Born Wild

by Julie Ann Walker

  “Dad!” Eve yelled again, angrily shaking off the restraining hand Bill placed on her shoulder. “Stop it, Billy. I don’t need you to coddle me.”

  “I wasn’t cod—” But that was as far as Bill got, because Patrick Edens appeared at the top of the grand, sweeping staircase. Delilah recognized him from the covers of a few local magazines.

  “Eve?” he murmured, lifting one brow. The man was wearing precisely pressed silk slacks and a navy and maroon velvet smoking jacket which, seriously? A velvet smoking jacket? Delilah always assumed those were used strictly for gag gifts and bad Halloween costumes. But, apparently not. Because Patrick Edens didn’t seem the least bit whimsical as he descended the stairs like a king coming to court. She wouldn’t have been all that surprised had the brass band notes of “Hail to the Chief” begun blasting through hidden speakers in the walls.

  “Darling?” Patrick Edens cooed once he’d stepped from the last tread, his expensive, calf-skin loafers shushing on the polished tile. The endearment, spoken in that precisely cultured voice, went through Delilah like the stomach flu, making her want to puke her guts up. “This is a pleasant surprise. I thought you weren’t making it to dinner tonight.” Then, “Oh! Sweet Lord! What happened to you?”

  Like you don’t know. Delilah seethed, barely resisting the urge to clap and yell bravo in response to that lovely performance. How could the man stand there, talking to his daughter as if he hadn’t just hired two thugs to shoot her down?

  “I was attacked by masked gunmen inside Delilah’s biker bar a little over an hour ago,” Eve said, lifting her chin and refusing the concerned hand her father extended in her direction.

  Patrick Edens frowned at her rebuff, and Delilah figured he’d chosen the wrong profession. With his perfectly coiffed salt-and-pepper hair, aristocratically handsome face, and Oscar-worthy acting ability, he should’ve gone out West in order to grace the silver screen.

  “Christ! Are you okay?” Edens asked, taking the opportunity to glance around the group. If Delilah wasn’t mistaken, that was one-hundred-percent pure hatred gleaming from his dark blue eyes when his gaze landed on Bill.

  Huh, so there’s a story there. Although, she was learning that when it came to the Black Knights, there was a story everywhere.

  “I’ll be f-fine once you tell me you had nothing to do with it,” Eve said, her lips quivering, belying the fact that the brave face she was putting on was just that, a face…

  Hang tough. You can do this.

  “M-me?” Edens sputtered. “What in the world would lead you to think I—”

  “You’re the only one who knew where I was!” Eve shouted, her decorous mask slipping another inch. Delilah saw the red splotches standing like flags on the poor woman’s neck and chest.

  “Darling.” Edens stepped forward again, this time not allowing Eve to shake off the hand he laid on her arm. Delilah bit her tongue to keep from screaming, Don’t touch her, you murdering bastard! “Just listen to yourself. You’re losing it, jumping at shadows again because your cousin was silly enough to encourage your paranoia. No one is out to kill you. Who would dare?”

  Uh, I don’t know…maybe you?

  “And as for these masked gunmen in the biker bar,” he went on, “what do you expect when you hang out in those types of seedy, lowbrow establishments?”

  Oh no he didn’t. If Mac hadn’t placed a restraining hand on her arm, Delilah would have stepped forward to clock the pompous bastard. As it stood, she remained rooted to the spot, wondering if it was possible for steam to actually pour from her ears or if that only happened on Saturday morning cartoons.

  “And,” it appeared Patrick Edens wasn’t done, “when you align yourself with seedy, lowbrow people?”

  That was it. Delilah was going to slug him. Unfortunately, Bill beat her to the mark. From the corner of her eye, she saw him blow up like a rooster in a chicken coop when a rival struts in. All ruffled feathers and pomp. Only Bill’s ruffled feathers were really big, really impressive muscles, and his pomp was the two vigorous steps he took in Patrick Edens’s direction. “You better step up, or step off, asshole,” he growled, and Delilah figured her teeth were going to leave permanent marks on her tongue. Now she was biting it to keep from shouting, you tell him, Bill! “Because you keep looking at me and my friends that way, you keep referring to us in that snide tone, and I’m liable to take a swipe at you.” Bill lifted his chin, staring Eve’s father down. “And you know for goddamned sure you’re not ready for that.”

