by C. M. Owens
“Instead of building a fifth corner amendment, he’s joining the Vincents, since he and Lilah will be getting married.”
Hey!
“We actually haven’t decided on that yet,” I interject.
“You’ll be getting married,” Vick says dismissively.
“That’s going to make their side bigger,” someone points out—I think it’s Lenny Nickel.
“We’re the smallest corner,” Hale says dismissively.
“Because we’re the youngest addition,” Killian adds, “we have room to grow.”
“But the Vincents sprout in multiples,” Kylie Malone says, winking over at me as I roll my eyes.
She knows I fear this.
“God help us all when they procreate,” someone in the back says—not a Wild One.
“It’s already done. Benson will become a Vincent when he marries Lilah—”
“I’m sorry, but what?” Benson asks, his eyebrows going up as I giggle to myself.
“You’ll become a Vincent,” Vick repeats. “You’ll have to change your name. You know we can’t have other names in the four corners. It’ll confuse things.”
“We’re simple people,” I drawl, grinning as Benson narrows his eyes down at me.
“Benson will become a Vincent, and be an addition to the dead chipmunk corner,” Vick declares with finality.
“Apparently I don’t get a say in this,” Benson mutters.
“Just remember you love Tomahawk because of all the crazy,” I say, patting his hand.
He tosses his arm around me as I lean into his side.
Vick points his gavel at Benson. “Install a flag immediately. You’re officially a Wild One.”
And that’s our story.
We’re a crazy, somewhat bizarre, certainly wacky town that makes life work and lives it to the fullest.
We’re fierce.
We’re loyal.
We’re occasionally destructive.
We’re undoubtedly wild.
Because we’re the Wild Ones.
And we’re just getting started.
The End
For a sneak peek at Liam and Kylie’s book, keep reading.
GOING WILD
The Wild Ones #2
Coming soon…
PROLOGUE
LIAM
People often ask me what in the hell convinced me to move to Tomahawk, Washington, where the four corners of crazy are known as the Wild Ones. They want to know what possessed me to live next door to the Vincents—the same ones who think it’s acceptable to fish with dynamite if the fish aren’t biting the hooks they so generously attempt to use.
They want to know why I ever thought I’d make it in the woods with bugs, bears, and other things that want to take a bite out of me.
I tell them all the same thing…it’s a long, crazy story.
And of course, I blame one girl.
Chapter 1
Wild Ones Tip #293
Watch for Wild Ones. Shit usually blows up in our wake.
KYLIE
“You crazy sons of bitches!” I yell as the smoke slightly clears from where Hale Vincent has just accidentally blown up our dock.
His eyes are wide as he heaves himself out of the lake, his terribly long beard dripping with water.
“That was an accident!” he calls out. “I was aiming for the stump and tripped!”
Killian, his brother, points to the said stump that is lifting out of the water.
“It messed up our props the other day!” Killian tries to explain.
A grin spreads over my face when I hear the stampede of feet rushing this way.
“Better run, Vincents,” I say with small smile.
Killian curses, trying to crank the boat, but he’s too late.
Paintballs start flying, pelting the boys as they yelp and try to duck. The tink tink tink is a beautiful sound as the paintballs rapidly crash against the boat, while the army of Malones face off against two-thirds of the Vincent triplets.
“We’ll fix it!” Hale yells as Killian gasses the boat and drives them away from the dock…or what’s left of it.
“Damn right they’ll fucking fix it,” my dad grumbles, walking over as part of the dock breaks off and falls into the water, punctuating the destructive wake of the Vincents.
He groans.
“Damn Vincents. If I hadn’t loved their Momma and Daddy so much, I’d kick their asses all day every day for the rest of my life.”
I grin, knowing he’s full of shit. He has a soft spot for the orphaned triplets. Just like the whole town does.
“It’s not like we’re much better,” Eric points out helpfully.
“We’re all the Wild Ones for a reason,” Jason, another cousin of mine, says, grinning. “Besides, this means we can pay them back.”
Dad points his finger in Jason’s face. “Do not blow up their dock. Bill will never let me hear the end of it. Besides, Vick said he was going to put a ban on explosives if we all kept using them so much.”
Tomahawk problems. Gotta love them.
“You sure you want to go off to LA and miss all this?” Dad asks, his beard moving up, signaling the fact he’s smiling.
Or so I assume.
Tomahawk—land of the bushy beards. Don’t ask. Long story.
Those beards are the reason I love traveling. I don’t even know what the men from this town look like, so if I want my vagina to ever get any exercise…I travel.
For good reason.
Besides, most of the guys here are too afraid to hook up with a Wild One.
Pansies.
“It’s just for a couple of months,” I remind him.
He smiles broader, because that beard lifts higher.
“My fancy artist daughter.”
I roll my eyes, and my cousins start heckling me. When Heath’s muddy foot brushes my boot, my body turns to stone, and I slowly look down.
A hushed silence falls over the yard.
No one moves. Even the creatures of the forest seem to freeze in place, terrified of what I may or may not do.
