Page 7 of Tracked By Sasquatch

Maybe that fairy tale had it backward. Was it possible the chick skipping through the forest was a danger to the wolf instead?

“How do you think I learned to do that thing with my tongue?”

To make his point, he slowly licked his full upper lip, flashing his tongue stud, before leaning back casually and drinking his beer like he hadn’t just caused Niagara Falls between all the thighs within a ten-mile radius.

“Never used a spoon, but I always managed to clean the cup of every last spot of pudding.”

Nope. They had it right; the wolf was the predator, and the girl in red was fucked.

Hell, even Scott whimpered as he set another two beers, a couple of waters, about six shots, plus lime and salt, on the table.

Devin snatched one of the waters and downed it. Resisting the temptation to pour it over her head to bring down her core body temp which had risen about ten degrees.

“On the house. I think you guys could use a little tension relief.” He reached in his pocket and brought out a couple of quarters. “Besides, a round of truth or dare quarters is always a hit,” Scott quipped and sauntered back to the bar. Devin watched him over her shoulder and once behind the bar, he blew her a kiss.

“I’m going to rethink our friendship,” she called after she’d turned back toward Sasquatch, who watched her with intensity.

“No, you’re not, you drama queen,” Scott lobbed back.

She realized she not only knew more about Scott than ninety percent of the people in her life, but she was also more emotionally invested in his life than even her own.

How fucking pathetic was that? She had been a shitty selfish person since Nebraska, but that was no excuse. She needed to deal with her shit instead of burying it.

But the thing was, as bitchy as it sounded, Scott had been a nobody, a stranger when she’d walked into the bar months ago. A blank page to write their relationship on. No history, no nothing. He hadn’t known her before, and that was why she’d let him in, it had to be. He was safe. She dared to say he was her closest friend. He knew… everything.

Scott never looked at her with pity or judgment. He didn’t hound her to pick apart her feelings or beg her to let him take revenge. Nope. He served her tequila shots and listened to whatever she did want to drunkenly drone on about.

The sad part was that she listened to him too. That was a courtesy she hadn’t really extended to her Bastards family since she’d come to Utah.

Devin needed to get past that emotional dam she’d put up. It had started with her mother, but somehow, she’d finally managed to tear it down. But then during the short time she’d been held by Thom, she’d erected it again. Bigger and stronger. Especially with those who meant something to her.

She hadn’t thought it was possible, but when she looked at Squatch, desire flared to life. If she could grow a pair, she could take the first step to reclaiming herself.

Get back on the horse, so to speak. Erase the memories of her most recent sexual encounters. No strings, no agenda other than a physical encounter that would benefit them both.

Mindlessly, she took one of the shots as she gave herself a mental pep talk.

Who better than Squatch? He obviously knew his way around a woman. If she could get him past the whole Croon cock block, he would be perfect. He wasn’t looking for anything permanent, that was obvious. Hell, he changed partners like most folks change underwear.

Not to mention, her body had already held a special election and voted yes on the proposition. Getting that out of the way would hopefully crash through that wall.

With the wall down, she could follow through with her plan to confront Thom and then her mother. Getting that closure she needed. She hadn’t seen Thom since he’d unchained her that morning, kissed her cheek, and left for work. Leaving her unchained while he was gone.

She still kicked herself every day since for not running the second his car pulled out. Not sprinting away and calling the police.

Why didn’t I just fucking go before the Bastards showed up?

She’d asked herself that question a thousand times, but it was a moot point, she knew the answer. And somewhere deep down, she knew that the RBMC would’ve understood, would’ve helped, but she’d let her own self-doubt reign.

Her alcoholic mom had always told her she was a piece of shit, and when she’d made that split-second decision to let the Bastards from Nebraska pull her from the house and not go inside, she’d known it to be true.

When Devin had first arrived in Utah, no one asked, not even Croon. Her brother wanted to give her time to accept what had happened, not pressure her.

Then after the first week, he did ask. His club also needed answers. She understood he had gotten them involved on her behalf and they deserved to know what happened.

By then though, Devin was at a loss of how to explain things. She was a captive, and she also wasn’t. It was a weird gray area she was honestly having a hard time processing.

Even after she declined their therapist and sought out her own, she couldn’t bring herself to tell them the way it was. She blamed her mother for that. Every single time she opened her mouth to tell her brother, she heard her mom in her head. Her scratchy voice telling her that Lucas would finally see how worthless she was too.