Wicked Need (The Wicked Horse Series Book 3)(65)

I lean toward him, keeping my voice just above a whisper. “Do you know how much strange cock I’ve had in me? Multitudes of men who I didn’t even know their name? Fucking me in my mouth… my *… my ass. I never said no. I never thought to have a tiny bit of self-respect and tell my *, evil husband that I wasn’t doing those nasty things. I took it over and over again, and you know why? Because I liked the money and the lifestyle. I didn’t want to go back to a dirty, cockroach-infested apartment or a sticky stage with a stripper pole. I whored myself out to be a wealthy woman, and I did it without regrets. Is that the type of person you could fall in love with?”

“I know all of that,” Rand says back in a low voice, and I don’t detect a trace of bitterness over my “used goods” status. Instead, his voice is gentle as he reiterates, “I know all that and I don’t care. But you are wrong about one thing… you do have regrets. If you didn’t, it wouldn’t bother you so much right now.”

I blink at him, unsure of what to say.

He’s so right.

I regret everything I’ve ever done from the moment I met Samuel Vaughn. I regret marrying someone without love, for choosing money over respect, and for hurting Rand in any way.

He leans in closer, lips hovering just inches away from mine. I breathe in, and he smells so good…

“You do what you have to do, Cat,” Rand says softly. “It’s not chasing me away.”

He kisses me. Nothing but a tender kiss on the corner of my mouth.

Then he turns away from me and walks out of The Silo.





Chapter 23


Rand



I’m not a fan of Vegas. Been a handful of times, usually for a bachelor party. Not big on gambling, definitely don’t want to see Cirque de Soleil or Celine, and all-you-can-eat buffets are overrated.

This part of Vegas isn’t much better. No glitzy lights. No throng of people walking around with stars in their eyes.

Nope. Cat’s mom lives in a small trailer park on the outskirts of town with nothing but flat desert as far as the eye can see. When I pull my Suburban onto the dirt path that leads into the entrance, dust kicks up and swirls all around.

I left Cat in The Silo going on almost twenty-four hours ago.

I left her behind and told her she needed to do what she needed to do, and I don’t regret that. I can’t make Cat into something she doesn’t want to be. I have to let her figure things out so she accepts them.

She has to be in control of her destiny. Of that, I’m absolutely certain.

So I went home, packed a duffle bag with a few days’ worth of clothing, and hopped in my SUV. I drove straight out of town and headed south, intent on doing something for Cat that might help her regain her identity. It’s a long shot, but I don’t have anything but time on my hands.

I thought about flying because I hate long drives, but then immediately discounted it for two reasons. First, I needed space from Cat and I needed it at that moment. Probably couldn’t have caught a flight out last night and that would mean a potential run in with her at the apartment. She needed the space to figure things out as well, so I knew driving the ten-plus hours would do the trick. Secondly though, and most important, it gave Bridger time to do what he needed to do.

As soon as I hit the road, I called him and told him I was going to find Cat’s father. He seemed neither surprised nor skeptical of my actions, but just asked what he could do to help. I told him I needed to first find Cat’s mom because she was the only one who knew who he was. Cat told me her mother said he abandoned them and she didn’t even put the name on the birth certificate.

No clue if that’s true or not, but I’m going to find out.

Bridger also showed me why he’s got the respect of everyone in The Silo, and why people turn to him when their troubles get too much to handle.

“I’m heading back over to The Silo now,” he’d told me last night. “I’ll keep an eye on her for you.”

“Let her do what she wants to do,” I told him, even though the thought of her f*cking someone there made my stomach knot up.

“You got it, brother,” he replied. “And for what it’s worth, you’re doing the right thing.”

“Going to find her father?”

“No,” he said solemnly. “Letting her figure herself out. Only way it’s going to work between you two.”

The words were a small comfort as I traveled mile after mile to Nevada. But even his wise words started to dull when I saw Vegas come into view around eight AM. I went straight to the Bellagio and checked in.

Pulled my clothes off and fell on the bed in an exhausted heap.

Sleep came easily despite my worries.

When I woke up around five, Bridger had sent me a text with Trish Lyons’ address and two additional words, Good luck.

After a quick shower and a room service meal, I got my Suburban from the valet and headed out of town to hopefully get the information I need.

I navigate the neat rows of trailers, all fairly well-kept with underpinning and permanent decks built on although they all have some age on them. As I pull up to Trish’s home, I see a silver sedan parked perpendicular to the porch steps, and I hope it’s hers. I’m prepared to camp out and wait if it’s not, but I’d sure like to get this over with because I doubt it’s going to be pleasant.