Cliff's Edge Read online

  Cliff’s Edge

  Willow Springs Ranch

  Laura Harner

  Cliff’s Edge is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2015 by Laura Harner

  Cover photograph by DWS Photography

  Cover Art by Laura Harner

  Edited by Jae Ashley

  All rights reserved.

  Published in the United States by Hot Corner Press.

  ISBN: 978-1-941841-01-3

  Warning: All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any manner without written permission, except for brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to five years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.

  Contact the publisher for further information: [email protected]

  Contents

  Dedication

  Trademark Acknowledgements

  Cliff’s Edge

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Also Available

  About the Author

  Dedication

  When I first wrote Ty Hard, Willow Springs Ranch Book 1, I had no real idea of how much the readers would fall in love with my guys. This series really signaled a new beginning in my writing life. Here we are 6.5 books later, and Cliff and Ryan are ushering another new beginning. I hope you love them every bit as much as Ty and Cass.

  Thank you to my writing partners: Havan Fellows, Lee Brazil, Will Parkinson, and Tom Webb—I love spending every day in Google chat writing with you.

  A very special thank you to Mardee Barnett, Christy Duke, Mary Wallace, and as always, Jae Ashley.

  Finally, I would like to thank you, my wonderful reader. I couldn’t have done this without each and every one of you. Thank you, for all your support.

  Trademark Acknowledgements

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following trademarks mentioned in this work of fiction:

  Big Red: WM. Wrigley Jr. Company

  Coke: The Coca-Cola Company

  Corona: Cerveceria Modelo, S.A. de C.V.

  Day-Glo: Day-Glo Color Corp.

  Dirty Jobs: Discovery Communications, LLC

  Gator (4-wheeler): Deere & Company

  Google: Google, Inc.

  Guinness: Diageo Ireland

  iPhone: Apple, Inc.

  iPod: Apple, Inc.

  Jack (referencing Jack Daniel beverage): Jack Daniel’s Properties, Inc.

  Jeep: Chrysler Group, LLC

  Keurig: Keurig, Inc.

  Luminox: Lumondi, Inc.

  NCIS: CBS Studios Inc.

  Netflix: Netflix, Inc.

  New England Patriots: New England Patriots LLC

  San Diego Chargers: Chargers Football Company, LLC

  San Diego Padres: Padres L.P. Padres, Inc.

  SEALs: The Department of the Navy

  Seattle Seahawks: Football Northwest LLC

  SIG 226 & SIG: SIG Swiss Industrial Company

  Skilcraft (clock): National Industries for the Blind

  Sons of Anarchy: Twentieth Century Fox Film Corporation

  So You Think You Can Dance: Dick Clark Productions, Inc.

  SpongeBob SquarePants: Viacom International Inc.

  US Army: Department of the Army

  Wranglers: Wrangler Apparel Corp.

  Cliff’s Edge

  WSR Book 7

  Navy SEALs Cliff “Snides” Snyder and Ryan “Rhino” Matthews have been moving comfortably in each other’s worlds for two decades. Best friends since attending BUDs twenty years earlier, and despite playing for different teams, they’re often accused of acting like an old married couple—much to their amusement.

  Assigned to shore duty for his final tour before retirement and without Ryan to anchor him, Cliff’s restlessness leads him to a local club and hands-on research that leaves him in a compromising position and a witness to murder—signaling the abrupt end of his Navy career. Needing a place to lay low and lick his wounds, Cliff visits his old friends at the Willow Springs Ranch while he considers making cowboy his new job title.

  After six long months on deployment, Rhino returns to San Diego—only to discover Cliff’s gone dark and the unlikely words ‘poor judgment’ hanging in the air. Despite the offer of a prestigious assignment, Ryan opts to track down his best friend first and finds him at the WSR…along with more questions than he ever expected. With the most coveted orders for a SEAL dangling, twenty years of service under his belt, and Cliff determined to move on without him, decisions must be made.

  Ryan is certain he has the perfect solution going forward, but Cliff knows he must face the fallout of his actions alone—and the one thing he’s determined to do is protect Ryan from making the biggest mistake of his career—even if it costs Cliff everything. You know what they say—the only easy day was yesterday.

  Chapter One

  “Black and tan. I’ll watch while you pull,” Cliff told the bow-tied, bare-chested bartender.

  “Very good, Sir. I always enjoy being watched while I’m pulling,” the cheeky man behind the bar replied with a smile.

  Laughing, Cliff dragged a high-backed stool closer as he looked beyond the taps to survey the Thursday night crowd. Although he’d only been to the club half a dozen times in as many years, the interior was as he’d remembered. Dark wood wainscoting, white with red fleur-de-lis accented wallpaper, and swathes of heavy red fabric draped around the room, masking the interior-sealed windows. Elaborate gold and crystal chandeliers glowed softly over the burgundy leather tufted-back sofas, chaise lounges, ornate side chairs, and decor tables. If the cavernous room had been devoid of people and props, you could almost believe you’d stepped into a long ago Victorian parlor. Cliff snorted. Okay, maybe a Victorian brothel. His gaze settled on the woman clad only in a black silk bustier, bound face-first against the St. Andrews cross. Behind her, a man wielded a flogger, drawing up a shade of pink across her ass and thighs.

