Callie
I pull open the door to The Wicked Horse and push my way inside. Some type of rock-a-billy music I don’t recognize is playing, and it’s quite packed for a Wednesday night. I push my way through the crowd, craning my neck left and right trying to find Woolf.
I still can’t believe I’m here.
I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for his crazy threat this afternoon. After I’ve been ignoring his steady stream of calls since our fight outside of my doctor’s office, he sent me a text this afternoon that said if I didn’t come and see him and give him at least fifteen minutes of my time so we could talk, he was going to camp out on my front doorstep until I talked to him. He also pointed out that meant he’d probably get shot by my dad, but it was a risk he was willing to take.
Unfortunately, I know how serious my father is and I wasn’t willing to take the risk, so I told him I’d come by The Wicked Horse at nine PM, figuring this was safe and neutral territory. No way he could seduce me with his sexy words and skilled fingers. He’d keep that rock star penis away from me in a public setting, and I’d give him his fifteen minutes.
It would kill me.
Absolutely slay me to have to be in his presence for fifteen minutes, which was going to do nothing more than tear down all the walls I had been building up against him. I’m so damn sad and miserable that we can’t be together, and I’m pissed. I’m pissed that his solution is to keep me in some dark closet like a dirty little secret so he can still fuck me.
I know I’m worth more than that, and it feels like my heart has been shredded as I realize that Woolf clearly doesn’t think I’m worth more than that.
I also know the consequences if Woolf wanted to give it a real shot with me. That would mean he’d walk away from the club and I didn’t want him to do that either. As angry as I am over the thought that I wouldn’t be the obvious choice for him, I also feel strongly in not taking away something that has brought him a lot of happiness in an otherwise pressure filled and stressful career.
So it’s going to hurt something fierce to listen to him try to talk me into an illicit relationship tonight. It’s going to hurt and I’m going to be weak and consider it, because I’m so miserable without him. Sadly, the Old Callie Hayes sometimes thinks even just a small part of Woolf Jennings would be good enough to sustain me.
Ugh… I need my head examined for even thinking like that.
As I stomp my way through the crowd, looking for a man it hurts to look at sometimes, I get angrier as I consider something.
I’ve just never really been good enough for Woolf Jennings. He turned his nose up at me when I offered him my virginity. He walked away from me the night of the branding party. He wants to keep me tucked away right now, only for his use and satisfaction.
Fucking asshole, now that I think about it.
Just as I break free from the crowd toward the end of the bar, I’ve worked up a good head of steam. And holy shit… the sight that greets me causes my annoyance to turn into blistering rage.
Woolf is leaning casually up against the wall, talking to a few people. Nothing unusual about that, except a tall, blonde woman is standing next to him with her arm casually wrapped around his waist, and his arm is slung over her shoulders. They’re all laughing at something one of the men in the group says.
I just stand there, looking at the man who doesn’t seem to want to give me up, and I have to wonder why. He’s clearly got a good and happy life going on right here. Friends to laugh with and a gorgeous woman on his arm to fuck. And man, is she stunning. Long, wavy blonde hair, perfect facial features, and a body that would put any Victoria Secret’s model to shame. She’s wearing a blood red silk camisole with black jeans tucked into black, high-heeled boots. Her nipples are pebbled and poking hard through the silky material of her shirt, and I’m sure Woolf has gotten a good gander at that.
God, I’m so stupid.
I think about snagging a beer from a nearby patron and chucking it at his head, but then tears start pooling in my eyes and I realize my aim would be way off. I start to turn on my heel just as Woolf raises his eyes and looks at me. I expect him to flush with guilt that I caught him with another woman but instead, he steps away from the blonde and smiles at me brightly in welcome.
Yeah, well, fuck you, Woolf. Not interested in that threesome.
Spinning around, I push my way back through the crowd. I elbow a few people in the ribs to get them out of my way, but the first tear spills before I even make it to the door. Just as I reach out to push my way to freedom, a hand clamps down on my arm and I’m being spun around to face a very angry Woolf.
The minute he sees the silvery streak down my cheek though, his face immediately turns to worry and he asks, “What’s wrong?”
What’s wrong?
What’s wrong?
Is he fucking serious?
“Get your goddamn hands off me and just go back to the two-bit floozy who was hanging on your arm,” I shriek at him as I try to jerk away.
He blinks at me in confusion but holds me tight. “You mean Jenna?”
“Not really interested in her name,” I hiss at him and tug harder.
“Well, I want you to meet her,” Woolf says as he starts to pull me back through the crowd.
Since I have no chance of breaking free from his hold, I do the only thing I can think of. I kick out with my foot, catching him square in the back of his knee. His leg buckles and he has to release me to catch himself in the fall. I use the opportunity to jet back toward the door and almost make it before I’m being hauled up in the air, and once again, slung over Woolf’s shoulder.
Right where it all began.
He even swings me around hard and my boots hit someone, but he doesn’t care. He’s marching me straight back toward his office and from my upside-down perch, I push the hair out of my eyes and see Bridger following us in.
The minute the office door shuts behind us, Woolf lowers me to the floor and I go supreme Tasmanian devil on him, all of my anger and misery pouring out all at once. I slap his chest hard in a one-two-three combo. “You big bully motherfucker,” I yell at him. “How dare you drag me back here like a fucking caveman? I am not your property.”
I slap at his chest again for good measure, knowing I didn’t hurt him in the slightest, and spin for the door. His arms shoot out and wrap around my waist, and I start flailing my arms and kicking my legs in an attempt to get loose. Yes, I know I’m acting like a brat, but I’m absolutely beyond reason right now. I’m so angry at him for just… just… everything, that I think I’m seriously on the verge of flipping my shit and earning me a one-way ticket to the insane asylum.
“Jesus Christ,” Woolf mutters and then grunts as my boot catches him in the shin. “Will you calm the fuck down?”
That makes me kick and punch out harder. I manage to catch him on his jaw, which is hard as a rock and hurts my knuckles bad, but he finally relents and thrusts me into Bridger’s arms.
“Hold her down,” Woolf says in a steely voice and even though I’m still fighting like a wild cat, something about those words reaches through to me.
Right down deep… between my legs.
Images of Bridger holding me down while Woolf—
Wait! No fucking way.
“Let me go,” I hiss at Bridger. “Or I’ll stomp your nuts into the ground.”
He chuckles and wraps his arms around me tighter. “Zip your lips, precious, or I’ll stick something in your mouth that will keep it occupied.”
And… did my mouth just water at the thought?
I shake my head in denial as Bridger carries me over to the couch and dumps me unceremoniously there. He glares down at me, but the little amused tilt to his lip tells me that he’s finding this funny as fuck and only trying to act bad ass. I glare back at him.