Chapter 5

Logan

By six AM, I have everything set up to take Magnus fishing, and I’m waiting patiently at the back of my boat trailer for him to arrive. I’m almost betting he doesn’t show, and it’s going to piss me off because I actually had shit I had to do today that was far more important than guiding his ass down the Snake River.

Nothing I hate worse than taking a prissy douche fishing. I bet he won’t even touch a fish if he’s lucky enough to catch one.

My sixteen-foot drift boat sits in the shallow water off the bank of the South Fork ramp, held in place against the current by a pyramid shaped anchor I dropped to the rocky bottom. I then pulled my truck and trailer up to a parking spot, where two local kids will pick it up and move it to another ramp a few miles downriver where we’ll end up porting at the end of the trip. I pay them ten bucks each to do this, which doesn’t sound like a lot, but there is so much fishing in this area and so many one-man crews like me who operate that they can work at this solidly for eight hours a day moving vehicles and make pretty good money for a high school kid.

I hear the crunch of gravel under tires and look up from my brooding toward the river to see a black Porsche pulling in. Nice car, but he’s still a douche.

Magnus gives me a little wave as he pulls in beside my truck. I push away from the boat trailer and start walking down toward my boat, not even waiting for him. I hear his car door open, then close, and the sound of his feet crunching over the gravel to catch up to me.

“Good morning,” he says pleasantly from behind me.

“Mornin’,” I say, forcing a jovial tone to my voice that I’m just not feeling. I peer over my shoulder at him and see he’s weirdly dressed in a fancy-type tracksuit in black with silver racing stripes down the legs. It’s apparent he sees my look of amusement at his outfit as he gives me a smarmy grin and says, “I didn’t have much in the way of clothing options. Afraid all I brought with me to Wyoming was fancy suits and a few of my workout outfits. Left all my jeans and cargo pants at home back in New York.”

I call bullshit because I can tell that prissy motherfucker abhors the idea of sweat. I’d cut off my left nut and hand it to him if he’s ever worked out a day in his life… skinny, pasty, weak motherfucker.

“You’re good,” I force myself to say lightly. “Doesn’t matter what you wear, really. Except… you’re going to need a hat. Once that sun gets up, it will burn your head if you’re not careful.”

“I didn’t bring one,” he says worriedly as we reach the boat.

“No worries,” I say as I stop at the bow, which rests only about two feet off the bank in water that’s only a few inches deep. “Let me just help you in, and I’ll get one for you.”

With my right hand on the bow, I hold my hand out to Magnus in an offer to steady him as he climbs in the boat. But he doesn’t make a move, looking worriedly back and forth between the water and what I’m guessing are very expensive and never before worn tennis shoes.

“I have to get in the water?” he hesitantly asks.

“Yup. Although you can take your shoes and socks off to get in so they don’t get wet,” I explain, not thinking he’ll be that big of a sissy.

But to my surprise, he sits down on the gravel and pulls the fuckers right off. With his pale, bony bare feet, he gets back up, hobbles over the gravel, and lets me help hoist his body into the boat. I pick up his shoes and socks and hand them to him, trying hard to keep my facial expressions pleasant and not downright disgusted.

Because everything about this man disgusts me.

I had a crappy night of sleep. You’d think I’d have slept great since I’d succeeded in getting Auralie out of something she clearly didn’t want to do. I just assumed she’d had some experience with oral since she sucked dick like a champ, but she was clearly wigged out about having Jacob put his mouth down on her unmentionables.

I was wigged out by it too, which is utterly ridiculous. It smacks of jealousy, which is an emotion I haven’t felt in years. In my life, I’ve been envious of many things.

People’s ability to handle stress.

Other people’s skills.

Hell… other people’s jobs.

Love.

Security.

Season tickets to the Bulls.

A speedy metabolism.

The ability to yodel.

Whatever.

But not once in the past two years has jealousy even flitted through my senses when it comes to sex and a woman. That’s because in order to be jealous, you have to desire something as if it’s precious to you, and while it’s true I desire Auralie’s body, I most certainly don’t desire the purity of it in a way that makes me proprietary.

