The Virgin Next Door (Stud Ranch)

Which wasn’t to say when Calla finally pulled away, her pupils blown, and asked, “You wanna go upstairs?” he didn’t jump to his feet and all but drag her in the house and up to his room.

She giggled the whole way. At least until he closed the door behind them in his room and he pressed her up against it.

“Liam,” she whimpered between kisses. Fuck but he liked the sound of his name on her lips. Right then and there, he made it his mission to have her gasping it all night long.

18

MACK

It was the third day since Mack had gotten home with Torpedo and it wasn’t going any better today than it had yesterday or the day before. He wasn’t making any progress with the mustang. If anything, he felt the horse was getting jumpier around him.

He finally gave up for the day and went in the house to take a leak. After he went to the bathroom, he stopped in his room to check his phone messages before he went back out for evening chores.

Bone’s parole hearing was today. It had him on edge, he couldn’t lie. Xavier always said horses could sense your mood. If the way Torpedo had bolted away from him all day was any indication, Xavier was spot on.

Mack grabbed his cell and saw he had one voicemail. His throat got tight even as he shook his head at himself. Stupid to be so fucking anxious about it. Of course Bone wouldn’t make parole.

Still Mack felt his heartbeat in his ears when he listened to his old friend Sammy’s voice come over the line.

“Hey bro. Hope everything’s good out there in the prairie. Still can’t imagine you ridin’ a fuckin’ horse.”

Mack smiled. He and Sammy had gotten to know each other during a nickel Sammy had spent on the inside. He’d joined up with the Devil’s Spawn for protection just like Mack. Mack had tutored him and helped him get his GED and he was doing good now that he was out. Had a good job in customer service, a wife, a new baby. Living the fucking dream. He always said if there was anything Mack ever needed, to consider it done. Mack never thought he’d cash it in. Till he realized how helpful having someone with their finger on the pulse would be in keeping tabs on Bone.

“Yeah, so, bad news about Bone. I know you ain’t gonna want to hear this, but he’s gettin’ out. He made parole. Good behavior or some shit.”

Mack’s hands clenched into fists.

Parole?

What the fuck?

“I guess it takes two or three weeks for all the paperwork or whatever to go through. But yeah. By the end of the month, he’ll be out. Sorry, man. I’ll keep an eye on him for you and give you regular updates.”

“Fuck!” Mack barely stopped himself from throwing his phone across the fucking room.

He raked a hand through his hair and stood up, pacing across his room. The Devils must have paid someone off to get Bone out early. Motherfuckers. Bone had been in for a double homicide he’d committed when he was nineteen. Sentenced to twenty years. And they were gonna let the bastard out after sixteen?

Mack kicked the frame of his bed and it screeched as it moved across the floor. It wasn’t enough. He felt like ripping apart the whole damn room.

He leaned over with his hands on his knees. Calm down. He needed to calm the fuck down. So he thought he’d have a few more years to prepare. So what? Nothing had changed, not really. He’d gone over his plan a million times in his head. He’d just have to act sooner rather than later.

And in the end, Danny ‘Bone’ Jones would still be dead.

In the meantime, Mack needed to smash the fuck out of something. He leaned over and yanked his boxing gloves out from underneath the bed. Then he jogged down the stairs and toward the back barn where Xavier had let him set up a bag.

He wailed on the bag for half an hour or more. Instead of releasing his tension like it usually did, though, each hit only seemed to make his blood burn hotter. In two or three weeks that murderous, raping bastard would be back on the streets. Mack slammed the bag again, immediately pulling back for another punch.

“I saw you training Torpedo earlier.”

Mack startled at the soft voice. He jerked around and saw Calla standing a few feet away, leaning against the wall of the barn.

“You’ve got a gentle touch. You were good with him.”

Sweat poured off Mack’s brow and down his chest. He leaned over and grabbed his shirt from where he tossed it earlier to mop himself off. He didn’t look Calla’s direction again.

“Can we talk?” she asked.

“Got nothing to say.” He tossed the shirt back down and reared back for another swing at the bag.