Going Wild (The Wild Ones Book 2)

by C. M. Owens

  “Did you call me?” I ask Felicia.

  “No. The service over there was spotty at best. You get annoyed too easily, so I didn’t bother with it.”

  She’s still typing, then she grins up at me. “Stacy just commented on my post saying she hopes you get better, and to let her know if she can do anything.”

  Empty words.

  I’ve learned that.

  People say that all the time, and happily accept your help—which I’ve given through financial means or contacts—but they never give a true shit if you need help in return. To be honest, until Kylie, there was not a single person in my life I’d play doctor for either, so I can’t blame them.

  Felicia keeps talking, and I keep trying to listen for Kylie.

  Fuck this.

  I stumble out of the bed, and Felicia moves out of my way as I grab my crutches, wincing through the pain as I force myself to the next room. It takes longer than I care to admit to make that trip, and I’m out of breath when I finally do.

  “Jada says she hopes you get better too,” Felicia calls out as I push open the door to see Kylie zipping up her bag.

  “Don’t go,” I say immediately, watching as her head snaps in my direction.

  She gives me a tight smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “You have someone to help you now. It’d just be weird to stay. Besides, I wasn’t going to say anything, but they canceled the showcase on Friday. I can go home early.”

  My chest sinks, and I lean against the door, blowing out a breath.

  “Don’t go,” I say again.

  She hesitates for a second, giving me false hope, before she tosses her bag over her shoulder.

  She lifts my phone up. “Hope you don’t mind; I borrowed it to call a cab. I’d call my dad, but…no phone for him. I called a friend instead to see if he’d go let my dad know that I’m coming home early.”

  “He? Boyfriend?”

  Yeah, I realize the second the words leave my mouth that I have zero right to act like a jealous prick. It’s not like I can chase the words down and swallow them before she hears them, though.

  She puts the phone down, and shakes her head. “I didn’t forget to mention a boyfriend,” she says a little passive aggressively. “In fact, I told you I didn’t have one.”

  “I forgot about her. She’s been gone a while and—”

  “It’s not a big deal, Liam,” she says, her smile brittle and forced as she interrupts me. “You’re the guy who lives in a crazy fancy house in LA. You’re the guy who owns every new piece of technology that comes out. And you’re the guy who forgets he has a girlfriend when he almost dies until she returns home to call the girl you’ve been going down on adorable.”

  She tucks her hair behind her ear. Then she lifts her other bag and tosses it over her shoulder as well.

  “I’m way out of my depth here. I’m the girl who lives in the backwoods of nowhere. Wifi is spotty on a good day on my side of the lake. Our fanciest attribute in the home I grew up in is indoor plumbing. And for fun, we entertain ourselves in some rather disconcerting ways.”

  “Kylie, I—”

  “I’m always going to live in Tomahawk,” she says, interrupting me again. “I may travel on occasion, but at the end of the day, I’m always going to go back. Because my family is everything to me. My mother walked out. She left it all. Thought she was better than the place I call my home.” She gives me a dry look. “Then she forgot we even existed.”

  I wince, knowing that was a jab. She doesn’t understand though.

  “I’ll never do that to the ones who love me. And you and I are on completely different paths,” she adds.

  She starts to move toward the door, but I’m blocking her exit. So she stops, staring down at the ground.

  “What’s the worst that could happen if you stay one more week?” I ask her.

  She looks up, and a grim smile tugs at her lips.

  “Something terrible,” she says quietly.

  I smile, cupping her chin, bending so that my lips are brushing hers. She goes stiff against me, so I don’t press her for more contact.

  “What’s that?” I ask on a whisper.

  She sighs heavily. “I could end up forgetting how easily you forget you have a girlfriend. And I’m not the kind of girl who shares or likes to be forgotten.”

  My smile evaporates as my hand falls away, and she gets up on her tiptoes and kisses the side of my cheek, lingering for no longer than a second. I close my eyes, trying to tell myself I’ve only known her for three weeks.

