Chasing The Wild (Crimson Ridge Book 1)
Chasing The Wild: Chapter 31

“Who would have thought Colton Wilder could be so funny?”

The pregnant bitch sitting in the booth across from me covers Colt’s forearm with her neon green press-on nails for the fifth time since we’ve got here.

He slides his arm away, removing himself from her clutches… again.

This is a horror movie. I’ve ended up in hillbilly hell, where the succubus slurping on a ghastly-looking mocktail, carrying the spawn of my ex-boyfriend, is spending the entire evening trying to hit on his father.

I mean, not that I have much of a moral high horse to ride in on, considering my past with both men. But fuck this bitch. I’ve chomped my way through my burger, aggressively dunked my fries in sauce, and resisted the urge to stab Chyannah in the hand with my fork.

Kayce is nowhere to be seen, of course. He abandoned us to the delightful company of Chy, and her attempts at getting into Colt’s pants even while nearly six months pregnant, and disappeared off to a group of his friends over by the bar. He said he’d be back twenty minutes ago, and yet here we are.

The Loaded Hog has filled up for the night with some kind of annual ‘end of winter’ festival that goes on, drawing people in from miles around. There’s a tent and festoon lights covering the outdoor beer garden, with a live cover band. A mix of classics interspersed with modern hits are obviously giving the Crimson Ridge crowd what they’re after, seeing as the place is packed out tonight. Inside, it’s standing room only, heaving with patrons, while outdoors, the makeshift dance floor is also shoulder to shoulder.

I’ve had to survive the past hour and a half sitting beside Colt in this tiny booth while we’ve listened to Chy talk about herself the entire time. Kayce keeps getting up and down to get himself more drinks, and I’m ready to crawl out of my skin.

My fingertips are barely clinging to the edge of sanity. It’s loud and crowded and far too chaotic after the serenity of the ranch, and I know Colt must be writhing on the inside the longer we spend here. When I dared sneak a glance at him earlier for half a second while Chy was rummaging in her purse for gum, I could see the tic in his jaw working overtime. Not to mention how tightly he’s gripped his beer the entire duration we’ve sat in this booth.

Tonight has been a battle, fighting every urge to reach for him below the table. All I want to do is brush a reassuring finger against his thigh, to let him know I’m right here, to somehow help him understand I still feel such a powerful connection between us.

What it comes down to is that I want to have the right to touch him openly, so badly.

We all drove down the mountain together in his truck tonight. No way in hell was Kayce ever going to remain sober enough to drive, and even though we’ve got a pregnant woman amongst us who could technically be the designated driver for our entire merry little group, I wouldn’t trust that woman behind the wheel. Not up Devil’s Peak after dark.

So, Colt is our ride, and he’s nursing his solitary beer. I’ve had a couple of drinks with my meal, but I’m at the point now where I’m feeling like I need something stronger, just to settle my nerves.

“There’s my baby daddy,” Chy calls out as Kayce reappears and slides back into the booth.

Ew. Gross.

I have to school my features not to give away how weird I replace this girl. It’s also entirely unclear whether she knows about my history with Kayce, because neither have mentioned anything in the brief amount of time we’ve endured each other’s company since they arrived at the ranch.

I’ve done my best to avoid both of them since their unexpected arrival at the ranch—successfully so, up until tonight. Then, while we were all stuck together in the truck on the trip into Crimson Ridge, they only talked about their mutual group of friends we were going to be meeting up with at the bar. So there hasn’t exactly been an appropriate moment to politely enquire about whether the pregnant dickhead my ex-boyfriend has on his arm is aware of my brief, and forgettable, dating history with him.

However, as much as I might regret dating Kayce, it was also the thing that brought me to Colt, and I’m entirely conflicted about that. Can I hate the circumstances that helped me replace the person who I’m almost certain is the great love of my life? Even if I can never have him and never tell him?

Fucking hell. I definitely need shots. Right now.

“Anyone want a drink? I’m going to the bar.” I announce.

“Fuck yeah, let’s get the birthday girl wasted,” Kayce whoops.

Colt makes a noise that sounds like a snarl. “Kayce. Don’t be a fucking idiot,” he snaps.

