Wilder Read online

  “No. Zane’s made it his mission to locate him, though, so we will.”

  “What’s the plan now?”

  “We’re gonna do the run tonight and let them come at us. We’ll make sure we’ve got eyes on our guys for when these motherfuckers strike. We leave at five this afternoon.”

  “See you then.”

  We end the call and I move into action. I’ve got a lot of shit I need to sort out at the restaurants before I go on this run.

  Scarlett arrives for her shift at Trilogy just after 1:30 p.m. I’m knee-deep in bills when I catch sight of her. She sticks her head into my office, meeting my gaze as I glance up. There’s no smile, but there’s a sexy damn expression all over her that causes my brain to seize up and forget what the fuck it’s doing.

  “For the record, you know your shit when it comes to making a toasted sandwich. Also, for the record, we will never be discussing the lengths I went to gathering intel ever again. Those details shall remain in the vault we now share.” She hits me with the smile she’s been keeping to herself before finishing with “Good talk,” and leaving me as fast as she arrived.

  Fuck.

  I lean back against my chair and exhale a long breath.

  I want Scarlett in a way I’ve never wanted a woman, and after last night, I’m ready to make that happen. But fuck me, that’s not happening any time soon, thanks to the club shit I’ve got on tonight.

  I spend the next hour paying bills and getting the books in order before searching for Scarlett on my way out.

  “Remind me never to attend squad drinks again,” she says when I find her sitting on her milk crate in the kitchen. She must be feeling pretty ordinary; she usually doesn’t go looking for her crate until later in a shift.

  I squash myself onto the spare crate. “I’ve gotta take care of some club stuff tonight. I’m not sure when I’ll be back.”

  She nods. “I’ll handle everything here.”

  I spend a moment assessing her, noting how she manages to look beautiful even when she’s hungover and struggling to make it through the day. “I’m taking you out for dinner when I get back.”

  “And I thought asking a person to dinner was the done thing rather than telling them.”

  “You’ve got stuff to learn about me. I’ll ask when I’m not sure.”

  “Oh, so you’re sure of me?”

  “You are not a woman any man should ever think they’re sure of, but about this, I’m fuckin’ sure.”

  “I’ll have to consult with my cats and confirm they don’t need me at home that night.”

  I chuckle as I stand. “I’ll let you know when I’m back.”

  “We’re not taking any chances,” Scott says as King’s guys finish getting the truck ready for the trip just after 4:30 p.m. “I’ve called in members from Bundaberg, Rockhampton, and Mackay to be ready when we’re coming through to get extra eyes on us. And some of the Toowoomba boys will be here soon to ride with us.”

  Griff strides into the warehouse. “There’s a severe weather warning in place up the coast from Bundaberg on. They’re talking flooding. And the highway is gridlocked just outside of Brisbane thanks to a five-car accident.”

  Scott looks at him. “Christ. Hitting this delivery deadline is gonna be fuckin’ tight.”

  Griff nods. “Yeah.”

  Scott glances at me. “Can you go check on Riggs? See if he’s ready?”

  Gunnar had to take care of a last-minute cleaning job this afternoon and only arrived at the warehouse ten minutes ago. He was a mess of blood and bruises after getting into it with an unexpected guest at the job—a guest who sliced his arm to shit. Riggs was tasked with stitching him up.

  “I’m almost done,” Riggs says as he continues stitching.

  “You got painkillers?” I ask Gunnar.

  “I’ll find some,” he says.

  “I’ve got some. I’ll grab them from my bike,” I say.

  “Thanks, brother. Appreciate it.”

  I head outside to my bike and am rummaging in my bag when a gun is pressed to the back of my head. An unusual fucking occurrence because I’m always on alert for shit like this, yet I still didn’t hear him coming.

  “Put your hands behind your back” comes the order from behind me. It’s not a voice I recognise.