  Mostly ignoring the scene in the center of the room, men and women stood talking or sat in one of the many conversational groupings, some actively engaged in play, others watched, and a few people drifted from spot to spot, seemingly entranced by their surroundings.

  Turning to study the others who’d elected to sit at the bar, Cliff noticed most of them were men, dressed in business casual. Some of the drinkers might be starting a long weekend and didn’t have to be to work until Monday, but Cliff would bet more than a few would have serious regrets when they hit the desk tomorrow morning. Several pretended an interest in the bottom of their glasses, but most followed the bartender’s slim hips as he worked the crowded bar. The glass of Guinness sat nearly full to the side of the beer taps while the pretty dark-haired man stepped to the opposite end of the bar to pour a Jack and Coke for another customer. He moved with a slightly exaggerated graceful efficiency that said he was aware of the admiring glances. By the time he returned to Cliff’s end of the long bar, the dark brew had settled. He added the last inch, holding the glass straight up so the head rounded perfectly ab
ove the rim. So many suggestive comments played in Cliff’s head, but in the end, he settled for a quick thanks as the bartender placed the perfectly stacked Guinness on a circular coaster.

  “Running a tab tonight, Sir?”

  Cliff tossed a bill on the bar. “No thanks—this is it for me,” he said, raising the glass in toast. He tilted it just enough to take a mouthful of foam along with the velvet smooth brew nearly thick enough to make a meal. “Mmmm…perfect. Keep the change.”

  The slender young man’s brows rose at the generous tip. “Thank you. My name’s Gentry. I don’t think I’ve seen you around Hard Labour before, Sir…” He vigorously swiped at a nonexistent stain on the gleaming oak while he waited to see if Cliff would take the conversational bait.

  “Oh, I’ve been here a few times,” Cliff assured him. He licked the foam from his lips, enjoying the way the big, blue eyes followed every movement of his tongue. He raised a brow. “Is Draco around?”

  “Oh—” Gentry’s gaze darted to the dimly lit staircase that ran along the wall. “May I tell him who’s asking?”

  “Cliff. A friend of Rhino’s. Draco’s expecting me.” Damn…he wished Rhino was in CONUS. He should have talked to his best friend first.

  “Sure…I’ll call and let him know you’re here.” He swished his narrow hips a little as he walked to the register, rang up the drink, and dropped the change in a tip jar. He tossed a quick wink over his shoulder, then turned away to use the phone hanging on the wall.

  Five minutes later, Gentry stepped around the bar and ushered Cliff to the bottom of the stairs. “Just call out if there’s anything at all I can do for you, Sir. Oh, and you forgot this.” He shoved the coaster into Cliff’s hand. Looking down, he saw the man’s name scrawled across the back, along with a phone number.

  “Thanks, Gentry. I’ll keep that in mind.”

  Taking the steps two at a time, Cliff Snyder bounded up the half staircase leading to the loft that served as the office for the club manager. Now that he made up his mind—sort of—he was anxious to get on with the mission. He gave himself a mental snort. Okay, so maybe looking into club membership and training as a Dom wasn’t exactly the same thing as the life or death assignments that were part of his job. Given his teammates often referred to him as Cool Hand when he was deep in demolition mode, anyone he worked with would be laughing at his current case of uncertainty.

  He tapped on the door and entered at the shouted, “Come in.”

  The man striding toward him was striking. With his square face creased into a broad smile, he reminded Cliff of Harrison Ford in a craggy kind of way. “Cliff, nice to see you again,” he said, hand extended.

  Accepting both the handshake and the polite lie, Cliff followed the club owner inside. Draco Kincaid would have no reason to remember meeting him more than two years earlier.

  “Thanks for seeing me. I have— Shit. What the hell do I have?” He laughed and shook his head.

  “A few questions?” Draco supplied. “Come on. Let’s have a seat and talk.” The room was divided into two distinct areas. Directly in front of them and lining the left wall was the office space. In addition to a traditionally styled oak desk with a rolling leather chair, there were filing cabinets, a small safe, and a metal equipment rack with shelves holding miniature security monitors. In the center, a twenty-seven inch display cycled through each camera view, the image hovering on the screen for less than ten seconds before shifting to the next. It was a dizzying array of club scenes and private sessions, but before the screen changed views three times, Draco pressed a button on a small remote, and the monitors went dark. “The cameras are monitored from another room,” Draco said by way of explanation as they passed through the open office to the sitting area along the far wall.

  “This is my own private space…no cameras. I have the office and this sitting area…” He pressed another button on the remote and a small whir sounded from the bookshelf that lined the opposite wall. The shelves divided down the center, rolling away to reveal another room, shrouded in darkness. With a dramatic flourish and a wicked grin, Draco pushed the remote once more, and lights in the secret room flickered like a dozen candles had been lit.

  Cliff laughed. “Just what every man needs…a bed in his office. I suppose it’s your version of a casting couch—oh, shit. That sounded wrong.”