  Doesn’t change the fact this girl, who had no reason to give a damn, was simply the only person who did care when it mattered most. The only person who looked me in the eye when she spoke, instead of distracted by someone else. The only person who smiled like the world makes her happy.

  The only person I’ve ever known like her.

  “Take care, Liam. No more skydiving until you know how to work a chute.”

  With that, she leaves, the sound of a car’s horn reminding me that I’ll likely never see her again.

  I don’t turn around until I hear her rush to say, “By the way, I broke a bathroom window upstairs. I nailed it up with some wood, but you’ll need to get it fixed. At least now I don’t feel guilty about it anymore.”

  Before I can get my head snapped around, she’s slamming the door, punctuating her departure, and I hobble back over to my room, where Felicia is lying on the bed, smiling at the screen of her phone.

  “I just fixed your itinerary for next week so you can work or network from home, and made sure that party at the vineyard you had on your calendar was handicap accessible. You’re welcome,” Felicia says, acting as though this is just any other day.

  I haven’t looked at my calendar in weeks, since I don’t actually work for a living. I just do a lot of networking and let people kiss my ass while I look down on them and judge them and sometimes give them money if I think they can make me more money.

  Obviously that hasn’t been my life goal these past few weeks.

  Gee, I wonder why I didn’t attract anyone real.

  I’ve been just as fucking fake.

  Felicia tells me about my Monday and what’s set up. She moves on to Tuesday, and lets me know I may can pencil in a movie night with her. She tells me about Wednesday, and asks me how good my French is.

  I can’t speak French.

  She moves on to asking me if I’ll be able to get out by Thursday because of a polo match, but I’ve started tuning her out, as I drop to the chair in the corner of my room.

  This doesn’t even feel like my life anymore.

  It feels like my life shattered on the surface of that lake with my leg, and something new happened. Everything else sank to the bottom of that lake that day.

  “Jason and Jenny are in town next weekend. They want to know if you can get them back into Pierre’s restaurant. They loved the mousse,” Felicia states, cutting through my thoughts as she grins at her phone.

  Bye, Felicia, pops into my head. But no, that’s not exactly how I break up with her. I promise.

  Really.

  Okay, maybe it is.

  Kylie’s gone for a second, and already I’m an incurable dick again.

  Chapter 8

  Wild Ones Tip #659

  Grizzlies will rip your face off, even though they look cute and cuddly.

  Wild Ones are the same way.

  LIAM

  One year later…

  So now you know how I ended up in Tomahawk, surrounded by crazy on a level I didn’t know existed. Every time Cooter—a fucking coonhound with a hard-on for my five-hundred dollar pillows—runs into my house the second I open the door, I try not to kill the damn beast.

  Because he belongs to the Vincents. Who are one corner of crazy.

  Oh, and I’ve been here for less than two months.

  On day one, a nice lady named Penny tried to set me up with her niece, Lilah Vincent, who happens to be a Wild One—because that’s a real fuc
king thing. I only went in hopes of running into Kylie.

  Lilah, fortunately, wasn’t any more interested in me than I was in her, and we actually became friends…of sorts.

  In this short time, I’ve seen an entire town of men shave, or mostly shave, their beards after a nine-year beard challenge ended with Lilah cutting her brothers’ beards. Their punishment was swimming naked across the lake. And the single men in Tomahawk started getting laid again.

  To be clear, the beards apparently never hindered the married men from getting laid. This was told to me numerous times by numerous married men, who for some reason felt I needed to know.

  I’ve had random girls running their hands on my “beardless” face while I tried to get away, because this town has zero respect for personal boundaries.

  I’ve witnessed fireworks shooting at people because a dog chased a squirrel—longer story than I care to tell.

  I recently signed up to be on the challenge committee that instated this nine-year-long beard challenge—because that’s also a real thing. How could I resist?

  I’ve seen the Wild Ones in action.

