Chapter 3
SHEP
“What the fuck are you talking about?” I said, leaning forward as far as the seatbelt would allow.
I was in the back of my friend Jackson’s brand new truck. It had every bell and whistle on the market, plus off-market add-ons. I knew, because I’d been the one to add the lift kit. And the running boards. And wired the high end sound system, which was now blasting country music.
“It’s a sex auction,” Jackson said, meeting my eyes for a second in the rearview mirror. “Premium pussy, dude.”
“Are you fucking kidding me? You’re into trafficking women?”
Cyrus turned in the front passenger seat to look back at me. From his expression, he thought I was batshit crazy. “Fuck, what the hell, dude? No. Women auction themselves off for a night of fun. Happens once a month.”
Fine, not sex trafficking, but this sounded shady as shit.
“How about we go to The Roadside and you have a night of fun with a woman without spending a dime?” I countered.
I’d never paid for sex and never thought I’d ever have to.
“This is a sure thing,” Jackson added. “Besides, for the money, you get to do some kinky shit no girl at a bar’s gonna want to do in a bathroom stall.”
I didn’t want to think about Jackson doing anything kinky.
Jackson’s parents owned a house on the other side of town from my family’s ranch.
Living full time in Los Angeles, they only came to Montana in the summer.
That’s how Jackson and I met, when we were seventeen and on a July float trip.
He came from family money and didn’t have to work.
In fact, he didn’t. He’d dropped out of college and moved into the “summer house” full time.
“You see a woman you want to fuck, you bid. You win, you find a quiet spot and go for it. Then we leave,” Cyrus explained. “They leave. No drama. No expectations. No clingers.”
“Is this even legal?” I asked, still stunned this was even happening.
Cyrus huffed. “Don’t go tattling to your brother.”
Meaning Colt, the county sheriff.
“No one gets hurt,” Jackson added. “The women are all there voluntarily. They leave at the end of the night just like we do, with sore pussies and full wallets. It’s not trafficking. It’s… a mutual exchange.”
I had to reevaluate my friend choices. Since when did I hang out with dickheads who thought a fun Saturday night was paying for sex?
It was a big fucking red flag. There was a chance of not only losing some money, but also getting a fucking STD.
Jackson and Cyrus only seemed like more entitled douche canoes than ever.
“I’m not sure if this is my kinda thing,” I admitted. I was all for sex. I was all for a woman who was just as into it as me. I just didn’t want her to be into me because of money.
Now, I fucking wished I’d driven. I didn’t have much choice in this probably-not-legal activity. Although, I could have them pull over and I’d get one of my brothers to grab me. We’d gotten each other out of sticky situations often enough. What was one more?
Before Jackson picked me up, I’d texted Pops to tell him I’d changed my mind about the new hire.
I spent the day thinking about how much of a dick I was for not offering someone an opportunity that Joe had given me.
If Pops’ friend Hank vouched for this kid, then it was time to practice a little paying it forward.
I couldn’t pin Marv’s mistakes on someone else.
He’d texted back that dinner was hot dogs, sauerkraut, queso dip, meatball sandwiches, and salt and vinegar potato chips. He asked if he could come out with me.
At the time, I laughed and thought of having him tag along, but now? Fuck no.
Pops was stuck with the girls and I was starting to think weird food cravings would be better than this.
“Where is the auction?”
We were headed out of town, the pavement giving way to dirt road a few minutes earlier.
“Two Rivers Ranch.”
Two Rivers Ranch? Cyrus had to be shitting me.
“The Trout place?” I asked, just to make sure.
“Yeah. Rocky hooked us up over the summer with an invite and we’ve been back every month since,” Jackson explained. “I’m telling you, man, the pussy is primo.”
Primo pussy or not, this was turning into a nightmare.
I closed my eyes and let my head fall back onto the headrest. The fucking Trouts. My family had a history with them.
I’d sorta grown up with Rocky, short for Rockford or something ridiculous, but he’d gone off to boarding school and I hadn’t seen him much since. No love lost there.
His younger brother, Chase, had gone to college with Zeb.
They’d even played football together. Until last month, when he’d been arrested for dealing drugs to high school kids.
Zeb’s girl, Cammie, had seen him in action and been threatened by the little punk.
Turned out, she’d had photo proof which got the Missoula police to pull security cameras and get even more evidence.
I’d heard he might take a plea, but he’d been kicked out of college and lost any chances of playing pro ball.
Back in the spring, Conrad Trout, the dad, had made a shady business arrangement to buy Ellie Mann. As in, pay off her father’s debt in exchange for marrying her. She’d run off into a fucking blizzard and had been found by Trig, thank fuck. They fell in love and had been married within two days.
The millionaire had also been doing shady shit to Katie Camden, trying to force her to sell him her family’s ranch. That hadn’t happened either and the last I heard from my brother Hayes, who was her lawyer, they were suing the shit out of the fucker.
Then there was the douche canoe nephew and… the Trout name meant trouble.
Having a sex auction at that place? Sounded just like something that would happen there.
That meant I had no choice now but to go and find out what the fuck it was all about.