Straight Cut Read online

  STRAIGHT CUT

  Book 4 in the

  Men of the Woods Series

  By

  Dani Wyatt

  Copyright © 2020

  by Dani Wyatt

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof

  may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever

  without the express written permission of the publisher

  except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places,

  events and incidents are either the products

  of the author’s imagination

  or used in a fictitious manner.

  Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead,

  is purely coincidental.

  www.daniwyatt.com

  Cover Credit PopKitty

  Editing Nicci Haydon

  A NOTE TO MY READERS:

  I appreciate every one of you.

  For every girl who likes a little bark in their bite.

  For LG. You won’t read this, but without you there would be no books.

  GET

  FREE exclusive short stories and epilogues!

  No spam!

  NEWSLETTER

  Stalkers welcome.

  Sordid fun and other dirty shenanigans

  FOLLOW ME ON FACEBOOK

  LET’S BE FRIENDS

  Dani Wyatt on Amazon

  Now, let’s get on with the show...

  1

  Mathias

  “Dude.” Marshall shakes his head on a deep laugh. “She’s a sure thing. Come on...your dick is begging you.”

  Marshall has been my friend since my parents moved us to Walkerville when I was five years old. The day we met, I punched him. Hard.

  That was the first day of kindergarten. He was laughing at my handmade clothes, as well my parents were standing there openly sobbing, waving goodbye to me like I was marching off to war instead of elementary school.

  I know the punch hurt like fuck. I was big enough to take on kids three and four years older than me even back then.

  Instead of crying, or getting pissed, Marshall laughed like it was the most fun he’d had since he popped out into the big wide world, and for whatever reason I couldn’t stay mad. I forgave him, and we’ve been friends ever since.

  “Shut up, ass.” I grunt, keeping my eyes forward on the winding road down from the mountain where I live. “Just the idea you are thinking about my dick is wrong.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see him shake his head as he eyes me back.

  “True.” He raises a finger, pointing at nothing in particular. “But bro, just get fucking laid. You’re about as uptight as a turkey in November.”

  I release a long sigh, gripping the steering wheel so tight my knuckles crack.

  “Can we talk about the wood? Or pretty much anything else? Or not talk at all, that’s even better.”

  He lets out a laugh. “I thought we were talking about wood.” He snorts, running his hand down his face.

  “Fuck off.”

  “See what I mean? You’re a grouchy son-of-a-bitch. Eloise practically told me if you’d just show up at the party tonight, she’ll do whatever—”

  “Jesus.” I snap, my fuse burning down quickly. “Shut the fuck up. I’m not dipping my wick in that. You and I have been friends a long time, ass, you know my deal. Why are you so up in my business about it? I wish I never told you.”

  “I just want you to live a little. You’re either in your cabin, carving, or hunting for your precious burl wood ninety percent of the time. I’m your only friend. That’s fucking tragic, you know that? Dude, even your mom and dad are worried about you.”

  “How do you know?”

  “She messaged me on Facebook, saw the picture of you, me and Mason at the burl buyers swap meet deal last month.”

  “Fuck, I told him not to post that fucking picture. I don’t want my face, name, any part of me online. I hate that shit. Fucking Facebook...”

  “Well, too late. Your mom saw you, and then she messaged me. Said you’ve not been very...” He pauses and I look over, my jaw tight. “Communicative the last few months. Just said she’s worried, wondered what was going on. Asked if you were dating anyone.” He shrugs, shaking his head. “I’m just saying.”

  “I’ll call her tonight. Every time I talk to her she wants to know if I’m dating. She’s got grandbaby fever and if it’s not that, she’s begging me to come visit.” I sound pissy, but I love my parents. Honestly, I miss the fuck out of them.

  They did well for themselves. When they moved up here, they scraped all the money they’d saved from their meager teacher’s salaries and bought a hundred acres. Built a little cabin and were pretty fucking self-sufficient. Life was lean for most of my younger years, but they were happy.

  What I didn’t know, not until I hit my late teens was that they were shrewd investors. They didn’t care much for spending, but they had a nice investment portfolio and turned around and bought more and more land on the mountain and around Walkerville, the town they’d grown to love so much.

  On my twenty-first birthday, they handed me a deed in my name. Three hundred-forty acres of my own, along with a nice chunk of change. Then, couple years ago when they got the wild hair idea to move to Palm Springs, they deeded the rest of their land to me—another three hundred or so acres around the mountain, and throughout the county.

  He lets out a deeper, sardonic chuckle. “Yes, I can see you in Palm Springs. Your parents went from survivalist, cabin in the woods for forty years, to living high style in the desert.”

  “Yeah, I wish I had siblings. Take the heat off me.”

  The strangest part is this last week, I’ve had this need. Like a hunger or a thirst, but not like either. Something I’ve put away for so long, exchanged for the solitary life I always craved.

  It’s a wanting, a beat in my chest, a twitch in my dick.

  No, that’s a lie. It’s a full on, sixteen-year-old with his first Hustler hard on.

  Granite rod, uncontrollable.