My red. Beautiful. Shiny. Awesome Boots.
Mud.
Dirty. Mucky. Mud.
“Oh shit,” Heath says on a hiss.
Slowly, my eyes come back up, leveling him with a cold glare. His eyes widen in fear seconds before he takes off running.
I snatch up the paintball gun, and I take aim before firing rapidly, hitting him at least ten times before he collapses and curls into the fetal position.
“You better be glad mud will wash off these!” I yell. Then peg his ass five more times with paintballs as he howls in pain.
My dad is shaking with silent laughter when I glare over at him.
“Just mud. You don’t kill over mud if it’s not the suede.” He raises his hands innocently, and I roll my eyes.
“I’m going to go see Lilah before I leave. So I guess I need a ride there.”
“I’m not going around the Vincents,” he growls. “Not after they just blew up my dock.”
I bat an unconcerned hand. “They’ll fix it. They always do. It’s only Lilah’s shit they never fully repair.”
“Take the boat. I’ll send Heath after it.”
I give him a quick kiss on his hairy cheek, and then he kisses my forehead.
“Be careful in LA. Don’t get arrested. They’re not as lenient as we are around here.”
I flash a grin. “No worries. I won’t be beating boys up on the sidewalks or accidentally blowing up someone’s personal property.”
“I mean it, Kylie. Don’t do anything crazy like crashing your car into a pool again. You’ll have to pretend to be normal for a couple of months and forget your raising. We won’t be there to back you up,” he goes on.
“I won’t be crazy anywhere but Tomahawk,” I tell him, crossing my heart with my index finger.
“Promise?” he asks.
“Promise.”
Chapter 2
Wild Ones Tip #74
Wild Ones are always wild, so lock your doors and sleep in body armor.
KYLIE
“Hey, everyone, this is Kylie Malone, and she’s filling in for Jake’s pussy ass tomorrow so we have that fifth,” Rudy says as we drop to a booth inside a bar.
It’s a laidback bar, just on the outskirts of LA, not far from where the gallery was.
I flash a smile at all the guys around the table, my gaze lingering on one seriously sexy face for a moment longer than the rest, before giving a little wave.
The sexy guy arches an unimpressed eyebrow at me as he lowers his beer bottle.
He’s blond, the perfect splash of tan, and has a strong jaw with no hint of stubble. I’ve been stuck in beard central for the vast majority of my adult life, so I’m still adjusting to the smooth faces.
And his is my favorite so far.
“You’re going skydiving with us?” Sexy Guy asks skeptically, and I restrain a secretive smile.
“Yeah. Problem with that?”
He shakes his head slowly, his smirk lazily etching up. I can tell he’s going to be a dick.
“That’s Liam,” Rudy says, gesturing to the dick.
He goes around the table, introducing the other three guys, and I pretend I don’t feel the disbelieving gaze of Liam as he studies me without subtlety.
As I’m about to tell one of them where I’m from, Liam talks over us.
“This is expert level skydiving. No instructors are going to be strapped to you.”
Guys like this? Never get challenged. I’ve learned that about LA in the past three weeks. I’m only here for four more, which will be the end of my showcase tour.
So far, I’ve learned it’s nothing like what I’m used to.
But I’m also nothing like they’re used to.
“Really? I had no idea.” I mock a gasp. “Rudy, why didn’t you tell me?”
Really, though, my acting skills are so over-the-top that you can hear the sarcasm coating each word. Rudy starts laughing, and Liam’s cocky smirk flattens to a thin, disapproving line. I wink at him before ordering a shot of tequila.
“Shots? Before skydiving?” Liam asks.
“You always mother the ones around you?” I ask absently, not looking directly at him.
Really is a shame such a sexy face belongs to such a prick.
Five minutes into speaking to him, I know three things.
He’s entitled.
He’s rich.
He’s a prick.
All I need to know.
My shot arrives, and I grin up at the waitress, thanking her before handing her my money. Then I toss it back and order another.
She keeps them coming, and before I know it, the conversation has veered to the more pornographic pieces that were in the gallery today. I laugh under my breath, trying not to notice how Liam is still studying me.
“You always have such curly hair?” he asks as I stack up my fifth empty shot glass.
“You always stare at curly hair? Or am I just special?” I ask, tugging a light brown curl of mine that springs back into place when I let go.
I smirk at him this time. It seems to bother him when I don’t let him bother me.
He spins the coaster on the table, not looking at me anymore, and I go back to pretending to listen to the conversation.
I mean, Rudy offered me a free spot on their dive, and usually, a dive like this would run close to seven hundred dollars, possibly more. I couldn’t pass it up, so I can pretend to like them for a night.
Even Liam.
The prick.
The guy who is staring at me again.
My hair is shoulder length, and I swear, I have those ringlet curls that turn to straight fuzz if I don’t use a thousand hair products.
There’s something you should know about where I come from…
The women may dress like something out of a fashion horror magazine, but we damn well take care of our hair.
