.
“What happened?” I whisper as I place my hand on his chest, right over his heart. I feel two steady thumps before the beat picks up and it starts to gallop away.
“Nothing I want to talk about,” he says, and there is no mistaking the coolness in his voice. He reaches up, takes my hand in his, and pulls it away from his body, then he starts to move to dislodge me from his lap.
A desperate need to hold onto whatever fragile connection we have fuels me, because for some insane reason, I simply have to know what exactly Bridger Payne is made of.
“Wait,” I blurt out, my free hand shooting to his chest where I grab onto his t-shirt in a tight clutch.
He stills, doesn’t release his hold on me, and gives me a slight pause so I can continue. “You never answered my other question,” I say in a lame attempt to keep this conversation going since he doesn’t want to talk about his past.
“What other question?” he grits out.
“The woman tonight,” I whisper, relaxing my grip on his shirt and flattening my palm back over his chest. “What did you do to her?”
I brace, expecting him to dislodge me from his lap, but I don’t get what I expect. In fact, I get something quite different in the form of an erection starting to grow under my butt.
Bridger’s eyes flicker with heat, his eyelids going to half-mast, and the corners of his mouth curving upward in a sensual smile. “Why… does that type of stuff turn you on?”
His voice is taunting, and I realize even though he’s getting extremely hard underneath me, he’s annoyed with my question and is trying to shame me for it. He’s daring me to give up this quest for information, and I have no doubt if I press him, what he’ll share may not be pretty at all.
But I’m desperate to understand this man who has cloaked me in his protection. “Maybe,” I answer truthfully. “But I don’t know because I can’t envision it.”
His eyes gleam with what one could consider malice, and I know he’s going to give me the cold, hard facts about his kinky life. I also inherently know he’s doing this to push me away, thinking I’ll be disgusted.
I brace yet again when he says, “I stripped the woman naked and tied her down to a pool table with her legs spread wide. I then took a flogger and whipped her with it, not enough to draw blood but enough to leave some pretty nasty welts.”
Bridger pauses and studies my reaction, and I can see he’s disappointed I’m not scrambling away from him. His eyes go a shade colder, and he growls, “She was so turned on by what I did to her that her pussy was dripping.”
Oh, God… his voice sounds so sensual that I can feel an ache start to form between my legs, even as the common sense within me knows this is him merely trying to turn me off rather than on.
“Then I let all the men fuck her,” Bridger murmurs, and I feel his cock actually jump underneath me. I have to control myself not to squirm on his lap. “They all lined up and fucked her mouth, her pussy, and her ass until she was raw and filled with loads of cum and covered with their sweat and spilled beer.”
I swallow hard and feel a tiny wave of nausea as I envision the scene. It disgusts me to think of that happening, and I’d seen other lewd shit happen at the compound during my years there, so I don’t doubt what he’s telling me is true. But at the same time, I’m turned on by the erotic sensuality of Bridger’s voice and the thick shaft pushing against my butt, as it’s clear he finds some beauty and appreciation in the scenario he’s laying out to me.
Almost as if he can sense my warring thoughts, he leans his face in close to mine and murmurs, “Turn you on, Mags? Or does it thoroughly disgust you what I do?”
Both, I want to answer him, but I’m sidetracked by the swirl of colors in his eyes that tells me he might be torn too. Golden yellow competing with burned copper, which clues me in that he’s just as conflicted. I’m further sidetracked by the feel of his breath on my face and his lips so damn close to mine.
Without thinking to answer him, and without acknowledging he’s pulling my emotions in a hundred different directions, I merely lean into him and place my mouth on his. I immediately feel his entire body stiffen in shock before his hands come to my shoulders to push me away.
And I almost let him too… push me away, that is, but I also immediately feel his erection swell bigger and harder than I would have thought possible underneath of me.
So I press my lips against his and open my mouth, forcing his to open in turn, and letting my tongue dart in for a slow swipe against his. A growl rooted deep in his chest rumbles. I think it’s in approval, but then his hands tighten on my shoulders and he does, in fact, push me back so our mouths break apart.
I stare at him in confusion, because I know he’s turned on and I know he wants me. But it doesn’t fit in with the chill in his gaze and his unwillingness to kiss me.
“That stuff turns you on?” he asks coldly.
I’m losing the connection and I can see him retreating, so I tell him the only truth I’m sure about right now. “You turn me on.”
Bridger stares at me, his eyes going from glacial to muddy confusion.
“What do you want from me?” he practically croaks, and there’s no denying the tinge of fear in his eyes.
My heart plummets that I make this man scared because I was pretty sure he feared nothing. I want to cry because he’s petrified that I want him and for the life of me, I can’t imagine what happened to Bridger to make him fear a woman wanting him.
“I want to kiss you again,” I say breathlessly, wanting to push past his fears and have him give me something back in return. Something that lets me know I’m not the only one imagining this spark that’s pulsing between us.
Bridger’s body seems to lock tight, and he glares at me like I’m a complete annoyance. But then… his eyes drop down to my lips and he lets out an almost wistful sigh.
I hold my breath, waiting to see what he does.