Ridin’ Free (Wild Stallions MC #3)

Chapter 1

I was at a table near the back of the reception hall. If I had to guess, there were no more than a hundred of us in the room—summer’s sunset painting a breathtaking picture across the horizon, seen through the floor-to-ceiling windows on the furthest side of the space.

It was the prettiest barn I’d ever seen. So pretty, in fact, it seemed silly to call it a barn.

Then again, brides liked the idea of a rustic wedding—even if all it meant was the cushion-less chairs were made of wood and the table lacked the adornment of a tablecloth. Still, the place had crystal chandeliers, for crying out loud.

I pulled in a deep breath through my mouth, held it for a second, then slowly emptied my lungs through my nose. I was being a bitch. It didn’t matter that no one could hear my thoughts— I could.

This was the wedding Alexia wanted, and it was beautiful. No matter how jaded I was, I couldn’t deny that. Not to mention, even though we weren’t particularly close, I did like the bride. She was good people and a woman with far more intelligence than I’d ever possess.

Wrangler had chosen well.

Tess, another one of the ol’ ladies, hadn’t wanted a big wedding.

She and Mustang merely woke up one day and decided it was time.

As soon as she was sure her brother could make the trip to Gillette, they scheduled the date for a couple of days later.

They were married at the courthouse in October.

At the time, Tess was seven months pregnant with Lydia-Jane—but that didn’t stop her from wearing a bomb-ass, tight, white dress.

Mustang shut the bar down that night for anyone who wasn’t family, and they threw a party which lasted long after the bride and groom headed home.

I slung drinks, like I did every other night.

Technically, the Barker wedding was the second one I’d been invited to in a span of six months.

Maverick and Jenna were married in January.

I managed to get out of that one on account of it being a couple of hours out of town.

Most guests stayed the weekend—including Mustang—which meant I was able to pull the work card.

Someone had to stay behind and man the bar.

But the Barn at Aspen Acres was only a little over an hour outside of Gillette, in Spearfish, South Dakota.

Seeing as Wrangler had invited me himself, I couldn’t very well say no .

I wouldn’t call us friends, exactly—I didn’t have any of those.

Not really. Though, it couldn’t be disputed, he was a good guy.

We’d worked together at Steel Mustang for years.

I respected and appreciated him enough that I agreed to make the trip.

Now, from where I sat—as far away from the center of the room as I could get—I watched as Wrangler danced with his wife for the first time.

It wasn’t jealousy that gnawed away at my insides at the sight of them.

It was something nastier. Darker.

It was the devil I knew.

The monster of my lived experiences haunting me.

Taunting me.

No man had ever adored me. No man had ever looked at me like I was his whole world, the way Wrangler gazed at Alexia—not even my husband.

I knew what it felt like to be held. To be fucked. To be the object of one’s obsession. Still, I’d never been loved. If I was honest, I’d gone most of my life believing unconditional love didn’t exist. Not outside of a fairytale, anyway.

The evidence that it did was out there on the dance floor.

The reality of it broke my heart as much as it stitched it back together.

I’d seen it too many times now to deny it.

With Bull and Winnie.

With Mustang and Tess.

With Maverick and Jenna.

Now, the expression on Alexia’s face—it was further proof that love could be true, and pure, and beautiful. I knew, without any doubt or reservation, in Wrangler’s arms was the happiest place she’d ever been.

There she was safe.

There she was protected.

There she was loved.

I wasn’t jealous.

Jealousy implied I wanted what she had.

I didn’t. I knew better.

I wasn’t good. Not like her. Not like them.

I didn’t deserve that kind of happiness. The contentment I’d managed to find in my life was more than I ever dreamed I’d possess.

I’d learned not to be greedy; therefore, I wasn’t jealous.

On the contrary, it brought me a measure of peace knowing there were good women out there who found themselves in the arms of good men. Men who didn’t lie, manipulate, or bruise.

I couldn’t resent the women around me for their good fortune. I wouldn’t wish the nightmares of my past on anyone.

I was happy for Alexia—even if I thought rustic weddings in fancy barns were ridiculous.

Even if I felt like an imposter in a dress.

Even if the devil inside of me was feeding on my rotten core, reminding me of all I’d never had and all I never would.

I was pulled from my thoughts when someone grabbed the empty chair behind me, put it down beside me, and filled it with his large frame.

Twister.

