The Virgin Next Door by Stasia Black

34

MACK

Mack wasthis close to leaving them all behind without another look back. He shifted from park into first gear. But then he froze.

Pregnant. She was pregnant.

It could be yours.

No. Christ. How could he even feel a stab of hope or joy at the thought? He was so fucked up. He was born shit and any baby he made would be—

His mind rejected the thought before he could finish it.

The baby was half Calla. And something that came from her couldn’t be anything less than perfect.

He squeezed his eyes shut and as soon as he did, he saw Sammy’s bloody, broken body.

Christ. That had happened because of Mack. He needed to get as far away from Calla and Liam before Bone ever knew a thing about them.

Mack slammed the steering wheel. He heard the roar of the cheering crowd. There were speakers on the outside of the arena that broadcast everything happening inside.

And then Mack heard, “Next up, Cal Carter, representing Mel’s Horse Rescue with her mustang, Painter!”

He’d leave. He would. But after one last glimpse of her.

He slammed the door to his truck and ran into the arena. He had to push his way through a group of reporters bottlenecked at the entrance of the arena where a harried looking security guard was holding them back.

“Mackenzie. Mackenzie Knight?”

“It’s Mackenzie!”

Mack looked up sharply at all the eyes quickly turning his way. How the fuck did any of these people know his name?

“This picture of you and billionaire playboy Liam O’Neill was snapped last night.” One of the reporters held up a tablet showing some internet site with a clear picture of him, Calla, and Liam dancing. Close. Closer than close.

Shit.

“Tell us, is Liam cheating on Isobel Snow, last year’s Missing Heiress?”

“What’s your relationship to Liam O’Neill?”

“Can you comment on rumors that Liam suffers from amnesia and hasn’t known where he’s been the past year and a half?”

“Get the fuck outta my way,” Mack growled, finally managing to push through the reporters and to a curtained off area. There were two entrances to the arena and Mack made his way around to the one furthest from the reporters.

He slid through the competitors and horses lined up there until he was right up against the gate so he could see into the arena without going up into the stands. Calla was already taking Painter through her paces.

“Looks like you had the right idea about getting out of town.”

Mack jerked his head around and there was Liam, back propped up against the opposite wall.

“I met your adoring public,” Mack muttered, eyes going back to Calla.

Liam went on like Mack hadn’t said anything. “I’m out of here as soon as I can pack me things up at the ranch.” Liam pulled his wide-brimmed hat low.

Mack glanced his way. “Oh yeah? What’s Calla got to say about that?”

“She doesn’t get a say.” Liam’s jaw tensed. “She was playing me this whole time.”

Mack turned his head at that. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“She knew exactly who I was. And how much I’m worth.”

“Huh,” Mack said. “So?”

Liam scoffed. “What do you mean, so? The rest is self-explanatory.”

Goddammit no one got on his nerves like this fucker. He wanted to order him to grab his knees so he could tan his ass.

But shit. He was done with all that. Still, Liam needed to get his head out of his ass. Mack wouldn’t be here to watch out for Calla so Liam better step the fuck up. “And what she’d have to say about it?” With effort he kept his voice mostly level. “Did she try to ask for money for the baby or something?”

Liam’s face went red. “Baby? What fucking baby?”

“She didn’t even tell you she was pregnant? Jesus,” Mack shook his head, “you really fucked things up, didn’t you?”

“Me? You’re telling me she’s fucking pregnant! It’s even more proof she’s trying to trap me and get at me mon—”

Mack grabbed Liam by the front of his shirt and slammed him up against the side of the chute. The horse who was first in line at the gate snorted and stamped its feet, while the owner started bitching at Mack.

Mack ignored him. “You better not finish that fucking sentence.” He shoved Liam against the wall again, then let him go. He shook his head at Liam. “Christ, you’re what I’m leaving her to?”

“I’m going to have to ask you two to move away from the—”

“Shut the fuck up,” Mack growled at the arena volunteer and turned his back on Liam so he could watch Calla.

Liam was a fucking idiot thinking she was after him for his money. Woman like Calla, she didn’t want anything she hadn’t earned. She was as proud as she was stubborn. And too good for either of them.

She rode Painter out into the middle of the arena like she was born to sit on a horse. They moved together as one, like they’d been working together for years instead of just months. And the way Painter responded to Calla’s tiniest nudge or click, there was no way you could tell the mare had been a wild mustang not three months ago. Fuck Liam and all his digs about mustangs being inferior to other horses. Fuck Liam in general.

Calla had already made it through several obstacles no problem. She next directed Painter to do several turnaround spins in place, first clockwise, then, after a slight pause, in the other direction.