  Putting my hands anywhere for this motherfucker is the last thing I’ll do. But I move my arms as if that’s exactly what I’m doing. I’m halfway where he wants me when I duck the fuck down, spin, and push him as hard as I can. The problem with that is there are two of these assholes, and the other one punches me in the head with enough force to ensure I end up with my face in the gravel.

  My brain scrambles fast, figuring out my next move while also figuring out how the hell they got inside our compound. J’s stationed at the front gate. Either they can climb really fucking well to get over our walls or they’ve taken J out. I really fucking hope it’s that first option.

  That’s a thought I have to shelve while I deal with my current predicament.

  Hands come to the back of my shirt and reef me up. He’s got some strength to him because I’ve got a fuckload of weight on me. He uses that strength to push me into the brick wall behind me. I crash into it, pain radiating through my back as I hit it hard.

  “You just had to put your fucking hands behind your back,” he snarls. “That was all. But no, you went and played cunt on us.”

  His mate, the one I knocked flat on his ass, comes my way, a look of pure anger plastered across his face. He doesn’t stop coming until he’s practically on me. Slamming his fist into my face, he roars, “You fuckers have made this job a pain in our fucking ass.” He punches me again, seemingly on a mission to knock me out if the power behind his jabs is anything to go by.

  Needing to get in the fucking game to stop the course I’m on, I lift my leg, press my boot to his stomach, and kick hard. As he stumbles back, I thrust myself forward and up, moving straight into a twist so I can side kick him all the fucking way back onto his ass.

  The second motherfucker comes at me as I’m taking care of his friend. He means business, but so the fuck do I. When he tries to share his fist with me, I block it and back that up with an introduction to my fucking fist.

  I reach for my gun, but as I do, a third asshole makes himself known when he comes stalking our way with a rifle trained on me. The momentary distraction is enough for the two assholes I’ve been dealing with to gain the upper hand. One of them rips my gun from me while the other one restrains my hands behind my back.

  The guy with the rifle is pissed the fuck off. “I gave you idiots one fucking job. One! And you couldn’t even get that right,” he rants at the other two.

  “Fuck off, McConaughey,” asshole number one says. “This was a bad idea to start with. I told you we should have just stuck to the original plan to hit them closer to Townsville.”

  McConaughey’s face contorts with anger. “Yeah, except for the fucking flooding that’s on its way. Do me a favour and shut the fuck up. And for Christ’s sake, tie this cunt up.”

  “You got any idea how many men we’ve got inside that warehouse?” I ask as my hands are roughly secured by the guy behind me.

  “You got any idea of how little fucks I give about that?” McConaughey snarls. “You might have loaded up this time round, but so the fuck did I.”

  “It looks like it,” I drawl, trying to buy time.

  McConaughey’s fist smashes into my face and my ass meets the ground. He crouches, bringing his face to mine. “The only reason you don’t already have a bullet through your skull is that I’m not ready to announce my arrival yet. Once I’ve announced it, I’m gonna take great fucking joy in putting the bullet with your name on it where it should be.”

  He stands and pulls out his phone to make a call, barking into it, “We’re clear out the front of the warehouse.” He listens for a moment before ending the call and saying to the two assholes, “Everyone’s in position.”

  I realis
e what he means by that when five men appear from the trees lining the gravel driveway, rifles at the ready. They advance on the warehouse while my mind races through my options. I don’t come up with anything fucking useful because my hands are tied, and I have a fucking gun trained on me.

  The rumble of pipes cuts through the air right as McConaughey joins his men on their mission into the warehouse. They halt their progress and turn at the sound.

  Eight bikes ride towards us, increasing in speed as my Toowoomba brothers pull their guns and fire at McConaughey and his men. It’s a shitshow of bullets, a shitshow that Scott and our boys join pretty fucking fast.

  The asshole who’s had his gun in my face takes off, and I try like fuck to break free of the rope restraining me. It’s a useless undertaking until J slips into place behind me and says, “I’ve got you, brother.”

  He removes the rope, and I get a look at the mess they made of him when they got through the front gate. By the looks of him, he put up a good fight.