  I’ve jerked off more this last five or so days than I have in the last five years. My dick is raw because my palm is calloused and rough as sandpaper. Still, that hasn’t stopped me from spending myself nearly a dozen times a day.

  Sorry, Mom. Your virgin son will never give you grandkids because his dick fell off.

  We make our way into town and thank fuck the subject changes to small town gossip. I could give a fuck really, small mountain town has big ears and bigger mouths.

  Marshall is a deputy with the sheriff’s department, so he always has more intel than most. And, for some reason, he loves to share it with me. His way of broadening my horizons, I guess.

  I rub the back of my hand over my forehead, trying to keep my mind clear, then run it back to grip my neck, trying to ease the tension. Whatever this is that’s got me has my head screwed up.

  “Booker’s going to be crazy about the chair. It’s wicked good.” Marshall glances over his shoulder into the bed of the truck, then back to me. “You say you’re going up to the Emmett land later?”

  Booker is the town sheriff and a friend of us both.

  I nod. “Yeah. Finally got that old fucker to let me do a scout lease. Only gave me twenty-four hours to get up there and get the contract signed. Cost me, too, but hoping it will pay out. After I drop you and the chair, gonna go say hi to Beverly. She’s as bad as you. Mom calls her once a week, checking up on me. Looking for intel you might not have, I guess. But, after that, yeah, I’m headed up. Can’t waste any time. Old fucker could change his mind any second.”

  I picked Marshall up a few hours ago, to help me safely load my latest creation for transport. He helps
me out now and then with both my work and other projects.

  Made him a kick ass omelet and Belgian waffles for breakfast, in thanks for his help, since he won’t take any money. He generally works the afternoon shift, so I’ll drop him at the station and he can help me offload the chair the Sheriff commissioned for his girlfriend, Beverly.

  My main business is hunting for and re-selling burl wood, which is actually a lucrative gig. It keeps me in the woods which is where I want to be. But besides that, I create one of a kind furniture, other artsy sort of sculptures, and whatever else strikes me out of the burls I find and decide not to re-sell. I haven’t chased that part of the business, but I get enough word of mouth that it’s become a thriving sideline for me. I ship things all over the country, even to Europe a couple times.

  “Chair turned out better than I expected.” Marshall gives me a look. “Who would have thought a fuck like you had that sort of talent?”

  "Whatever. You keep yanking my chain like that you’re gonna walk the rest of the way. With a limp.”

  He shrugs. “Beverly will be happy. She’s wanted one of your pieces since you showed at the fair last summer. Been dropping hints to Booker...”

  Between the burls and the leased oil wells that run on my property, in spite of myself, I’ve managed to make a pretty fucking good living and never have to put on a suit or tie.

  Better than good, to tell the truth. Not the one percent good, but my bank account balances have a couple commas in and I have hardly any use for the money, so it just keeps piling up.

  There certainly are worse problems to have, and I’m grateful every day.

  It takes me a moment to find a parking spot in the precinct parking lot, which isn’t much more than a scrap of asphalt adjacent to the building. The town’s two police cruisers, and the vehicles belonging to the Sheriff, his deputies and civilian staff, are already taking up most of the space, along with some shitty light blue Buick which is parked on the yellow line taking up two spots.I pull my truck in at an angle, trying not to block the exit for the cruisers, and then head with Marshall over to the building.

  We step into the lobby, and I wave at Martha, the dispatcher. If you need to know anything in town, and she happens to like you, she’s the epicenter of information. She waves back, giving me a wink. She and my mother were friends most of the years my parents were here, and I know they still talk regularly.

  She’s on the phone as I pass, so I lean down and just give her a quick peck on the cheek. She reaches up and squeezes my chin, pulling my beard and pushing my lips together like some crazy aunt with red lipstick and bad breath, before waving me away to follow Marshall toward the Sheriff’s office in back.

  As we work our way forward, I see Sheriff Booker with Emory, another deputy, talking with some guy I don’t recognize. Booker and I went to school together, too. Like I said, it’s a town where everyone knows everyone.

  Which makes the appearance of strangers a rather rare event. The guy’s wearing a cheap looking navy suit jacket and khaki pants. He looks like a salesman from some ‘we finance everyone’ used car lot.

  Something about him irritates me immediately. Booker’s sitting on the edge of the desk, with Emory leaning back in his chair, and the stranger’s sitting there, talking and acting distressed.

  And I mean it when I say acting. Feels hinky to me.

  The Sheriff catches my eye and nods, holding up a finger, and I ease my way to lean against the wall, just a few feet from Emory’s desk.

  “She’s been gone nearly five days.” I listen as the guy starts. “I tracked her cell phone until it stopped about six miles south, but there’s nothing there. She used to camp with her grandparents up in the Manistee State land years ago. Her mom passed away recently, and she’s just not been right since. She’s always had some mental imbalance, I’m just worried.”

  Emory narrows his eyes, scratching the back of his neckand asks, “You’re her stepfather you said?”

  The guy nods as the sheriff drops his hand which was covering his mouth to cross his arms and adds, “We can’t file a missing person’s report. She’s twenty-one, there’s no sign of foul play...no doctor’s order...”

