Unleashed: Volume 1

Kara’s lips parted as she gazed at me. I knew I’d never had anyone like her. There was something so fresh and pure about her. The girls I knew? They were out for what they could get, and seemed to know from a real early age that it might not be much. Life could be brutal and once you’d seen some serious shit go down, the kind that changed you for good, you sized up every new person you met like a potential enemy.

Kara wasn’t from that world. She had a sweetness to her, you could see it right away. Innocent, probably generous and trusting, too. She needed to stay the hell away from me.

I brought my arms up and crossed them against my chest, hand up over my tattoo: not for you, kiddo. This chick? I knew she wouldn’t want to play, not the way I liked to, rough and dirty. And there was no way in hell I’d go there, not with her father standing over us. I needed this job.

I glared at her. She got the message. She looked away, a flicker of hurt passing over her lovely features. Then she just looked pissed off.

“This here’s my little girl, Kara.” Harlan gave her a pat on the head like she was a toddler.

“Pleased to meet you,” she said to me, real tight and dismissive.

I nodded in response. I’d show her cool. Kara turned her attention to Harlan, working him, clearly used to getting everything and anything she wanted. A spoiled brat. And she had a boyfriend, her dad mentioned him. Some beefy farm boy, no doubt, taking her out to a goddamn bonfire or some shit that night. Dumb country bucks thinking they owned the world.

Someday, someday soon, I’d get the fuck out of there. I’d make something of myself and put all of the shit I’d been through behind me. It didn’t matter what was on paper, the stats—absent father, junkie mother, foster kid, criminal. Those were all just labels. I knew I was more than that. I had drive. I worked hard. And I had ideas, good ones. All I needed was the right opportunity. It might be at Harlan’s ranch. I just had to stay out of trouble, play my cards right and it would happen. I knew it would.

Whatever it was that Kara wanted, she got. “Course you can, princess,” Harlan said.

That nickname was perfect. I smirked. The princess caught me and scowled.

“Have a good time, sugar.” Harlan sent her off. She turned tail and flounced away in that tiny scrap of a skirt on up to her house. I didn’t watch. I locked my attention onto Harlan and kept my mind on business.

Harlan did too. He got right into saying exactly what I knew he’d say next.

“That girl walking right there? That’s my whole world.” Harlan chewed on a long piece of grass, looking out into the middle distance. “I’d kill anyone who hurt her. Not think twice about it.”

I nodded. Message received, loud and clear.

“What you do off this ranch? That’s your business. ” He looked at me, now, dead serious. “What you do on this property? That’s my business. You’re here to work and work hard. You stick to that and we’re going to get along just fine. How’s that sound to you?”

“Sounds good to me,” I answered honestly, straight and direct. I meant it.

He nodded. “You got determination, boy. I can see that in your eyes. You want to make something of yourself. I like that.”

“OK.” I shifted my weight. A guy warning me off of his daughter? That I got, I knew how to deal with that. But fatherly praise? That made me uncomfortable. My father had up and left before I was even born. That kind of ‘I believe in you’ shit didn’t sit right with me.

“Come on, let me show you around your new home.” I followed Harlan, wondering about that word. Home. I couldn’t say I’d ever had one. It wasn’t melodramatic. It was a fact. I’d never lived in one place more than a year. My mother never stayed put, always off in the middle of the night when she couldn’t make rent, crashing somewhere until we outstayed our welcome. Then after the fire, after she’d gotten locked up, then came the foster homes. None of those had exactly stuck. I had a few permanent scars I’d carry around with me, but nothing permanent about the houses and people who’d passed in and out of my life.

I wouldn’t stay at Harlan’s ranch long, either, just five months. Head down, eyes on the prize, I’d work my ass off. And I’d keep my mind and hands off that ass on my boss’s daughter.

§

That night, I checked out the local bar. I was 21 now but I’d had a fake ID for a couple of years and passed easy for 25. I was big and tall and tough. I hadn’t had a problem getting into a bar for a couple of years now.

I drank a few beers, keeping to myself and checking things out. It seemed pretty much like every other honky-tonk bar I’d been in across the state, and I’d been in more than a few. You had some married, drunk truckers trying to score with drunk local girls. You had some young bucks, showing off shooting pool and trying to score with drunk local girls. And you had me, figuring out which drunk local girl I was going to screw that night.

I surveyed my options. They teetered around in heels too high for them to handle and skirts too short to fully cover their goods. Bra straps slipping down, drinks sloshing across their tops, things got messy as the night wore on.

A scene like this, I was in my element. Easy pickings. No questions asked, a minimum of small talk, and some sweaty, balls-to-the-wall sex.

I always made sure they came first, such a gentleman. Really, it was that I got off on that, too. I liked seeing a girl’s face when she came. That moment when she forgot everything, whether she’d been trying to act sexy or whether she’d been nervous about looking good with her top off. I liked it when she got lost in desire, grunting and moaning and desperately needing more, shoving her pussy against me and bucking her clit for release. I loved watching a girl arch back and scream. Depending on where we were, sometimes I’d cover her mouth firm with my hand, keeping her quiet. Lots of times that made it even hotter, her eyes wide when she started to come, then closing in complete surrender.

I always marveled over it, how they lost themselves. Like they forgot everything, where they were, who they were with, maybe even their own names. They always came hard, though sometimes it was after a slow and steady build-up, coaxing it out of them. Sometimes it was fast and dirty, them grabbing my fingers and shoving them up inside like they’d been dreaming about it all night.

I always came, too, don’t get me wrong. And I definitely enjoyed it. But it wasn’t as if I ever forgot my name. My mind was always going, always on, churning through what was before me, what was past, what was ahead. I never forgot myself.

And tonight, I felt restless, more restless than usual. Even after a few beers, my mind burned with a fever.

I wondered about a girl like Kara. Had she ever been in a place like this? I doubted it. She’d probably get real freaked out in a seedy bar. Confused and maybe even scared, she’d demand whatever sad sack of a guy she came in with take her home at once. Harlan and I were of one mind: Kara was off the menu. That girl was trouble with a capital T.

I saw some girls milling around in the dimly-lit haze, their eyes on me like circling sharks. Soon, one of them would work up the courage to come over to me. I liked them easy, and filtering out the shy, reserved ones in favor of the ones bold and horny enough to come to me worked that out real nice. It also decreased the likelihood of some dumb shit of a boyfriend entering the scene while I was over hitting on his girl. I didn’t need to add any more drunken bar brawls to my name. I’d fought and won my fair share, no need to prove myself on that score. Now wasn’t the time to get in trouble. I didn’t need Johnny law in this two-bit town circling my name on his list. Now was the time to turn my shit around, get my plane in the air and fly straight up and out.

I wanted someone free, ripe and ready. The kind of girl who’d come up to me, serve herself up on a platter. She’d probably say something stupid and touch my tattoo, following the patterned band up my muscles.

I could tell Kara had wanted to do that this afternoon. She had no idea what she really wanted. It wasn’t me. She was pure, spun gold, all honey sweet and good. I

was dirt and grit and pain. I was the poster boy for dark, tortured souls. Some girls liked exactly that. Others liked the challenge of changing me, as if they could be the one to turn me around. It would never happen.

“Hey. Are you from around here? I don’t think I’ve seen you before.” A girl came up next to me. She had jet-black hair, dark red lips and a short denim skirt she let ride up as she sat down.