He was in a pair of black chinos I’d bet all the money in my savings he’d worn exactly twice; both times out of loyalty to the brothers who asked him to stand as a groomsman on their wedding day.

The white button-up he had on underneath his kutte was fastened closed during the ceremony, but he wore it open now—revealing the black tank he had on underneath it.

The sleeves were rolled up over his forearms, exposing the ink that went from his elbows down to his knuckles.

“You look like you’re havin’ as much fun as I am, which is not nearly enough,” he muttered through a smirk. He draped his arm across the back of my chair and leaned toward me as he continued, “Wanna get drunk?”

Twister, like most of the Wild Stallions in the Gillette chapter, was an old acquaintance. Seeing as I wasn’t blind, there was no denying he was a handsome son-of-a-bitch. It was the full, thick, russet beard and the overgrown, wavy hair that did it for me.

The hairier the man, the more tolerable he was to look at.

He’d positioned himself close enough I caught a whiff of his scent. Woodsy and spicy, like cedar and amber. There was also the fragrance of leather and his own unique, natural musk.

Wild—like a cowboy.

Wild—like the Stallion he was.

I knew, despite the mischievous twinkle in his dark brown eyes, his invitation was completely innocent.

The knife I regularly wore on my hip—the one strapped to my thigh that night—garnered me a reputation on the compound.

All the Stallions knew I wasn’t a sheep; neither was I to be toyed with.

Not that I imagined any of them found me intimidating.

I was five-foot-two and weighed a buck-ten.

Even the smallest among them had me by at least fifty pounds.

But that didn’t matter. They respected me.

I’d broken up enough bar fights during my tenure at Steel Mustang to earn me that much.

I’d been roaming amongst the Stallions for almost six years, and never once had I partied with them. Not that I didn’t enjoy a drink every now and again—but I tried not to shit where I ate.

Except, at present, I wasn’t behind the bar. I wasn’t even in Wyoming. I was at a wedding. I was in a fucking dress. More than that, I apparently wasn’t doing a very good job of keeping my thoughts off my face. Not if Twister, of all people, noticed.

I glanced back out onto the dance floor. Wrangler whispered something in Alexia’s ear that made her whole face go soft before she curled herself even tighter against his chest.

For a split second, I remembered the man I once called mine—dressed in all black, clean shaven with dark, slicked back hair, standing at the end of the aisle in a Vegas chapel that was every bit as cliché as it sounded.

I blinked and shook away the thought as fast as I could.

God , I hated weddings.

I sighed, redirecting my gaze to meet Twister’s.

“Yeah,” I finally answered. “Yeah, I do.”

He grinned. “Fuck, yeah.”

I didn’t know what time it was or how much I’d had to drink—only that I’d managed to keep up with Twister thus far, and I was definitely drunk.

He returned to the table with two more shots of tequila, and I groaned as I glanced over my shoulder.

There were people still out on the dance floor, but this wasn’t the kind of party that would go all night.

I needed to sober up. I didn’t plan on staying in town until morning, and I wouldn’t get behind the wheel drunk.

“One more and I’m done,” I told Twister as he occupied the seat next to mine.

He, too, looked back over his shoulder before he flashed a crooked smile my way. “This party ain’t wrappin’ up anytime soon. What’s the rush?”

I picked up the shot glass, threw back the clear liquid, grimaced as it went down and then grabbed a wedge of lime from the bowl Twister commandeered earlier.

After I sucked out the juice, I tossed the rind on the table and replied, “Wasn’t plannin’ on stayin’ the night.

If I don’t stop drinkin’ now, I’ll never sober up. ”

“All the groomsmen are stayin’. We each rented out an A-frame,” he said, speaking of the little cabins situated not too far from the barn. “You could stay, too.”

No sooner had he made the offer than he threw his own shot back. As he did it, he didn’t take his eyes off me. I couldn’t tell if it was the tequila or my imagination—but it felt a little like he was coming onto me.

When he slammed his glass down on the table, I watched as his eyes fell to catch a glimpse of my cleavage.

I didn’t have much—but I had enough. Not to mention, I was sure he’d never seen me in a dress before.

It was nothing fancy. Black, polyester-blend, with a red floral pattern printed on it.

The sleeves clung to the middle of my biceps, and the hem hung loose around my black, combat Doc Marten’s.

The neck was wide and dipped low enough that he wasn’t looking at nothing.

Nevertheless, it caught me by surprise.

He'd never come on to me before.