Wilder

by Nina Levine

“I’ll come with you,” she offers.

  “No, I’m good. You finish telling Chelsea how much you loved having your vajayjay manhandled.”

  She rolls her eyes. “It wasn’t that bad.”

  I leave them and go to the bathroom.

  What feels like an hour later, but is really less than ten minutes, I exit the bathroom. Madhouse doesn’t even come close to describing what I experienced in there. I might be drunk and pedalling my way into the girl squad faster than I thought, but that doesn’t mean I wanna get with a whole heap of other drunk girls and exchange life stories, selfies, and declarations of how hot we look in two minutes flat. And that girl in there who’s taken up residence in the middle of the bathroom on a fucking stool so she can listen to everyone’s problems? That’s a hell no from me. Why would anyone in their right mind wanna hear that shit?

  I’m making my way back to the girls, casually minding my own business and trying like hell not to trip over my own feet, when I get caught up by a group of girls gushing over each other and blocking my path. In my attempt to move around them, I get knocked by a guy zooming past and end up on a couch where two other guys are deep in conversation.

  They are not happy to see me. Their glares tell me that.

  I slowly pick myself back up as my brain stumbles over what I heard them say as I fell. Something about Storm and something about taking them out. And even my drunk brain figures out they don’t mean on a date.

  I walk away from them but circle back around the crowd, all covert-like so they don’t see me. When I’m at a distance that they’re unaware of me from but that I can take a photo from, I pull my phone out of my bag and snap some sneaky photos of them. Unhappy with the level of detail in the photos, I inch closer, dropping into half a crouch behind some girls. I angle my upper body and head around the group so I can snap what I hope are better photos. I’ve just taken them when a guy bumps into me, knocking me flat on my ass.

  Jesus.

  Way to be stealth.

  I’ve got seven people eyeing me like they’re trying to figure out what the hell I’m doing.

  Me too, people, me fucking too.

  At this point, it wouldn’t surprise me if I rock up with Scooby-Doo to the next squad night out.

  I’m not sure if it’s my level of drunkenness or derangement I can blame for my next move. The one where I crawl behind the couch where the two guys are discussing Storm and try to listen in on their conversation. I prove that I wouldn’t make a good detective when the only words I can make out are Townsville and haul. Or maybe it was Saul.

  I’m sitting on my butt eavesdropping like a mofo when Harlow spots me from the bathroom doorway. She squints at me before frowning. When it looks like she’s thinking about coming my way, I motion at her to indicate she should stay put. I try to be all furtive and shit, but she doesn’t get the message and keeps coming.

  Fuck.

  When I’m sober again, I’m devising better fucking squad code for nights like this.

  Getting on all fours again, I crawl away from the couch, past the group of girls who are now watching me like they really do fear for me, towards Harlow, who has decided squinting is her new favourite way of communicating with me.

  When I reach her, I stand and grip her arm. Leading her hastily away from danger, I say, “We are leaving now, and if you argue with me, I will not hesitate to knock you unconscious and drag you out of here.”

  She stumbles, trying to keep up with me. “I don’t know what I just witnessed, but I really wish I’d gotten it on video.”

  20

  Wilder

  Whoever the fuck is banging on my door at fucking three in the morning better be prepared for my fists in their face.

  Sleep is not my friend at the best of times, and it certainly hasn’t been tonight. I’d only been asleep for about an hour when this goddamn banging started.

  I spear my fingers through my hair as I stalk to the door. I’m almost there when I hear a female voice I’m well acquainted with.

  “Wilder! Wake up!”

  I yank the door open and come face-to-face with five foot seven worth of sexy. Unable to help themselves, my eyes go straight to the black material that’s trying like fuck to cover some of her skin and failing fucking miserably. “Is that even a top?”

  Scarlett blinks like she’s attempting to understand my question before slowly looking down at the top that looks suspiciously like it’s just two strips of fabric draped over her tits and held together some-fucking-how at her neck. She then looks back up at me and cocks her head in a way I’ve never seen her do, and crinkles her forehead in confusion. “Yes. Why?”