  The guy nods, sighing hard, rubbing his hands down the tops of his thighs, but it all seems showy to me. I focus on his face, rubbing my beard as he throws me a glance before shifting in his chair, pulling a piece of paper out of his inside jacket pocket and handing it to Booker.

  “I’ll leave my number and her picture, maybe...if someone sees her, just maybe call me?”

  He’s begging, but it’s not fear in his voice, more desperation. Even a hint of annoyance.

  “We can keep her picture. Not sure there’s much we can do.”

  “Anything would help. I’ve been to every town within ten miles, but I think she might be here, somewhere. She always liked camping.” He stands, handing them each a business card. “My name and cell phone number are on there. If anyone sees her...”

  “Sure.” Booker nods, standing up. “We’ll keep our eyes open.”

  The stranger thanks them, and as he walks out of the office, he hands me one of the cards too.

  I snap my tongue on the back of my front teeth and shove the card into my jacket pocket as the sheriff raises his eyebrows and jerks his head toward his office. Marshall took off toward the back room to change into his uniform, so it’s just me and Booker as he closes the door behind us.

  “Sounds like family bullshit to me.” He shakes his head as he drops into his desk chair and taps some keys on the computer with one hand, then hands me the piece of paper with the other. “I’m sure you haven’t seen her, seeing you barely come down from that mountain of yours, but you’re here, so you get first look...she look familiar to you?”

  The instant my eyes lock onto the photo, I swear I can smell her. It is like a scent I’ve known forever, finally coming back to me and grabbing me by the balls. And squeezing. Hard.

  Sweat breaks out on my forehead, my heart pounding so hard it’s feeling like it’s going to snap a fucking rib.

  My one hand curls into a fist as I stare, my muscles hard and shaking, making the piece of paper with the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen tremble.

  Her ripe round cheeks are pink, full, with a childlike innocence in blue eyes that stare right into my soul. Lips full and slightly open, in a smile that makes me think of all the places I want her to put them.

  I take a breath, grip the top of my head and look at the sheriff. “She looks like that girl...”

  “What girl?” He tips his head, narrowing his eyes.

  “You know, that freezing princess. From that Disney movie...” He gives me a dead stare and I roll my eyes and do the unthinkable. “Let it go, let it go...” Before I can stop myself, I’ve let the little chorus free, wiggling my fingers like I’m shooting the ice from their tips and Booker is laughing his ass off. “Shut up. You know what I’m talking about, fucker.”

  He tries to regain his composure, pressing his hands over his mouth and nodding regaining his composure. “Frozen, dumb ass. Frozen.”

  I look back at the picture, thinking about how those pink pouty lips will feel the first time they kiss the tip of my cock, the waves of her creamy blonde hair brushing my skin, all silky softness against me.

  Fuck, what’s happening to me? My dick is at full height, throbbing, and a low growl catches in my throat.

  “You gonna be okay there?” The sheriff gives me an inquisitive look. “Do you recognize her, besides her being an animated Disney princess?”

  I shake my head, because I don’t remember how to form words.

  The photo feels alive in my hand, and I swear I can hear her voice.

  Take me.

  Help me.

  Protect me.

  Don’t let me go...

  I will do all of that, and more. I just have to find you first.

  And I will. No matter what.

  2

  Astrid

  MY ASS IS
NUMB FROM sitting on the cold boulder next to the low fire I keep burning at all hours. I poke the hot dirt with a long stick, flicking orange embers back into the center as they pop and fly in tiny comet-like streaks onto the surrounding ground.

  I’ve not been sleeping well. Not because I’m scared out here, but because I have no idea what is next in my life. It’s like the earth is shifting under my feet, and I feel constantly off balance.

  A yawn creeps up and I cover my mouth as I glance up at the sky. The sun is high now, and even without my phone, I know it’s around two o’clock.

  One thing that worked out in this whole mess, I decided to go rogue in June instead of January, which in Michigan is solidly in the pro column. A warm breeze rustles the leaves and branches overhead and all around accentuating my good fortune.

  The cool scent of the woods and evergreens gives me comfort, even as the knot of the unknown twists in my belly.

  The gray and green polyester tent that is my current home remains crooked, despite how hard I tried to make it a square. I bought a tent big enough for eight and it is clearly a two-person job to put it up. The guy at the sporting goods store in town looked at me like I had three heads when I kept piling things on the counter, not once asking about price.

  Tent. Sleeping bag. Foam for under the sleeping bag, because it sucks sleeping on the hard ground. Little Coleman stove. Flashlights. Lantern. Mess kit. Bowie knife. Tool kit.

  His eyes got as big as moons when I asked him to take out the Remington 700, a bolt action rifle just like the one my grandfather bought me when I was sixteen, and four boxes of ammo.

  He looked ready to pass out when I added the Ten Point Titan crossbow with fifty graphite kill strike arrows.

  I went full-on survival girl, spending well over two grand between the sporting goods store and the little market where I picked up enough food to last a week.