  “He’s really good at that, isn’t he?” Mac bent to whisper in her ear.

  “At what?” she whispered right back, mesmerized by the staring contest happening eight feet in front of her. Men! They stomped around each other, taking bites, when the truth was they should just whip ’em out and measure, solve everything just like that.

  And, if she was a betting woman—which she so totally was—Bill would win that little competition hands down. Hands being the operative word. Because Bill’s were big and square and strong-looking, while Patrick Edens’s were long and thin and almost feminine. And in her experience that old wives’ tale about the size of a man’s hands compared to the size of his…erm…bits was right far more times than it was wrong.

  “At making little speeches that encourage a man to fill his drawers,” Mac breathed against her cheek, his breath warm and distracting. She started to turn to him, but Patrick Edens took a small step back, riveting her attention to the scene playing out in front of her.

  You won that one, Bill! Way to go!

  And, yes, it appeared she’d become the silent cheering section, but she just couldn’t help herself. For Buzzard’s sake, she hoped Eve and Bill ripped the bastard a new asshole, except…when she thought about it, even that wasn’t good enough. Okay, so revised wish: she hoped Eve and Bill ripped the bastard’s whole freakin’ head off…

  “Y-you’re proving my point, are you not, Mr. R-Reichert?” Edens asked, but the fact that he stumbled over his words ruined any hope he had of maintaining his superior air. It didn’t however, stop his smile. It was thin and sharp as a knife’s edge and made Delilah’s skin crawl. “And if you’re not careful, you’re going to make me mad. Believe me,” his smile transformed into an ugly sneer, “you won’t like me when I’m mad.”

  Bill laughed, actually laughed, and Delilah had to give him points for being able to find any humor in this god-awful situation. “For the record, Patrick,” he taunted, and Delilah had never seen Bill look anything but composed. But right now? Well, right now he looked like he was moments away from shoving Patrick Edens’s teeth down his throat. “I don’t like you, period, angry or not. But come on. Give me your best Hulk impression. I dare you.”

  “Wh-hat are you talking about?” Patrick Eden’s blustered. “I’m not familiar with your ghetto, street lingo and—”

  “Oh, cut the crap!” Delilah couldn’t stand it anymore. “Did you send those gangbangers to kill your daughter or not?”

  “Of course not!” Patrick Edens shouted right back, proving he wasn’t such a hoity-toity, keep-my-cool-under-any-pressure kind of guy after all. “Why would I do that?”

  Before Delilah could utter another word, the elevator doors opened behind them with that melodic ding-dong, and a man who belonged in the centerfold of a women’s magazine strolled into the opulent foyer. He was over six feet of blond-haired, blue-eyed, well-dressed, homina-homina-handsome, but something about the way he carried himself made Delilah’s hackles twang to life.

  “Uh-oh,” Mac muttered.

  “What?” she asked, turning to frown up at him.

  “This just turned into a traditional backwoods goatfuck.”

  “Huh?” She lifted a brow, watching as the new arrival hesitated before advancing farther into the room. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean,” Mac murmured so far beneath his breath it was hard to hea
r, “that if I’m not mistaken, that’s Eve’s ex-husband.”

  “Um, hello, everyone,” Mr. Universe/Eve’s ex-husband addressed the group before focusing on Eve. “Jesus, Eve, what in the world happened to you?” His demeanor actually appeared concerned, and that was the first time Delilah had seen that particular expression on an ex-husband’s face in regard to an ex-wife.

  “I was attacked at a bar,” Eve said, her expression loudly broadcasting her dislike of the man.

  Ah, now that’s more like it.

  “How awful for you!” Mr. Universe cried, stepping toward her.

  “Don’t you lay on hand on me, Blake,” Eve warned, glowering.

  “Why, Eve,” the man looked genuinely shocked, “what’s gotten into you?”