  Fuck me.

  She’s drunk.

  And I’m a dead man if I keep staring at her in this outfit. It was put together to kill me; of that, I am fucking certain.

  Taking hold of her arm, I pull her inside and into my kitchen, ignoring her protests over tripping in those ridiculously high heels she has on.

  “Wilder!” She hits me with a glare as I let her go. “If I break an ankle tonight, you will hear about it until the day I die.”

  “I don’t fuckin’ doubt it.” I jab a finger at my kitchen table. “Sit. I’ll be back in a minute.”

  Another frown. “Where are you going?”

  “To get you an item of clothing that will do its fuckin’ job.”

  I stride to my bedroom and locate a jacket. When I arrive back at the kitchen, Scarlett has her face in my fridge and her ass on full display. The tight black leather she’s shimmied herself into is the kind of tight I like, but I’m a tired man who doesn’t have as much patience in the middle of the night as I do when the sun’s out.

  “Scarlett!”

  She jumps at my raised voice and straightens to spin and look at me. “I’m making a mental note to remind myself to bring gifts the next time I visit you at this hour of the day. You’re a cranky bear.”

  “You making plans to visit me at 3:00 a.m. again?”

  Awareness of what I’m actually asking flashes in her eyes, but she moves on to another topic. “I’m hungry and you don’t have any cheese.”

  I hand her my jacket. “Put this on and I’ll find you something.”

  “I’m not cold.”

  “You should be. It’s fuckin’ winter.”

  “We don’t get winter in Brisbane.”

  “Put the jacket on and sit down while I get you some food.” I don’t know what the hell she’s doing here, but I do know a thing or two about drunk chicks. When they’re hungry, they go on about food until they find some, so I’ll find some and then get to the bottom of why she’s here.

  She only grumbles twice more before putting the jacket on, but instead of sitting, she stands in the kitchen and pulls her phone out. I’m in the middle of locating the ingredients to make her a toasted sandwich when she shoves the phone at me.

  “I think these men are gonna take Storm out,” she says, catching my complete attention because this doesn’t sound like anything Scarlett would ever say.

  “Huh?”

  She taps the phone screen repeatedly, her eyes shifting from it to mine. “I overheard them talking. I think they’re gonna do it in Townsville, maybe. It’s got something to do with a haul I think.” She frowns. “Oh wait, no, maybe it’s Saul. I kinda missed that part, sorry. But I got photos for you guys.”

  None of that makes any sense. “How much did you have to drink tonight?”

  She flattens her lips. “I know I’m drunk, but I’ve sobered up a lot in the last hour so I could come show you this. Harlow got us kebabs and I drank a lot of water for you. This is legit and you need to listen.”

  I’ve never, not once, in all the time I’ve known Scarlett seen her like this, and fuck if I don’t like it. I cross my arms. “How much water are we talking here?” She blinks like she did when she first arrived and struggled to follow the conversation. “And,” I add, “you’re still hungry after kebabs?”

  “A girl needs stamina to deal
with a man like you.” She gives me one of her looks that tells me not to mess with her. “Are you going to take this seriously, or do I need to smack you about the head and add more bruises to your face to get your attention?”

  I uncross my arms and lift my hands defensively while doing my damnedest not to grin. She’s successfully chased my cranky mood away. “I’m all ears.”

  She shares the events of her night with me, including details I can only assume slip out because of the liquor in her. The bit about Scooby-Doo is highly fucking amusing, and yet, I’m completely fucking unamused because all I can think about is the danger she put herself in to get this information.

  Looking at me after she’s finished talking, she says, “Right, now I know what you must look like on Christmas Day after you open your presents. How sad for you that good presents and good information don’t make you happier. I mean, you could look a little more grateful for all this.”

  “I’m grateful as fuck.”

  “Well, you sure don’t look like it. You look angry.”