  “Glad to see you’re still breathing,” I say.

  “It’ll take a lot more than these motherfuckers to put an end to that,” he says, but I don’t miss the pain that just talking and walking causes him.

  I locate my gun that one of the assholes discarded while dealing with me, and J and I join the battle, stepping into the fray as Colt charges at McConaughey with the ferocity he’s known for when pushed to the edge.

  McConaughey is already down with a bullet through his arm, and Colt picks him up by the back of his shirt so he can spin him around and punch him. It’s a hard fucking jab that slams McConaughey back and lands him on his ass. Colt doesn’t slow down. He steps over McConaughey and delivers a round of punches, one after the other in quick succession that don’t give the motherfucker any time to recover.

  While Colt’s with him, I deal with the first asshole who came at me earlier who’s in my fucking face again.

  “You just don’t get the fucking message, do you?” he says, flying at me with his fists.

  “Can’t say I ever listen when the message is pure bullshit,” I say, dodging those fists and punching him in the stomach, drawing on every ounce of desire I have to see these assholes bleed.

  “Motherfucker!” he roars, not liking the pain I delivered.

  “Yeah,” I agree, punching him again. “That’s exactly what I am when fuckin’ pushed.”

  We trade punches, and he inflicts a fuckload of pain until I manage to take the upper hand. I then deliver blow after blow until he’s nothing but bloody pulp.

  The sounds of the battle going on around us filter from my consciousness. The only sounds I hear are the heavy thuds of my hands connecting with this asshole’s body and his rasping breaths as I move him closer and closer to death.

  I finally deliver that death with a bullet. It’s a bittersweet moment. I fucking want him dead, but I’d prefer to take all the time in the world getting him there.

  “Wilder!” Scott yells as I put that bullet in the asshole’s head. “Get down, brother!”

  I don’t hesitate, dropping down to escape the bullet Scott sends McConaughey’s way. It hits him in the chest at which point Colt lodges another one in his head.

  Glancing around, I take in the dead bodies surrounding us. All of McConaughey’s men have been taken out along with two of our Toowoomba brothers. Fuck.

  “That was a fun fuckin’ party,” Nash says, his face painted with blood, bruises, and fury. I couldn’t fucking agree with him more.

  Griff catches his breath as he points at one of the dead guys from McConaughey’s team. “That’s the other McConaughey brother.” He retrieves the guy’s phone along with his brother’s. “I’ll go through these and see what I can find.”

  Scott nods, wiping blood from his face. He’s barely containing the dark energy vibrating from him. We’re all fucking feeling it.

  “We need to get on the road,” Scott says. He surveys the chaos we’re standing in before looking at me, J, and Colt. “You three stay behind with Griff and take care of this. With any fuckin’ luck, we won’t have any problems on the way now.”

  “Yeah,” Nash agrees. “I’m all out of joy after that fucking bash. I’m not ready to back it up with another one.”

  I like a good fight, but I’m with Nash on this. And I hope to fucking God that Griff finds the evidence we need on those phones to prove these assholes were who we were looking for.

  22

  Scarlett

  Whoever invented alcohol should be shot for not taking the time to ensure drinking copious amounts of it doesn’t lead to a hangover.

  It’s been the longest day of my life this year after getting drunk at squad drinks last night, and I’m ready to die the death I’ve wished for all day. Thankfully, it hasn’t been a super busy day, so I’ve been able to find pockets of time to sit on my crate and gather enough strength to go on.

  I’m sitting on my crate just after 10:00 p.m. when Paul texts me. He sent through a stack of messages this morning, which I haven’t had a chance to reply to yet.

  Paul: You are not usually a woman who leaves a man hanging. I’m trying to organise tickets for a show on Tuesday night and need to confirm your yes. Text me!

  Me: What kind of show?

  Paul: You ARE alive!

  Me: Always so dramatic.

  Paul: Which you love. Don’t deny it.