  Before Eve could answer, Patrick Edens spoke up. “Sorry, I didn’t call you back and cancel, Blake,” he said. “This,” he waved a dismissive hand at the group, “just showed up on my doorstep.”

  “That’s quite all right,” Mr. Universe…er…Blake said. “I actually postponed other plans when you initially called to tell me Eve’d bailed on you. It’ll be a snap to reinstate them and—”

  “What the hell are you two doing together?” Eve interrupted, staring daggers first at one man, then the other, her color so high Delilah worried the poor woman might just stroke out.

  “We went in on a mutual business endeavor a few years back,” Edens answered. “There’ve been some recent developments we need to discuss. And when you canceled on me, I thought it was as good a time as any to call Blake over for a meeting.”

  “A mutual business endeavor, huh?” Eve rolled in her lips, nodding her head. But it was obvious even before she said, “Between my father and my ex-husband; why am I not surprised?” that the association between the two men bothered her.

  “This, uh, this appears to be a family affair.” Blake raised his hands. “And since I’m no longer officially part of the family, I…I think I’ll just show myself out.” He turned to leave but hesitated, glancing over his shoulder once more. “I really am sorry to hear about what happened to you, Eve” he murmured, then added, “but what can you expect from hanging out in biker bars?”

  And what was that? The party line for snobby rich folks or something? And just when Delilah was about to bust out, this time for real, with oh no you didn’t, a thought occurred to her. “Wait a damn minute,” she declared. “How did you know she was attacked in a biker bar? She never said it was a biker bar.”

  “Because Patrick told me where she’d decided to spend her evening when he called to invite me over,” the man said.

  Oh, hell. Mac was right. This was a traditional backwoods goatfuck…

  Chapter Fifteen

  “You!” Eve screamed, jumping toward Blake with her hands curled into fists, her mind burning with so much rage she could barely see beyond the red haze clouding her vision. Of course, that red haze didn’t affect her ears, so she had no trouble hearing Blake’s surprised squawk of pain when her well-practiced right jab landed on the bridge of his nose.

  Crunch! Cartilage cracked beneath her knuckles, and a bright burst of white-hot agony reverberated up her arm to explode in her shoulder. She paid it no mind as she reached back with her left fist to follow that first punch up with a second aimed straight at Blake’s soft belly. He wheezed a cartoonish, “oof,” as he bent in half, one hand holding his stomach, the other coming up to cup the blood draining from his nose.

  Okay, so…she’d lost it. She’d absolutely, positively lost her flippin’ mind. And even though a part of her was standing outside herself, watching as she hurled punches like a bantam-weight boxer, she couldn’t seem to make herself stop. Not when her brain was screaming, after everything he put me through! After tricking me all those years ago! After ruining any chance I had at happiness, now he has the audacity to try to…to try to kill me?

  She wanted to scratch his eyes out, rip his heart out! She wanted to scream and scream and—

  Two strong arms wrapped around her from behind, bodily lifting her away from Blake’s folded form. She struggled against the embrace, her blood boiling through her veins like molten lava, her reasoning and restraint burned down to ashes from the roiling inferno of her heartache and fury.

  “How could you?” she wailed at Blake even as she tried to wrestle out of the human vice clamping her arms against her sides. “After everything! How could you?”

  “Stop this, Eve!” she heard her father command. And there was a time she’d have followed his order without a second thought. A time she’d have wilted like a lily to be yelled at in such a way. But, boy, oh boy, was that time ever gone.

  Briefly she registered the shift in paradigm, but she barely paid it a fleeting thought. Because, suddenly, all the years of manipulation, all the times her father had disregarded her wants and needs in order to forward his own desires, all the pushing and prodding and wheedling flashed through her overheated head like a slideshow projector set on overdrive, and she turned on him with a snarl. By the way he stumbled back, his hand jumping to his throat, she knew the bitterness she felt in her heart blazed clear and bright in her eyes despite the fact that her hair hung in front of her face.

  “Shut up!” she shrieked at him, blowing like the time she’d run the Chicago marathon in just over four hours. “This is your fault, too! You pushed me at him!” She jerked her chin toward Blake who was staggering back against the wall, still cupping his ruined nose in his hand as dark red blood seeped between his fingers. “You wouldn’t stop badgering me until I agreed to go out with him!”