  “I’m not angry, but I’d prefer you hadn’t put yourself in harm’s way.”

  “I didn’t.”

  “You fuckin’ did, Scarlett. And you did it while you were drunk, which wasn’t the best decision you ever made.”

  She snatches her bag off the counter. “I was just trying to help you and your club. I won’t bother to do that again.”

  I curve my arm around her waist as she attempts to move past me. Pulling her close, I growl, “I fuckin’ love that you wanted to help me. I just wish that didn’t involve you being at risk.”

  That strips all the fight out of her. In its place is a pulsing tension of desire that’s losing patience with her inability to act on it. That information is all over her. Scarlett wants me as much as I want her.

  She surprises the hell out of me when she brings her hands to my face. Keeping her eyes firmly on mine, she runs her finger lightly over the bruises on my face and asks softly, “Do they hurt?”

  I’ve no idea why she’s segueing from one conversation to another, but it’s not an unusual thing between us. “Not much.”

  “I think your idea of not much is different to mine.”

  “Does your hand still hurt?” The one she showed up at work with today.

  A smile plays at her lips. “You don’t miss much, do you?”

  I tighten my arm around her, inhaling her scent, her nearness, her everything. “No, but suddenly I’m seeing more than I ever did.”

  That pulsing tension beats harder.

  Pushes for more.

  Scarlett’s fingers continue their discovery of my features while her eyes bore into mine. “You’re in my veins,” she whispers. “I didn’t want you in my veins.”

  “I know.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because I didn’t want you in mine either, but that’s exactly where you are.”

  Pulsing.

  Beating.

  Pushing.

  Her hands loop around my neck, slowly, like she’s spreading out time, waiting for something. Finally, she says, “Why aren’t you kissing me then?”

  “Because I’ve already kissed you twice. I told you to come find me when you were ready to admit what you want.”

  “I’m here. I came and found you. Kiss me already.”

  “This kiss isn’t on me.” I brush my lips against her ear as I rasp, “I’m waiting for you to signal your intentions. Are you in or are you out?”

  Scarlett shows me why she’d hands down win the award for most stubborn woman alive when she takes her sweet time figuring out if she’s going to kiss me. Hell knows how I manage to keep my mouth from hers, but I do.

  “I’m here. I’m in. And damn you for making me melt.” Her eyes widen a fraction. “And I just said that melt thing out loud, didn’t I?”

  Fuck me.

  This woman is fucking speeding through my veins, demanding occupancy of more than just them.

  “You did,” I say, allowing the smile forcing its way onto my face to take over. “And I fuckin’ liked it.”

  Scarlett does what she does best; she backpedals as fast as she gives an inch. Every time she gets close, she freezes the fuck up again. Two steps forward, one back.

  Her hands press to my chest as she tries to move out of my embrace, but I’m not giving her any room for backpedalling tonight.

  Crushing her body to mine, I say, “Not so fast, Cherry Bomb.”

  Wild eyes stare back at me. “What the hell is a cherry bomb?”

  “A dangerous fuckin’ firecracker that should not be handled by someone who doesn’t know what they’re doing.”

  Her breathing speeds up as her fingers gather handfuls of my shirt into them. “Do you know what you’re doing?”

  “I don’t know yet. I’ve never known a woman like you. You make me want to run to you with every fibre in my being while simultaneously slowing the fuck down and taking my time. You know where all my buttons are, and you’re not afraid to press them all at once. You call me out on my shit but refuse to back down on your own.” I pause, madly searching those brown eyes that are watching me with a fierce intensity that tightens my gut. “This attraction between us is dangerous, Scar, but hell if I can stay away a second longer.”

  Our lips crash into each other’s as we both surrender.

  We’re a fucking wildfire blazing to life.

  Incandescent.

  White-hot heat I’ve never known. White-hot heat I want a hell of a lot more of.

  Scarlett’s tongue seeks mine as she deepens the kiss, her fingers finding their way to my hair, gripping it exactly how I like.