“Jesus, Dad. Just because you’re past going out and having a good time.” The man-child sitting across from me who is absolutely an idiot rolls his eyes. “Come on, Layla. The others are all at the bar anyway. I’ll introduce you to some fun people.”

Chy spots someone she obviously knows, because she starts making squealing noises and flapping her hands, and even though it’s a monumental effort to squeeze out of the booth considering her stomach, she croons something and smooshes Kayce’s face, practically licking him, before heading toward a group of girls who look almost identical to her.

All of them have weird bleached patches in their hair. Half of them are also pregnant. And they’re out in a bar. Go figure.

“You coming, old man?” Kayce drops an arm over my shoulder when I stand up, glancing over at the man I want to rush back to, who remains seated in the booth.

Colt quickly fixes on the spot where his son’s forearm rests around the back of my neck, and I duck my head. Not wanting to give a reason for Kayce to think any of his father’s decisions revolve around me. They don’t. They shouldn’t.

But fuck, I want them to. So badly, it aches.

“You go. The Hayes boys are over there. I should catch up with them.”

Following the direction he just gestured in with his beer bottle, I see a group of men, ones who look closer in age to Colt, tucked away in the far corner of the bar. They’re seated on stools around a high top, in a part that is still incredibly busy but with the greatest distance from the music and the dancing as possible.

“Sweet, then let’s fucking go, Layla.” Before I can get my bearings, Kayce has taken me by the elbow and tugged me off into the crowd, and I lose sight of my cowboy almost immediately when the throng of people around the bar swallows me up. With a little stumble, I manage to throw one last glance over my shoulder, casting a look back at the booth where we were sitting moments before.

It’s already empty.

“Shots for the birthday girl. Layla fucking Birch.”

“Yeowwwwww.”

“Down it, girl.”

There’s a chorus of noise from the group of strangers around me as I toss back something that looks cherry red and wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. It burns a trail of cinnamon mixed with hard liquor down my throat.

Kayce’s group of buddies are all here for a big night out it would seem, and as much as I don’t want to be dropping shots at the bar with strangers—there’s only one man I wish to be next to, and he has vanished into thin air—the allure of numbing myself has taken over.

My life is a train wreck, so why not cut loose and get drunk like the other twenty-something-year-old girls filling this bar tonight?

Alcohol settles in my veins like a warm blanket. I think I’m on shot three? Another is pressed into my hand, and I giggle involuntarily.

“God, no. I can’t.” There’s a nice-enough seeming guy and his girl who have been matching me round for round.

“Wanna dance instead?” The girlfriend with short brown hair tied in a half pony, and big hoop earrings, grabs my hand.

“Sure.” I’m still laughing. Alcohol has gotten the better of me, after the weird tension of tonight, and the fact I can’t even remember the last time I went out partying, all of which combines to make me a total lightweight.

I think this girl’s name is Mary. Or maybe Mandy? Whatever, she seems cool, and I let her drag me off into the crowded tent outside. There are other friends of hers she side-hugs and shouts their names to introduce me over the noise of the band, but the bass and the speakers are right beside us, and we’re in the thickest part of all the bodies moving in time with the song being played.

It’s sweaty and packed, and it’s tempting to get lost in the feeling of being more drunk than I realized, while also trying to enjoy forgetting about everything.

Trying to forget the hazel eyes and scruffy beard and boyish, unruly dark hair I want to sink my fingers into.

Jesus.

Of course, the mixture of shots, loud music, and being crushed in on all sides by bodies means that I’m horny as fuck and desperately want to go replace Colt. I know he’s still here, he’s our ride home—no, not home, the ranch.

The ranch that is not my home, but that I want to be my home, that feels more like home to me than anywhere I’ve ever lived in my entire life.

Words swirl in my brain. The song peaks, and the crowd around me rolls into a crescendo, belting out the words to the final bars, with hands thrown in the air, and then I think I hear the lead singer say they’re wrapping up their set. Suddenly, the lights dim, and the speakers start pumping with a heavier, deeper beat. The atmosphere changes in the blink of an eye into more of a nightclub feel, and Mandy—or Mindy—or Mary—grabs me by the waist, dragging me into a crush of her friends who sway to the seductive, thudding rhythm.