  Know they’re real.

  And I’ve only been in one corner for the action.

  I’ve seen fish float to the surface of the water after pipe bombs went off in a war with the guy across the lake. The guy who owns a water cannon. The guy who fought off two Vincent boys to make it to the girl he loved—Lilah.

  It was all rather dramatic and exceptionally entertaining.

  They did a fish fry that night.

  That was about two weeks ago.

  One week ago? Benson was made an honorary Vincent with the promise he’d be an actual Vincent when he eventually married Lilah. Or so I’ve heard. I somehow managed to miss that show.

  Confused?

  So am I, most days.

  I’ve learned to roll with it, because really, how can you not get sucked into the crazy? You’d rather be a part of it than watch it. Sometimes. I’d rather watch when explosives are involved, if I’m being completely honest.

  I’ve integrated myself into this corner of crazy, and settled in better than I thought I would. Already, I’ve met more genuine people in my short stint here than I’ve met in my entire life.

  And here I am, still waiting to see Kylie.

  I’ve seen just how crazy the Vincent triplets are. They’re part of the Wild Ones.

  And since I’ve moved here, I’ve learned something very important.

  Kylie is on a different corner of crazy because she’s also a Wild One.

  She wasn’t just saying that.

  I knew she was perfect.

  But, unfortunately, she’s likely told her entire family why she left LA. Which means I may or may not have been making allies with some other Wild Ones while I wait to randomly bump into her and tell her I bought a home in Tomahawk for her.

  So I could see her.

  So I could be with her.

  Because that’s not insane or creepy at all.

  I’m a whole other level of crazy, and not the kind she takes in stride.

  So yeah. I’m stalling. Fuck off.

  It’s not easy to walk up to a girl who left you, didn’t try to contact you ever again, and say, “Hey, after knowing you for three weeks, I’m a total stalker. I even bought a house in your home town so I could stalk you better, since you don’t have social media for me to do it virtually. But don’t worry, I’m not watching you through your windows. Yet.”

  “So the Malones are around the bend, right? Do they ever come out here for your aunt’s parties?” I ask, serving the two bottomless pits—also known as the Vincent brothers—some steak.

  They dig in, and I lean back.

  “Yeah. But only if it’s a big party. They don’t come to the small ones,” Hale says, gnawing the steak instead of cutting it. “And only if another family of Wild Ones aren’t in attendance. Obviously. No more than two families at a time allowed.”

  Don’t even get me started on this town’s weird rules.

  “What’s a big party?” I ask him.

  “Why do you always ask about the Wild Ones?” Killian asks me, raising a suspicious eyebrow and not answering my question.

  “Our agreement is that I grill steaks, and you tell me things.”

  “Yeah, but not things that might hurt some of the other Wild Ones. George Malone is a cranky old fuck, but he’s still a decent guy.”

  I roll my eyes. “Do I look like I want to hurt George?”

  He lets his gaze rake over me warily before meeting my eyes again. “I dunno.”

  I groan. “I don’t want to hurt George. I’m actually more curious about Kylie.”

  “Kylie?” they both ask in unison, sitting up straighter as their bodies go rigid.

  “I met her in LA. Nothing bad,” I tell them dismissively.

  They relax immediately.

  “We’re fucking with you. We knew you were into one of our girls, but we didn’t know which one,” Hale says through a laugh, and I glare at him.

  “Though we did suspect Kylie, given all the Malone questions,” Killian adds.

  See? The thing with the Vincents is that they want you to think they’re stupid. When really, they’re fucking brilliant. It’s all part of their camouflage.

  “Now we know,” Killian adds with a smirk. “You move out here for Kylie?”

  Again, see?

  “How good are you at keeping secrets?” I ask them.

  “Depends on how good you are at letting us help with the Malones when the time comes. And it will come. If you let us help you fend them off, then we’ll keep our mouths shut until you have the balls to go find Kylie.”