Then she had the horse back up several steps before taking off at a trot, then a canter, then an all-out gallop across the arena. She brought the horse to a sliding stop, pulled out a pop gun and let out several loud pop pop pops as she backed the horse up again. Painter continued through the steps without flinching at the noise.

Mack let out a low whistle. Damn, Calla was impressive. Mack had been proud when he’d been able to get his gelding to stand still for a whole five seconds. Meanwhile Calla’s horse was running circles around them all. She really had a chance at the prize money.

He found himself holding his breath as she approached the last set of obstacles. They were set up on his side of the arena and he could make out the concentration and calm determination on Calla’s face. First she led Painter through a veil of hanging streamers. Then she urged Painter up, hoof by hoof, onto a wobbly wooden platform that pivoted on a fulcrum.

Painter set her first two hooves on it, no problem. But when she moved her back hooves up, something went wrong. Painter’s neck suddenly jerked and her eyes went wild.

And then she bolted.

She leapt off the wooden platform, jarring Calla to the side and almost off the saddle.

“Calla!” Mack jumped up on the gate.

Calla righted herself on her saddle and was clearly pulling on the reins to try to get Painter to stop. But her eyes were wide with some kind of hellfire and she just kept going. Calla had enough control to get her to turn slightly left around the curve of the arena oval, but she was still galloping hell for leather. They flew past Mack and on down the arena.

Mack was about to jump the fence but one of the chute workers held him back.

“Please sir, get down! You’re not allowed in the arena during another contestant’s ride.”

“She’s in trouble,” Mack snarled, yanking away from the man as he tried to see what was going on with Calla and Painter.

They were reaching the opposite end of the arena. It looked like Calla was trying to get Painter to turn again since she wasn’t slowing down.

It didn’t work this time.

Calla’s body flew off the back end of the horse as Painter kept galloping off without her. Calla flipped once in the air before landing on the arena floor in a puff of dirt.

“Calla!” Mack shouted.

“Let go of me, you bastard! She’s hurt!” It was Liam’s voice from behind him. All Mack knew was that no one was holding him back anymore.

He jumped the gate and started running for Calla. Goddammit, why was the arena so fucking big? He was only halfway there when paramedics came out with a stretcher. They slipped a neck brace around her neck.

Fuck. Was she unconscious? Had she broken her arm? A leg? A fucking spinal injury?

What about the baby?

He pumped his legs even harder.

The paramedics lifted Calla and were moving her out of the far exit of the arena. Shit. He was glad they were so efficient but he just needed to know if she was okay.

They disappeared into a wall of people who had gathered at the arena tunnel. Mack was there fifteen seconds later.

“Out of my way,” he growled, trying to push through the crowd and see where they’d taken Calla.

“Liam! Liam O’Neill!” called a man in a suit holding a microphone, eyes focused behind Mack. “What is your relationship to Calla Carter? How are you feeling right now as she’s being taken away with unspecified injuries?”

“Are you in a relationship with Isobel Snow?” asked someone else.

“Are you cheating on Isobel with Calla?”

“Liam, why did you run away to America? Is it because the rumors about your father being your family’s long-time gardener are true and Ciarán disinherited you?”

“Get out of my fucking way!” Mack roared as the vultures came at them from all fucking sides. He glanced over his shoulder and saw Liam having an even worse time of it. Camera flashes popped off every other second.

Mack growled and grabbed Liam’s upper arm, hauling him forward with him.

“No fucking comment,” Mack shouted, putting his shoulder forward and using it like a battering ram to shove through the wall of people.

“Hey!”

“You can’t just—”

One bastard with a camera was knocked to the floor. He immediately started sputtering about suing but Mack kept plowing on. These fuckers had the gall to be thinking about their goddamned story when he didn’t even know if Calla was okay.

When he and Liam made it past the first ring of reporters, Mack shouted to anyone who would listen, “Where’d they take the injured woman?”

A pimply-faced teenager with a Horse Makeover lanyard around his neck looked at him with wide eyes. “Uh, the ambulance is parked around back. This way,” he jerked a thumb over his shoulder.

Mack let go of Liam and grabbed the boy’s upper arm. “Show us.”

The teenager swallowed.

“Faster,” Mack growled. That got the kid moving, even if he did look terrified. Mack didn’t care. He just needed to know what the fuck was going on with Calla.

The kid led them out of the arena and to the left. “The ambulance was parked right here—” the kid started but then he jumped back. “Holy shit!”

He bent over and threw up.

“What the hell?” Liam asked.

But as Mack looked down on the two bloody bodies in EMT uniforms with D’s carved into their foreheads—the calling card of the Devil’s Spawn—a horrible fucking certainty settled on him.

“Bone’s got her.”