As I said… don’t care if she’s a virgin.

Don’t care she’s sucked other guys’ dicks at The Silo.

Okay, well… that does bug me, but whatever.

The point is I shouldn’t care one bit if another man touches her, but for some reason last night, the thought of Jacob having her pissed me off so badly, I was on the verge of taking Heather in that Orgy Room and fucking her pussy with my mouth right beside Auralie so she could see what she was missing.

It was utter madness, and it actually frightens me the lengths I was willing to go to try to foil Magnus’ plan to display Auralie out like a piece of meat and let another man touch what isn’t mine but I wished to hell was.

I shake my head and try to get my head in the game. Because while I have absolutely no desire to spend the next four hours with this jackass—which is how long the trip will take downriver—I most certainly am going to use this opportunity to try to find out exactly what his plans are. The “rumor” has been heavy that Magnus intends to sell her virginity, and I say rumor only because I haven’t heard it straight from his mouth. He’s told other people—namely Bridger—but he’s not made a formal type of announcement.

I almost hope to God it’s true. If so, it means these people will be gone from The Silo soon after the sale. If Auralie’s out of sight, she’ll most definitely be out of my mind.

Fucking liar.

No way will she be out of my mind when I’ve been using the fantasy images of her lying beneath me to get myself off at night, or to chase away bad dreams.

Fuck… even last night after she left with Magnus, I waited a sufficient time for them to be able to get out of the parking lot, and then went to my little camper in the woods. What does it say about me—what does it say about what she’s done to me with her sweet eyes and curvy hips—that I gave up an opportunity last night for some amazing sex at The Silo?

I just wasn’t fucking into it, and that scares me more than anything. I need the lure of sex. I need the numbing power of the almighty orgasm. If I don’t have those available to me, I’m only stuck with my thoughts and my bad deeds. I cannot live life that way. I won’t survive it.

Chasing away those particularly morose thoughts, I lift a leg over the edge of the boat, my Teva-clad feet splashing down briefly into the shallow water before I haul myself in.

My drift boat is a source of pride for me. It’s necessary for me to make a living, and it wasn’t cheap even though I bought it used. It’s aluminum with a swivel, high-backed chair at the bow and at the stern, as well as a bench seat in the middle where I sit in between two nine-and-a-half foot oars on either side. I use those oars not to propel me downriver, because the current does that—hence the name drift boat—but to steer me past small rapids and to move me from one side of the large river to the other to hit certain fishing holes I know are guaranteed catch spots.

When I take a party out on my boat in the summer, I dress in cargo shorts and a tank top. While it never gets overbearingly hot in Wyoming, the sun in still strong and I’m always tanned to a golden brown. I remember a few weeks ago I was in The Silo eating some pussy, and I must have looked up at the girl—can’t remember her name—and she gasped, “Oh my God… your eyes… they pop against your tan. So hot.”

That caught me off guard. I missed a targeted lick to her clit, but then I got back on my game and got her off quickly thereafter. I put her words out of my mind then, and the only reason I’m thinking about them now is because five minutes ago, I was just thinking about Jacob eating Auralie out and how jealous I felt. I wonder if she would think my eyes were amazing as she stared down at me when I—

Fuck!

Get your head in the game, Logan.

“All right,” I tell Magnus as I move past where he’s seated in the bow seat. I sit down on the middle bench, use a winch crank to pull the short length of rope and anchor holding us on the bank, and I use the oars to push us off into deeper water. The aluminum bottom scrapes along the rocks, but my upper-body muscles easily get us dislodged. “Let me get us to the middle of the river, and then I’ll take a few moments to show you some casting techniques.”

“Okay,” Magnus says as he looks around at the stunning scenery, although I have a vague notion he’s not the type to appreciate the blue waters, summer green buttes, and rocky crags as we float downriver. I release an oar, which is held in place by an oarlock that prevents it from falling into the water, and reach down to my backpack at my feet. Fishing around inside, I pull out an old baseball cap that I keep in there.