  My lips curl in a grin. “You say you like the Malones, but you want to fight?”

  “Not fight. Fuck with. There’s a difference. Well, fighting would be cool too. Been a long damn time since we had a good brawl,” Hale interjects, an excited look crossing his eyes.

  “I sure as hell want a rematch now that we have Benson,” Killian says with a dark grin. “The odds will be better for us.”

  Hale grins, then faces me again. “Anyway, we feel like bullies when we fuck with someone who doesn’t have the balls to fuck with us right back. Why do you think we let Benson be with our sister? He never cowed.”

  “So you’re saying I should never cow to her family?”

  They look me over. “Never. But you need backup. Kylie is the one female Malone. It’s obvious they’ll be protective,” Killian says.

  Hale claps my shoulder. “But you have to do one thing for us.”

  “Buy you a water cannon?” I ask, my lips twitching.

  He punches my shoulder. “See? You’re already learning how this works.”

  “Kylie doesn’t trust outsiders, so that’s going to be your biggest obstacle,” Killian offers.

  I don’t tell him why she doesn’t really trust me.

  “Why’s that?” I ask him instead.

  “Her momma wasn’t from here. And her momma ran off and left them when she was young. Her momma’s brother wasn’t from here, and he was gone half the time—”

  “Because he had other kids in Florida,” I say, trying to help out with that.

  “Still gone half the time,” Killian says, arching an eyebrow. “And never came back after he and his not-Tomahawk wife left a few years ago. They only moved out here because Tom—”

  “Thought it was Todd,” Hale interrupts, frowning at Killian.

  “Who’s Tom or Todd?” I ask, confused now.

  “The Malone boys’ daddy,” they both answer distractedly.

  “I think it was Tom,” Killian states with a shrug. “Anyway, they moved out here because Tom’s sister—Kylie’s not-Tomahawk mother—was up here. Then when she left, they started staying in Florida more and more, leaving George to raise their four boys most of the time. When the boys became inducted into the Wild Ones, they had to change their last names to Malone.”

  Hale nods like he’s agre
eing with this.

  “Kylie doesn’t trust any outsider to stick around. Not even Benson. And Benson has Tomahawk blood running through him now,” Hale adds.

  “Kylie will always be firmly rooted here, even though she does travel some for her art,” Killian says.

  “You guys know a lot about Kylie,” I murmur, narrowing my eyes as the two shits smirk.

  “Our sister is friends with all the Wild One girls. We pretend not to listen when she talks, so she talks a lot more when she’s under the illusion we’re tuning her out. You learn things,” Hale explains with a straight face.

  And yeah…this is my Tuesday.

  People in Tomahawk don’t always knock, I’ve learned. Some do. Lilah always knocks. Benson too. But not Penny and not the brothers. Most of the time, not Bill.

  Penny walks right into the dining room where we’re eating, and she pulls out a chair like she was invited. I just stand and grab her a plate, knife, and fork. She doesn’t waste time picking out a steak.

  I’ve learned to cook extra.

  “Glad I caught you at home,” she says, already cutting into the steak. “Lilah’s wedding is tomorrow. It’s last minute, but can you come?”

  I choke on my steak. “What? I just talked to her yesterday and she didn’t mention a wedding.”

  “She doesn’t know she’s getting married yet,” Hale says.

  “But I talked to Benson too,” I argue.

  “He doesn’t know he’s getting married yet,” Killian explains.

  “So will you come? We’re going to do it over at our place. It has the space,” Penny goes on, as though this is a perfectly normal discussion.

  “Sure,” I say on an amused breath. “Why not? I’ve never been to a wedding where the bride and groom didn’t know they were getting married.”

  Killian slides his chair back, and walks out without a word. It’s the usual, so I don’t even question it.

  “The troopers will be here soon, so we need to get the wedding over before they come and we have to start focusing on them,” Penny goes on.

  “Troopers?” I ask, my lips curving in a wry smile.