• Fourteen •
· Fourteen ·
We might need to get a new jockey.
Storm
“When are you going to tell me why you’re in such a fucking bad mood?” Sebastian said, setting a beer down in front of me before he sat down on the sofa across from me with his own.
“I’m not in a bad mood,” I replied, picking up the beer and taking a long pull from the bottle.
“Yeah, you are,” he replied. “You’ve been snarling and scowling for three days.”
I took another drink, not wanting to talk about this. He was right, but I wasn’t going to admit it. If I did that, I would have to admit why, and I preferred to lie to myself. It was easier than remembering. That look on her face. Goddammit! I slammed my beer down with more force than necessary, and I could feel Sebastian’s eyes on me. I’d just proven his point.
Shoving my fingers in my hair, I sighed heavily. “Guess I’m not sleeping great,” I muttered.
“Yeah, sure, that’s it. I mean, we often go forty-eight hours without sleep, and you always act like a complete asshole.” Sarcasm dripped from his words.
I dropped my hands and leaned back on the sofa. Sebastian stared at me while he took a drink from his bottle. He was waiting on an explanation, and normally, I told him everything. Once, that had been Wells, but things had changed when we became adults, leaving our youth behind. Wells was self-absorbed, and the older we got, the more I realized he was never going to care about anything more than his own needs.
Sure, we would always be friends. We lived the same life. We’d grown up in it. But no one would ever be as important to Wells as he was to himself. It was hard to trust someone that was like that with your secrets. When life got real and our biggest problem wasn’t stealing our dad’s whiskey or getting laid, Sebastian and I had become tighter. If I was going into a dangerous situation and I had to choose, it would be Sebastian I wanted at my side.
“I’m messed up in the head about some shit. I’m working it out,” I finally said, knowing he wasn’t going to let this go.
He raised an eyebrow and took a sip. “That shit happen to be a smoking hot redhead?”
I cut my gaze from the bottle in my hand to him.
He shrugged. “Good guess?”
I shook my head and stood up. “No.”
“Ah, denial. That’s not gonna snap you out of beast mode. Admit it. Face it. Then figure out how to get over it or … not.”
I swung my eyes back to him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Sebastian grinned. “Exactly what I said. Whatever happened on your little jaunt to Miami fucked with you. Accept whatever it was that happened and move on. If you can’t move on, then go get some more.”
He had no idea what he was talking about. He meant well, but he read too many fucking books. Life was more complicated.
“Nope,” I replied as I started for the door again.
If I went to get some more, I wasn’t sure I could stop. The image of Briar coming on my hand as her tight cunt squeezed my fingers with her orgasm was burned into my brain. The taste of her pussy was taunting me. Reminding me how much better it would be straight from the source. There was nothing as fucking beautiful as that woman getting off.
I was tense all over again. Thinking about her seemed to do that to me. The craving to go back to her, tie her up, and get my mouth all over her body was getting stronger with every breath I took. She’d probably point her gun at my head, and that image only made my cock harder.
Once I stalked outside, I took several deep breaths, trying to think about anything other than those blue eyes looking up at me, full of want. Hearing her sexy little cries and moans. MOTHERFUCKER! I closed my eyes tightly, fisting my hands at my sides, and willed myself to think of anything else.
Horses, knives, Maeme’s fried chicken…
“Excuse me. Storm, right?” a female voice asked.
My eyes snapped back open to see the new jockey, Capri, I thought Sebastian had called her.
“Yeah?” I asked.
She jumped, and I realized I’d barked out the word. I hadn’t meant to, but she needed to get tougher if she was gonna work here. I didn’t have time to worry about some shy, soft-spoken minister’s daughter.
“I, uh, I was wondering if you, knew, um …” She was stammering, and that just annoyed me more.
“I don’t have all fucking day.” The words came out before I could stop them.
Her eyes widened, and she paled. Sighing, I started to apologize when my entire body was shoved back against the wall with enough force to take my breath. My defense instincts immediately kicked in, and my hand was on the butt of my Glock when I realized who had just body-slammed me into a brick wall.
The unhinged gleam in Thatcher’s eyes wasn’t new. He always seemed a little unsettled, but right now, there was a feral threat in his expression that I’d never witnessed before.
What the fuck was wrong with him?
“Leave,” he ground out in a hollow tone.
“You’ve got me up against the fucking wall, man. Where the hell you want me to go?”
“Thatch!” Sebastian’s voice didn’t mask his alarm.