  Me: *insert eye-roll*

  Paul: I’ll take this as a yes.

  Me: You should not.

  Paul: Fine, it’s a comedy show. Drinks included.

  Me: If I never drink again, it won’t be too soon.

  Paul: Got it. Just tell me yes already.

  Me: Fine. Yes.

  Paul: I heard about your visit to Justin and the sandwich he made you.

  Me: You know I don’t do TMI ever so stop fishing.

  Paul: Ugh. You are no fun.

  Me: So that means I don’t have to go to the show?

  Paul: No, that means you need to come so I can help you get yourself together.

  Me: I’m too hungover to even ask what that means or put up a fight.

  Paul: I’ll text you the details. The show starts at 8pm, but you should come at 7pm so we can get started.

  I shudder to think what he means by that.

  Also, I’ll probably cancel on him tomorrow morning when I’m back at full strength but there is no point going up against him tonight. Not when I’m running this low on fumes. He’ll kick my damn ass.

  “Scarlett, you in here?” Madison says as she enters the kitchen.

  “It depends why you’re asking.”

  “I need some of your potato bake for J.” She makes it to the corner where I’ve started dying my slow death. “Please tell me you have some. I’m desperate here.”

  I stand, frowning. “It’s ten o’clock at night. Why do you desperately need potato bake?”

  “Stuff went down with the club this afternoon, and let’s just say that J’s not in great shape tonight. Your potato bake always puts him in a good mood so it might cheer him up.”

  “What kind of stuff went down?” As soon as the question leaves my lips, I know it’s a dumb one. The girls never discuss club stuff with me, and I don’t want them to. Except, damn it, Wilder. I shake my head and blurt, “Just pretend I didn’t ask that. I’ll check on the potato bake.”

  I’m halfway to the fridge when Madison says, “Wilder’s okay, Scar. A little banged up from what J said, but okay.”

  My feet do their best to keep walking but fail. And then they turn the hell around so I can look at her. “What does a little banged up mean?”

  She smiles. “This is a good look on you.”

  I arch my brows waiting for an answer to my question while ignoring what she just said.

  Her smile grows. “How did you go with him last night after you left us?”

  “Jesus, this is what it’s gonna be like with the squad, isn’t it?”

  “We’re just excited for you. We don’t
mean to be nosey, but seriously, you never give us anything. We have to pry information from you.”

  “Maybe I don’t want the world to know my damn business.”

  She nods. “I know.” She comes closer, her eyes and voice softening as she says, “But we aren’t the world, Scarlett. We’re your friends. We want to be here for you. High or low, we want to support you.”

  I stare at her in silence while I process all of that. Wilder’s words from yesterday come back to me as I do this. The stuff he said about running from my feelings.

  I haven’t had friends since I was seventeen when the only friend I had in the world walked away from me. Marty was my everything back then. My one light in a dark and shitty life. It killed me when he left, and I swore I’d never bother with friends again. But some-fucking-how, these girls have found their way into my little black heart, and as much as I might think I want to run from how that makes me feel, I know deep down I don’t really want to.

  The night I arrived home to discover my brother almost unconscious from drugs changed things for me. It was the night Wilder came over and sat with me for no reason other than to just be with me during a hard time. It was the first time in eight years I admitted to myself that I didn’t want to do it on my own anymore.

  “Fuck,” I mutter, and when Madison smiles at me again, I add, “I’m probably not gonna be what you want me to be. You know that, right? Like, I’m not gonna share all my shit with you like I did last night. And I’m not gonna run to you girls with all my problems. And I’m not about gossip and drama. You can keep that away from me.”

  “We don’t want you to be anyone but who you are,” she says, and I hear the honesty weaved between her words so clearly that I believe it.

  This is all getting a little too fucking touchy-feely for me, so I throw out, “Are you gonna tell me what banged up means, or do I have to guess?”

  She smiles. “I’ll take that as things went well between you two last night. The good news is he’s alive. The bad news is he’s in a bit of pain.”