  I groan into her mouth as I run a hand down the middle of her ass and press her to me.

  The noise she makes when I do that sparks a whole new level of need for her.

  By the time she drags her mouth from mine, her hands have been all over me, claiming my body like it’s never been claimed. I’m unsure how the fuck I’ll make it through the rest of this night.

  “For the record,” she says a little breathlessly, “I can admit to my shit.”

  “No, you fuckin’ can’t.”

  “I can.”

  I trace a finger over her lips, trying like hell not to think about all the ways I want them. “I can’t wait to be proven wrong.”

  “Oh, you will be.”

  I need to get her out of here. She’s playful like I’ve never seen, and I’m hard as fuck. A perilous combination when a man’s trying not to take advantage of a situation.

  I slide my hands down to her ass again and lightly smack it. “Time to take you home.”

  “Seriously? You’re taking me home? I show up with information to help you, I throw myself at you, I kiss you, I put my hands all over you, and you wanna take me home?”

  She has no idea how much I want to declare myself insane and tell her she shouldn’t listen to a word coming out of my mouth. Instead, I say, “I don’t want to sleep with you for the first time when you’re drunk.”

  “I drank a lot of water for you. Can I just remind you of that? I’m almost sober.”

  “You are nowhere near sober.”

  “I’m clearly doing something wrong. This isn’t a fight I’ll win, is it?”

  “Trust me when I tell you there’s not a damn thing you’re doing wrong. But yeah, this isn’t a fight you’ll win.”

  She lets me go, the look on her face telling me it’s the last thing she wants to do. “Does that mean you’re not finding me food now? Because I’m really hungry and you promised, and you know I can get mean when I’m hungry.”

  “Ain’t that the fuckin’ truth,” I mutter before jerking my chin at the stools on the other side of my kitchen counter. “I’ll make food, but only if you sit over there. A man can’t concentrate with everything you’ve got going on.”

  Scarlett’s smile as she climbs on the stool hits me low in my gut.

  We’ve crossed a line tonight.

  One we ca
n never uncross.

  One I am more than fucking happy to step over.

  21

  Wilder

  Paul: I can’t get hold of Scarlett. Is she at work today?

  Me: You talking to me now?

  I haven’t heard from him in the three days since we argued over the phone. This is unusual; we don’t do grudges or silent treatment, but he hasn’t responded to my text I sent him the day after we talked.

  Paul: You know I can’t ever not talk to you. I just needed a moment.

  Me: You finished with that moment?

  Paul: Yes.

  Me: Scarlett’s working this afternoon. My best guess is she’s sleeping off the hangover she’ll have today from last night.

  Paul: Oooh, you two got drunk together? Do tell.

  Me: She got drunk. I got a 3am visit.

  Paul: Why must you take forever to tell a story? And why isn’t she with you now? It’s only 8am. Surely she hasn’t gone home yet.

  Me: I took her home after feeding her.

  Paul: Is feeding her code for sex?

  Me: No, it’s code for making her a sandwich.

  Paul: Jesus, when are you two gonna get your shit together?

  Me: We’re getting it together.

  Paul: I’m concerned you need help with that if you think making a girl a sandwich at 3am is the way to go.

  Me: We finished here?

  Paul: I have everything I need, so yes.

  I finish texting with him just as Scott calls. I gave him and Griff a rundown early this morning of everything Scarlett shared with me. The Townsville reference convinced me the information could be legitimate because that’s the destination of the run the club has scheduled for tonight.

  “Griff checked out Scarlett’s info,” he says. “The guys in the photos are the McConaughey brothers. They’re from Perth and don’t tend to step outside of small-time robberies, but we’ve confirmed they’ve been in Queensland for a month now, so that fits. As does the fact Zane pulled a photo of them from Ted Channing’s computer, taken last week.”

  “We found Channing yet?” He disappeared off the face of the earth the day Black Deeds gave us his name. Our guess is one of them tipped him off before we got to him.