Cowboy Casanova (Rough Riders #12)(170)

He’d asked for that pass for Ainsley. The fact she’d never use it made him lash out.

“Go away. I ain’t in the mood to deal with you right now.” Ben sidestepped him.


But Dalton anticipated the move. “What are you in the mood for? Beating on another

helpless woman? With a f*cking bullwhip, for Christsake?”


“Keep your goddamn voice down.”


“The f*ck I will. I want some f*ckin’ answers on why you get off whipping women as

they cry out for you to stop hitting them! I couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw you

with that older couple. I looked in the window and watched you beat her. And then I saw

you immediately jump at the chance to beat another chick. Jesus. What did either of

those women do to you?”


Dalton was more muscle bound, but Ben had more experience dealing with hotheads, so he

grabbed his cousin by his shirt and shoved him into room three.


Ben would’ve welcomed Dalton taking a swing at him. But Dalton paced. Muttered to

himself. Ben had wondered how he’d handle it if this day came. How he’d explain. If

he even wanted to try.


Then Dalton invaded his space. “How long have you been comin’ to this place?”


“I helped start this club six years ago.”


“So how many women have you tortured and raped during that time?”


Ben shoved Dalton and held the whip handle against his throat. “Back the f*ck off,

Dalton. You don’t have the first f*ckin’ clue what you’re talking about. You’re

just flapping your gums, spouting bullshit and proving your ignorance.”


“I know what I saw.”


“Do you? If what I was doing was so unwanted or wrong, then why the hell didn’t the

woman’s husband stop me? Then why didn’t any one of the fifty other members watching

the last scene step in and stop me? Not because they were scared I’d turn the whip on

them. They didn’t stop it because they understood what I was doin’. You don’t.”


“You’re goddamned right I don’t,” Dalton retorted. “What kind of man does this?

And do you know the really sick part? You didn’t get off doin’ it.”


“So you’re saying you’d understand it more if I would’ve f*cked those women

afterward?”


“Yes. No. Maybe. Fuck, I don’t know. This makes no sense to me.” Dalton paced to the

back of the room and jammed a hand through his hair. “I don’t get it. Why?”


Ben dropped into the chair. “You think I can explain it enough to satisfy you? I

recognize that look in your eyes, Dalton and that is the reason I don’t broadcast

this. Here at the club I find women who are looking for the same thing.”


“Lookin’ to get their asses whaled on?” Dalton sneered.


“Sometimes.”


“So you’re tellin’ me this private club is a real freak parade.”


“This place is no more a freak parade than the Golden Boot, where you troll for *

every weekend.”


Dalton took a belligerent stance, arms crossed over his chest, feet braced wide.

“Wrong. This ain’t normal.”


“You’ve never tied a woman up during sex?”