My body is already feeling turned on and churned up, and this sultry tune isn’t helping the situation between my thighs. I close my eyes and let myself float along with this group of girls who I don’t even know, but who are here to have a good time. If there’s anything I need to do right now, it’s just to willingly slip into that vacant state.

Have a good time.

Forget about everything outside this crowded dance floor.

Allow myself to feel every thud, every pulse, every pound of the bass emitting through the speakers.

As it all winds through my blood, with heavy scents of perfume and sour beer and sugary liquor hanging in the air, I feel the bump of a hard body against my back.

Ignoring it, I carry on swaying. I’m not interested in dancing with anyone here tonight. Well, with the exception of Colton Wilder. Each time I crack my eyelashes open, my eyes now heavy with the way those devilish pre-birthday celebration shots have diluted my bloodstream, I see some of the other girls in the group beginning to pair off with guys who are guiding them to dance, to press close. Hands wrapping around waists and fingers exploring muscled shoulders. Squeezing my eyes shut does nothing to erase the fact that I want that.

What I would give for the set of capable hands I know so well to slip around my waist from behind. For his strong torso to press up against my spine. For our hips to fit together, giving our bodies a chance to replace that natural, instinctive rhythm we have.

Is Colt a dancer? I don’t even know. He probably would never, but Jesus, the man fucks like he’d surely know how to grind against my body to the beat filling this dancefloor.

Lifting my hands up, I run them through my hair to lift my curls off my shoulders. Swaying and swinging my hips, soft material swishes around my knees.

I wore a dress tonight. My favorite that I own. It’s white and has cute little puffed sleeves with a ruched midriff that makes my boobs look incredible. I run my hands down to where it hugs my waist perfectly. This dress is far more girlie summer-picnic-vibes than a night out in a bar in early spring, but fuck it, I feel incredible whenever I wear it.

Colt told me to wear something that makes me feel pretty, and goddamn this dress never lets me down.

I didn’t wear it for him as such, but I can’t deny thinking about him the entire time I was getting dressed tonight. And holy fuck, I just wish the cowboy in question could come and slide his hands over my waist and murmur hotly in my ear just how pretty he thinks I look in it right now.

Another bump up against me jolts my attention, this time coming from the other side. My eyes pop open, because, rude. I know it’s crowded, and most people dancing right now are drunk, but it’s going to get old real fast if I’m getting jostled around too badly.

“Have a drink with me.” A man’s voice is just over my shoulder. He’s not talking to me, but it feels uncomfortably close and makes my neck prickle.

“What about your friend?” Another voice comes from the other side of where I’m swaying around. I realize they’re talking to one of the girls from the group I’ve ended up dancing with tonight. She giggles, clearly wasted, and tugs on my elbow.

“Yeah, it’s my friend Layla’s birthday. We’ll have a drink with you.”

I want to immediately say no, but it’s when I turn around that my brain draws a blank at the scene in front of me.

The young girl, whose name I didn’t catch when it was being shouted earlier amongst the music, is tipping her head back and downing the drink she’s been given. There’s a tumbler being pressed into my hand, and whoever is responsible tries to guide it up to my mouth.

For whatever reason, I’m slow to react, but I know that I won’t be letting that drink anywhere near me. The lights are so dim. Flashes and pulses of a strobe keep getting in my eyes, preventing me from seeing clearly. But that’s when it hits me. The subtle waft of that cigarette smell, and I already know. Even though I can’t see their faces, and I never did see the man who cornered me the night of the bonfire. Spiders crawl over my skin because I’m certain it’s them.

And the girl beside me has just gulped down whatever was in that fucking drink one of them gave her.

I can’t breathe. It’s so crowded, and the dance floor is a crush on all sides. Bodies that are way taller than me suck the oxygen from my lungs. Not to mention these two men—who I’m certain are the same Piersons who have been fucking with the ranch—the ones who have been threatening Colt’s livelihood and who, from all accounts, like to prey on unsuspecting girls, both tower over me to the point I can’t really make out their faces in the shadows.

“Go on. Be good like your friend here, since it’s your birthday and all.” The drink is shoved toward my mouth forcefully, and I manage to slap it away. Most of it spills on the man holding it, and he curses.

“Fucking stupid bitch.”