Handing it to Magnus, I say, “Put that on your head. And grab that life vest at your feet and put it on.”

“You’re not wearing a hat,” he says as he does my bidding.

“I’m used to the sun,” I tell him as I direct the boat to mid river, lock the oars so they’re out of the water and won’t drag, and then pick up a fishing pole I’d readied by putting a dry stonefly nymph onto the hook. They’re hatching now and the fish are tearing them up. And I can’t help adding on, “Your skin looks a bit delicate to go without a hat.”

He doesn’t seem to take offense and just nods, watching me with interest. Over the next ten minutes, I teach him how to cast the rod from a seated position on the boat. I try to show him how to stand up when he’s casting, but he’s not very balanced or coordinated. The slight rocking almost causes him to pitch into the water.

Once he has the basics, I take the oars in hand and start directing the boat as it rides the current. I pull into a few well-known spots where he’s almost guaranteed to get a hit, and by the third riffle he casts into, he surprisingly does as I instruct and pulls the tip of the rod up hard when he feels a trout snag the fly.

I talk him through the mechanics.

Keep the tip up.

Reel it in.

Keep reeling.

Tip up so there’s tension. If you lower it, he can jump off the hook.

All right. Hold steady. Let me get my net.

And sure as shit… I swear he almost squeals when I offer to let him hold the fish briefly before I release it back into the water. With his nose wrinkled, he says, “No, thank you. They look terribly slimy.”

No shit, Sherlock.

As we continue downstream, Magnus makes some more casts, but then he seemingly gets bored and says, “I think I’ll take a break.”

After setting the pole down, he kicks his legs out, crosses them, and says, “So, how long have you been a member of The Silo?”

“Going on about a year now,” I say as I periodically look over my shoulder at the river since I’m sitting with my back to the direction we’re headed. I use some small maneuvers with the oars to keep us in the center, which is guaranteed to get us to our destination much quicker than if I were going side to side to hit some popular fishing spots.

“And what do you think of my sweet Auralie?” he slyly asks.

I think about playing dumb or aloof, but despite what a shmuck I think this guy is, I don’t think he’s overly stupid. “She’s extremely beautiful. Surely, you know that.”

“I do indeed,” he says. “She’ll fetch a good price for sure.”

“So it’s true then,” I push at him, because I know he’s being intentionally coy to make me ask. “You’re going to auction off her virginity?”

“That I am,” he says like a proud peacock. “And I was wondering if you’d be so kind as to perhaps give me some inside scoop on some of the wealthier patrons there. Perhaps not just the wealthiest, but also those most inclined to have a proclivity toward virgins. While I’m not in an overall hurry to get this deal done, because I want to drive the price as high as possible, it would certainly make things more efficient if I can let those most likely to bid on her have a little bit of time with her first. Sort of an appetizer, so to speak.”

My jaw locks and I want to tell him to go to hell, because no way in fuck do I want to help him perpetuate this travesty. I have no clue why Auralie feels like she needs to do this, but I know without a doubt she doesn’t want to. But before I decline, his next words almost knock me on my ass.

“And if you’d be willing to give me some good tips, I’d be inclined to reward you,” he says in a smooth voice. “With perhaps a little liaison with Auralie tonight?”

“Liaison?” I ask, my voice croaking with tightness.

“Well,” he says with a giggle—and Jesus fuck, men are not meant to giggle. “You can’t have her virginity, but you can do whatever else you want with her. Of course, it has to be in a viewing room so other patrons can see. She’s still a very valuable commodity to me. Everything is about making that sale, you understand?”

“I get to be with her tonight?” I ask, terrified he’s bullshitting me. I want her so bad, but I don’t want any part of this deal, which means I’m equally terrified he’s being serious.

“Tonight,” he confirms. “You give me the inside scoop on those I should be focused on, and I’ll start focusing on them after you have her tonight. Deal?”

I’m absolutely going to hell.

And I don’t care.

“Deal.”