  “No offense taken,” Draco said with a little chuckle. “Sometimes that’s exactly what it is. When I hire staff members for certain positions, I need to test the limits of their control. Besides, someone’s gotta test the toys before we equip the private rooms.”

  “Too bad Dirty Jobs went off the air—that would be an episode to remember.”

  “Speaking of remembering—I do, you know. You came here with Rhino two years ago. And you’d been here with him three or four times before that.” Draco frowned. “I’m surprised you didn’t bring him along if you have questions about the lifestyle. Most couples usually come together. So to speak.”

  “Me and Rhino?” Cliff shook his head. “We play for different teams.”

  “Ahh…yes. I have seen him here a time or two with different women. My mistake.” Draco stared at him until Cliff wanted to rub his face to check for dirt.

  “Do I…do I know you? Beyond those meetings, I mean?”

  Draco smiled. “No, as I said, I remember you…but maybe it’s more important that I know about you. Or at least I know why you might enjoy some of the entertainment options available at Hard Labour…” Reaching into his pocket, Draco withdrew something small enough to hide in his hand. He held it tightly for a long moment. “I asked Rhino never to mention how we met—it was only briefly and before I opened this club.” He side-armed the item across to Cliff, who snatched it then stared, a smile hovering over his lips.

  “Well, I’ll be a sonofabitch,” he said as he stared at the gold trident. Draco Kincaid had been a Navy SEAL.

  “It’s why I agreed to answer your questions rather than have you attend a couple of our introductory meetings. BDSM is different for people like us.”

  “Like us? Because of our training?”

  “Exactly. Tell me. What part of BDSM have you tried? Or is it all just fantasy to you at this point? Sorry to be so blunt, but you wanted to know about the lifestyle—and I need to know where you’re coming from.”

  Cliff cleared his throat. “Nothing formal—if there is such a thing. A few swats here and there. Uh…holding someone down, restraints. I’ve watched some, been to a couple of clubs, and here, of course. I’ve done my homework—a shitload of research. Now I want more… I want to try the cross and a sling. I couldn’t give a shit about the cages or public display. I’m not into degradation or humiliation. Pain only if that’s what my sub wants.”

  “Oh…you already have a sub?”

  “No…I’m speaking in general terms.”

  “Come here. I want to show you something,” Draco said. He stood and walked across the thick carpet toward the hidden alcove. Cliff followed, genuinely curious how this former Navy SEAL had come to own a BDSM club.

  Draco opened an armoire then stepped back to give Cliff a good look. Many of the items he’d seen in porn, some here at the club and at the two gay clubs he’d visited. “Take a quick look.”

  Cliff scanned the shelves, before Draco closed the cabinet and turned to face him. “Tell me what you saw.”

  “Handcuffs—steel, leather, scarves, ropes. Blindfolds, cock rings, dildos, a spreader.” Picture-perfect recall was something he’d trained for, but with only a few distracting seconds to look, his memory wasn’t perfect. He closed his eyes to visualize the interior of the cabinet. “A feather, a skin mitt, nip rings, cock rings.”

  “And I assume you’re aware there were other items, but those were the ones you easily identified in the limited amount of time I gave you.” Draco opened the cabinet again and removed the cuffs and a blindfold. “I’m going to ask you to trust me as I take you through a small exercise.”

  “W
hat do you have in mind?”

  “I want you to strip, then stretch out on the bed.”

  “I’m—”

  “Not for sex—at least not now,” Draco said, his voice low. “Think of it as a training exercise, all right? You’ve survived plenty of those and there is nothing whatsoever you have to fear here…except perhaps a little self-knowledge.”

  Fear wasn’t an issue for Cliff and neither was getting naked in front of another man. He kicked off his shoes, then unfastened his slacks before pushing them and his briefs to the floor. Without hesitation, he raised his shirt over his head, not bothering to unbutton it all the way. With a half-grin, he looked at Draco. “Like what you see?”

  Ignoring the question, Draco gestured to the bed. “Stretch out. Give me your right wrist, but keep your left one free for now.”

  The man had done nothing overtly sexual, yet Cliff’s heart rate elevated and his cock went from mildly interested to oh-fuck-yeah. Following the quiet command, Cliff lay back and extended his right arm, which was efficiently cuffed to the wrought iron headboard.

  Rather than join him on the bed, however, Draco pulled a spindle-back chair over and sat. “This is a situation that excites you,” he said, with a pointed glance at Cliff’s hard-as-nails cock.

  “Ya think?”

  “I do. Now fair warning, bad pop psychology ahead—but I’ve had a lot of years to observe people, and I’ve learned a thing or two. SEALs spend a lot of our training in BUDs learning to fight through situations over which we have no control, which is why the training focuses on learning to control our emotions, control our fear. Everything about our jobs is about that control. Sit on the goddamn powder keg full of adrenaline until the last possible second—take the kill, then bug out. There isn’t anything we don’t want to control. I’ll bet even in bed you usually top, right?”

  Cliff nodded, but said nothing. Honestly, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d bottomed. He didn’t hate it, but with the men he’d bedded it hadn’t ever been an issue. Wasn’t that why he was here? To learn to be a Dom, find a sub?