“Oh, I remember this one. You’re Wilder’s little plaything aren’t you?” The creep who got in my face that day up at the ranch, Henrik, leers at me.

“She was a rude little cock tease up at the bonfire, too. Now that’s not very nice, throwing a tantrum like that. We’re just talking.”

My throat tightens. These men know exactly who I am, and if the fact they’ve been going after Colt on his property is anything to go by, I don’t need to be a genius to figure out that they’re unlikely to leave me alone. They might not know the truth of our connection, but they know I’m another way to mess with Colt, and potentially hurt him in the process.

“Looks like you still need feeding right, girlie.”

“Fuck off.” I try to turn toward the girl who has probably been drugged, but one of them grabs my arm.

What I would give for that gun Colt taught me how to shoot, so I could tell these assholes to back the hell away. Because something tells me with a sick, twisting feeling in my gut that this is exactly how easy it is for these two to prey on girls and get away with it time and time again.

It all makes sense now. Why he was so insistent about me knowing how to protect myself if I ever needed to up on that mountain. Why he was concerned about me being left on my own without a way to ensure something like this couldn’t happen.

Except right now, I’m surrounded by people, and it’s the perfect cover for their particular method of targeting girls.

It’s too easy to hide amongst dark lights and loud music and drinks flowing freely.

The grip I’m held by is so hard that it stings. The other man tugs the girl, who is much younger than me, out of reach, cutting her off and starts to lead her away.

They split us up with gut-sickening efficiency.

“Get away from her,” I shout, trying to reach for the girl who I don’t know, but suddenly feel intensely protective over. I’m sobering up real quick. Fuck knows what they just gave her, and right now, I’m feeling more helpless than ever.

No matter how much I shout and try to struggle against the man holding me, the music is so loud it drowns me out. He blocks me with his body, subtly covering my mouth with a hand that stinks of nicotine, and propels me in the direction of the exit. One that will lead us away from the bar, leaving the crowd, disappearing into the night air.

“We’re just gonna have a quiet drink together outside, girlie. So play nicely now. No need to cause a scene.”

“Screw you. Let go of me.” My words are muffled, silenced against his palm. I do my best to thrash and make it obvious to someone—anyone—that I don’t want this. I’m not agreeing to this man’s demands, or him grabbing me, or the way he’s forcing me to leave this bar with him.

The exit comes closer.

It feels like I’m invisible.

Can no one see what’s going on here?

This is how easily it can happen, isn’t it? Lost in an expanse of people. Right out in the open. Then, when morning arrives, it’s all blamed on the girl who asked for it.

Just as my stomach flops in a sickening roll of helplessness, it’s as if the wall of bodies part all around us. The girl who I’d been trying to get to is shoved in my direction, and a tussle breaks out. Gruff voices argue loudly above the music.

A giant palm clamps down on the shoulder of whoever had their hands on me, and one of his arms is twisted up behind his back.

“Let’s fucking go, Pierson.”

As my brain tries to connect the dots of what is unfolding, I see the flash of metal cuffs and hear the crackle of a radio clipped at the man’s belt. It’s all over before I know it, as they’re both led away, and the immediate crowd has stopped what they’re doing to watch what looks like a sting arrest go down right in the midst of this crush of partygoers.

Even though the music is still blasting, obviously there’s chaos happening over the other side of the bar with whatever just transpired. I can’t see past the heads of the crowd surrounding us, but right now, I’ve got a girl beside me who has potentially been roofied, and I don’t even know her name.

Spinning in place, I try to look for Mindy—Mandy—fuck, whoever the girl’s friend was, and can’t see her anywhere. In fact, no one we were here with before seems to be in sight. And the girl, the one who just drank something laced with who knows what, has disappeared.

Oh god. What the fuck is even going on right now?

Heavy palms land on my shoulders, and I jerk with fright, heart lurching into my throat.

As I spin around, all of that worry dissolves into nothingness. I’m met with a set of familiar hazel eyes I want to dive into, bathe in, drown in, and never need to come up for air as long as I live.

Colt towers over me with an expression I can’t decipher, and when he bends his head to speak right at my ear, my core clenches at the gritty edge to his voice.

“Bathroom. Right fucking now.”