Page 24 of Wild Hearts

Gravel crunches beneath the truck tires as I park in front of Grace’s apartment. My buddy Timber invited me to a get-together at the Reaper’s Wolves MC compound, and something prompted me to extend the invitation to Grace, too.

A latent masochist desire? Because surely that’s what this is.

Why else would I ask Grace to hang out when I know she’s not the one for me? When I’ve never even wanted a ‘one’ in the first place?

All week, I’ve kept busy with work, reminding myself that I’ve never had a problem forgetting a woman in the past. Why should this be any different?

But Grace is like a drug, apparently.

Because I can’t shake her.

Can’t get enough.

The high I feel in her presence is an addiction. Like that one Taylor Swift lyric Kendra kept singing a few months ago: “He jokes that it's heroin but this time with an ‘E.’”

Grace is unlike anyone I’ve ever met, and the conversations we’ve had? No one else in my orbit would try to explain Jane Austen to me, and I kind of think I’ve been missing out because of it.

“Hey, thanks for inviting me,” Grace murmurs once she's buckled into my truck.

“No problem. Figured you could use better company after dealing with Kayla.” I’ll pawn her off on Kendra or one of the MC guys’ women.

My good deed done—knowing she’s in safe hands with them—maybe I’ll be able to relax and not feel this constant ache to be near her.

Twenty minutes later, we follow a cluster of people inside the warehouse converted into a communal home for Reaper’s Wolves MC members. Couches and various game tables form a cozy picture, and groups of members and biker bunnies occupy the space. Spying Timber at the back of the building, I guide Grace that way for introductions.

Her steps falter a bit, and instinctively my hand rubs soothing circles over her lower back. “Relax. No one’s going to bite.”

The reassurance falls on deaf ears. Her face remains a little pale, while a sheen of sweat dots her forehead, and I wonder if this is a mistake. If she’s this nervous to meet a couple of bikers—good guys, military veterans—then how the hell is she going to survive the rest of tonight?

“Wes, who’s your friend?” Timber’s dark brows scrunch together in curiosity. I usually fly solo during parties, so his bewilderment is understandable.

“This is Grace. She recently moved to Suitor’s Crossing and works at Casey & Sons.”

“Fuck Casey,” Austin spits from his place beside Timber. He attended school with Brandon and Andrew, too, so he’s well aware of their dickish behavior.

Grace jolts at the automatic rejoinder. At this point, it’s instinct for us to react that way to the Casey name, but to a stranger, especially an innocent one like her, it’s probably unsettling.

I make a mental note to curb the natural reaction in the future, then stop when I realize what the hell I’m doing.

What happened to never letting a woman dictate my actions?

Yet Grace didn’t even say a word, and I’m already trying to change.

What the fuck?

After introductions, the conversation slips into the custom work Timber’s handling at the MC-owned garage.

The entire time Grace hardly speaks. She answers questions directed her way from Lindy, the woman beside Timber, or Luna, Austin’s girl, but her demeanor is a far cry from the friendly persona she had at the carnival with Max and Kendra. It’s closer to the vulnerable one she had after our kiss by her car.

Maybe those oil streaks had her recognizing our differences, too.

Maybe it’s finally hitting home in the midst of my friends—complete opposites of Kayla, or even Grace and her group.

"Are you okay?" I ask under my breath, squeezing her elbow as concern tightens my jaw.

“I’m fine.” She drains the water bottle in her hand before grabbing another one from the cooler off to the side. She gulps that down, too.

Confused by her sudden thirst, I’m about to ask again if something is wrong when the MC president, Logan Snow, and his wife, Caroline, enter the fray. “Hey, man! Long time, no see. How have you been?”

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