Long story for another time.
I stand and move toward the jukebox when the weight of his very scrutinizing gaze continues to follow me. I pick a song I love, mostly to remind me of who I am, and walk back when it starts playing.
Liam’s eyes slowly scan down the front of my little white sundress and drop to my boots—okay, this is where I tell you I have a small issue. Well, it’s a big issue. An obsession, really.
Cowboy boots.
My small apartment back home has two walls full of boots.
No lie.
It’s where most of my money goes.
Don’t judge me. It’s an addiction.
“Nice boots,” he says, his lips twitching as I sit down. “Straight off the ranch?”
Oh, this guy is really close to getting his ass kicked by these boots.
“I’m a real wild child,” catches my attention as someone from the bar sings along.
My grin spreads, and I turn back to face the prick. “These boots are made for walking,” I joke as I stand again, move to the dance floor, and dance with the first guy who has the balls to join me.
I have no idea what his name is, but he’s a sweetheart, and a damn good dancer.
I’m laughing and enjoying myself, when I turn and see Liam watching me, like he’s trying to figure me out. I go back to ignoring him as someone else starts playing the song over.
It makes me a little homesick, but it gives me a piece of home at the same time.
I keep taking shots. And I keep dancing, enjoying myself.
Several other songs play, and before I know it, the once-empty dance floor is now packed full of people. I dance until I’m suddenly plowing against a firm body, and I move a curl out of my face to look up at…Liam.
He smirks down at me.
“How is it you’ve now had ten shots, yet you still seem mostly sober?” he asks, handing me yet another shot of tequila.
“I’m very sober. Are you counting my shots?” I ask, shooting the drink without thinking about the fact he might have done something to it.
I’m not used to having to be wary.
If I feel funny in a second, I’m going to karate chop his dick so hard, he’ll never be able to get it up again.
He smirks before mouthing, “Eleven.”
And then he winks at me.
Even though I hate him a little, and wonder if he’s poisoned or drugged me, for some reason I still smile. His eyes dart down to my lips, and then they flick back up to meet my eyes. He seems amused more than anything.
“Are you going to answer my question?”
I roll my eyes, still dancing. “Two reasons. One, my family are big drinkers. You grow a tolerance, because no one wants to be the first one who’s drunk at a family event. Two, the shot glasses are half the size of normal shot glasses. And they only fill them half way up. So I’ve maybe had three shots in reality.”
He cocks his head like he’s studying me.
“And you’re just dancing because…”
My eyebrows go up. “I like dancing. Besides, if I had stayed over there, something terrible would have happened.”
He waits expectantly, and I grin at him.
“What?” he finally asks, taking the bait.
“You would have just kept smirking at me and delivering veiled insults.”
His smile spreads for the first time. A real, genuine smile.
I’m human, and I’m capable and crass enough to admit that smile of his is like a live wire straight to my clit. Not that I’d ever tell him that.
“That would be terrible, I suppose,” he says, stepping closer.
“Very,” I agree, wondering if I’m crossing into flirty territory when he tucks another curl behind my ear.
I might even shiver a little when his fingers brush my cheek during the motion. This guy smells as good as he looks. And it’s been…six months? At least six months since the last time I found someone to scratch an itch with.
“You really sure you can skydive? Because tomorrow is no joke,” he say
s seriously.
My lips twitch.
“You skydive often?” I ask, vaguely aware we’re just standing in the middle of a bunch of people dancing.
“Not too often anymore, but still on occasion. I like the rush it gives me.”
“I’m well-acquainted with adrenaline rushes,” I say with a shrug.
He gives me a dubious look that tells me he doesn’t believe me, but I hold my secretive smile in place, not elaborating.
“You’re a confusing little specimen, Kylie Malone,” he says. I’m not sure why my name sounds so good coming off his lips.
I blame it on all the beards I’ve endured for too long. Our town stopped fornicating when the beards got long enough to hide baby birds in them. The whole nest and momma bird too, in some cases.
“I’m actually simple. We all are.” I smile again.
“Simple? We? Who’s we?” he muses.
“My family. Friends. Everyone back home.”
“On the ranch?” he asks, but this time his tone is light and teasing instead of insulting.
“Back at the lake. No ranching.”
“They wear cowboy boots on the lake?”
“I wear them.”
He tugs one of my curls, and I allow him to keep invading my space. His foot is touching mine, but it’s not offending my boot yet. If he scuffs a boot, I really will kick his ass. Then kick it some more.
“What were you showcasing at the gallery?” he asks, not bothered by the bodies bumping into us as they dance around our unmoving ones.
“Several pieces, actually. Why? Did you come peruse the massive showing?”
He cocks his head, his own secretive smile etching up. “I own the gallery.”
Well, damn.
My eyebrows go up, and he smiles cockier. He’s proud of his money and prestige, I guess.
I grab the sides of his face, and his smile dies as I tug his face down. He acts like he’s about to struggle when I narrow my eyes and make a show of looking him over.