  “You’ve gone f-fucking cr-crazy!” Blake wailed, blinking against the tears pouring from his eyes.

  Something inside Eve, something she’d never known existed, something feral and bloodthirsty smiled at the carnage she’d created. She opened her mouth to scream at him that the jig was up. That no amount of blustering or deflection was going to save him now. But then she heard Billy growl behind her, and she realized he was the one who’d yanked her away from Blake. He was the one who’d kept her from beating her ex-husband to a bloody pulp…er…bloodier pulp. And she didn’t know whether she should thank him for the effort or give him a taste of what she’d just given Blake.

  But when he snarled, “You better watch your mouth, asshole. Because in case you can’t see through all your tears, Eve really wants off the leash here. And, rest assured, the only thing standing between you and a ripped out throat is the fact that I’m holding that leash,” she realized she didn’t want to thank him or feed him a fist sandwich at all. What she wanted was to turn around and kiss him. Kiss him for the strength in the hard grip he had on her, kiss him for the strength in the words he’d just spoken. Because that was something she’d never had before. A man’s strength to add to her own. A man to have her back.

  In this case, literally.

  And it was that strength, the knowledge that even after everything he still had her back, that allowed all the savagery and hysteria, all the mindless fight that’d overtaken her reason, to drain from her body like a river drains into the sea. One minute, she was completely out of control. The next, she was as calm as calm can be. Well, as calm as anyone could be when coming face-to-face with an ex-husband who’d attempted to murder her in cold blood not once, but four times …

  Billy must’ve felt the sudden change in her, because he slowly loosened his grip.

  No, she wanted to say. Don’t let go of me. I need you to—

  And maybe he could read minds, or maybe he could just read her, because in the next instant he stepped up beside her, lacing their fingers together so they could confront Blake as a unit.

  Sweet Lord in heaven. Okay, and she was officially on the emotional roller coaster from hell, because now she felt like crying. Her lip quivered in warning.

  “You got this, sweetheart.” Billy squeezed her hand, his big palm so warm and reassuring agai
nst hers. “Go ahead.” He jerked his chin toward Blake. “Let him have it.”

  Eve glanced up at him, into his wonderful face—the best face on the whole planet; her favorite face—and what she saw was one-hundred-percent, no-holds-barred, Whatever happens, I’m right here with you shining in his dark, diamond-bright eyes.

  Yes, I’ve got this, she thought, her stomach quivering with gratitude. With you by my side, I’ve got everything.

  Pushing her hair out of her face, she turned to throw down the gauntlet in front of the man who’d been the one to orchestrate so much of the sorrow she’d suffered over last dozen years. The man who, for some reason she couldn’t begin to fathom, was trying to kill her…

  Dragging in a deep, fortifying breath, she glanced around the foyer and noted Mac and Delilah were standing quietly off to the side. Mac was watching the proceedings with his usual stoicism, face blank, arms crossed, gaze narrowed ever-so-slightly. Delilah, on the other hand, wasn’t so good at hiding her feelings. If Eve wasn’t mistaken, that was unfettered glee she saw in the woman’s eyes as she watched Blake use the hem of his shirt in an attempt to stymie the river of red that continued to sluggishly leak from his broken nose.

  And, yes, she should probably be embarrassed that they’d witnessed her losing her…erm…S-H-I-T. as Billy would say—although he’d never spell it out, silently or otherwise. But instead, she was bolstered by the knowledge that she could put two more check marks on her mental scoreboard under the heading: Folks Who are on My Side.

  On the other hand, there was her father…

  When she turned her gaze to him, the look on his face had her lungs seizing in her chest and her heart skipping one horrid beat. No support there. Huh-uh. In fact, it was just the opposite. In a word, her father’s expression was one of…disgust.

  Billy squeezed her hand again, and she shook her head, blowing out a resigned breath, because that was it. That was the straw that broke the camel’s back. She’d tried for so long to gain her father’s approval. And to have him look at her like he was looking at her right now was just too much. She was done. Done caring.