No one wanted to set Thatcher off. We were never sure about what triggered him. When he’d been a teenager, he’d broken a guy’s neck, and to this day, we didn’t know why. He refused to tell anyone, and because of Stellan and the family, he hadn’t gone to prison. But for a moment, he’d been real close to being put behind bars.
His hold on me eased, and I watched him closely, making sure he wasn’t about to pull his gun or knife next.
He pointed toward the truck parked closest to us. “Leave,” he repeated.
“Thatch, what the fucking hell, man?” Sebastian asked, sounding as confused as I was.
He shifted his crazed stare to his brother, then back to me. “Don’t ever speak to her like that again.”
Oh. Oh. Oh fucking hell. My eyes widened, and I simply nodded, not sure if saying what I was thinking would end up with him snapping my neck or slicing my throat.
“Thatcher?” The tiny, petite jockey called his name, and he tensed even more, then turned and stalked off. Not toward her, but in the direction of the main house.
“What did you say?” Sebastian asked me in a low voice, not wanting Thatcher to hear him and come back to finish what he had started.
I shrugged, then glanced over at the jockey, who was frozen in her spot. “I’m sorry,” I told her. “I’m having a bad day, but I shouldn’t have snapped at you.”
She nodded, wringing her hands nervously in front of her. “It’s fine. We all have bad days.” The sincerity on her face was real. There was a kindness there. Sweet. She was sweet and innocent-looking.
I looked at Sebastian, and I could tell he was thinking the same thing I was. If Thatcher had some weird thing for her, then she was in deeper shit than any of us.
“Uh, Capri, do you know my brother? I mean, have you dealt with him while working here?” he asked her.
She was silent, and I could see the anxiety slowly creeping up into her features. She looked ready to run. This girl was not Thatcher’s type. Not even close.
“Not much.”
“Not much,” Sebastian repeated, not sounding convinced.
She shook her head, then sighed as her shoulders dropped some. “We were friends once. It was a long time ago.”
Sebastian’s eyebrows flew up, and he pointed toward the direction Thatcher had gone. “You were friends with him? Thatcher? My crazy-as-fuck older brother?”
The clear disbelief in his tone echoed in my head as I stood there in shock.
She smiled then. A soft smile that lit up her face. It wasn’t that she was plain or anything. She was pretty. The wholesome kind of pretty. But when she smiled, it transformed her face. The kind you stopped and looked twice at. Her eyes seemed to dance with amusement, as if she had some private joke that we weren’t privy to.
“He’s not crazy,” she said. “Maybe a little intense at times.”
“At times?” Sebastian asked, then let out a laugh.
She lifted her shoulders slightly. “Maybe it’s you that doesn’t know him.”
“Sweetheart, I’ve lived with him my entire life. I know him better than anyone. And …” He paused and looked to make sure Thatcher was gone from sight before continuing, “He is an unpredictable, sadistic motherfucker. Whatever friendship you think you had with him once, forget it. Stay clear of him, okay? He’s not stable. Never has been. Just stick to working with Bloodline and go back home. No interacting with him.”
She nodded. “That’s easy enough. He doesn’t really talk to me.”
Sebastian looked at me, then back at her. “He just slammed a friend against a fucking wall for snapping at you.”
She sighed and held up her hands. “I have no clue why he did that. Like I said, he really doesn’t speak to me. Our friendship was brief, and I thought he had forgotten about it and me … until that just happened.”
We might need to get a new jockey. That would be easier than asking Thatcher about his connection to her. King was gonna be upset over it since he was so pumped this one was working out so well. But King could deal with Thatcher if he wanted to. He seemed to not fear him more than the rest of us.
She waved then, and I looked to see JB, one of our best stable hands, walking from the stables with one of the new thoroughbreds we were currently boarding. “There he is. I’m sorry about that,” she said to me. “I need to go. That was who I was looking for.”
We both stood there as she ran over to JB, who was grinning at her like a fucking idiot. That was a nightmare just waiting to happen. If I was right and Thatcher had any kind of thing for the sweet little jockey, JB’s days might be numbered.
“You need to talk to your dad,” I told Sebastian.
“No shit,” he muttered. “Preferably before Thatcher kills JB.”
“You don’t think he’s got a … thing for her? I mean, she’s a minister’s daughter, and she’s … nice and good and shit.”
Sebastian shook his head, still looking like he’d walked into the twilight zone. “I fucking hope not. For Capri’s sake.”
“And JB’s,” I added as they laughed, walking side by side out to the corral.
“That too,” he agreed.
When he started in the direction of his house, I stood there, wondering how the hell this was gonna play out until my own problems came back to me. At least for a moment, I’d forgotten her.