Page 9 of Wild Hearts

When that cocky fuck reached out to touch her a second time, I’d instinctively stepped forward to stop him, a rush of fury filling my veins, and it confused the hell out of me.

I don’t get overprotective or possessive of women.

I don’t get jealous.

But all of those emotions rose to the forefront in an unprecedented crash, and I found myself defending Grace before I really had a moment to question why. I mean, I don’t care to watch women get harassed, but this was more than a simple leave her alone.

Grace wasn’t some nameless woman; I wasn’t an objective bystander.

Far from it.

Then she’d immediately jerked away from my touch afterward, and that fucking stung. Nothing good can come from this damn fixation of mine. Hell, she couldn’t even spend five minutes alone with me to clean up.

Women like Grace don’t sully themselves with men like me—rough and uncouth.

Especially not after my comment about taking shots off her delectable body. That mistake sent her scampering back to the bitch squad led by Kayla. I can imagine the tales she’s sharing with Grace.

Max and Kendra return to the bartop, and he follows my line of sight. “So… brunette?”

Not in this lifetime.

***

My alarm goes off at 6:15 AM the next morning for my daily run. Tossing on a pair of jogging shorts and a hoodie, I start stretching while mentally reviewing the list of errands for today—a roadmap to completing much-needed repairs on my house.

Due to its age and bad condition, I bought it for cheap a few months ago because I was tired of living in the small apartment above Dusty’s. Always reeking of motor oil and tiny enough to be called a sardine box by Max, a change was necessary.

Purchasing a fixer-upper wasn’t exactly what I had in mind, but I’m not afraid of hard work or learning new skills. Aware of my limits, I hired a crew to replace the roof first, then Max, a couple of Reaper’s Wolves guys, and I worked on my bedroom and bathroom. Now we’re on to the kitchen, where hopefully I’ll finish the backsplash today.

The agenda set in my mind, I jog down the road, following my usual route. I love running at this time of day because it’s quiet and empty of people, allowing me space to actually think.

Turning the corner towards Oak Park, my thoughts wander like the winding trails that lead through dense tree cover and over streams. The famous Suitor’s Crossing bridge appears on my right, and like always, I avoid crossing it. Call me superstitious, but I don’t need any chance of heart sparks sinking their claws into me.

I’ve evaded their clutches for three damn decades, so clearly I’ve gotten pretty good at dodging fate or whatever the hell is at work in this town.

An outcropping of rocks leads to a blind curve, which is when a cyclist rams into me from the other direction. My back hits the ground as an expletive echoes through the peaceful forest.

“Goddamn! Ever hear of watching for pedestrians?”

A growling dog jumps into view, teeth bared, black and tan hackles raised and oddly familiar.

“Shadow, komm!” Although the German command comes through labored breathing, the dog retreats to its owner’s side. Grace’s side. Her legs are tangled with a purple bike on the mulched path. “Sorry… Didn’t see you.” Shallow breaths puff from her chest as she remains flat on her back.

Anger forgotten, I crawl over to her, careful to seem non-threatening to Shadow as I disengage her from the fallen bike.

“Are you okay?” I survey her prone body and note the cuts on her palms and forearms, along with one long gash slicing up her calf.

“I’m f-fine… Just need… to catch my breath.” Grace slowly pushes herself into a sitting position. We stare at each other in silence before she licks her lips and asks, “Do you always respond to accidents by yelling?”

I duck my head in embarrassment. “Unfortunately, yes. Sorry.”

The apology feels foreign on my tongue. I don’t apologize for my actions. I do what I want and fuck you if you have a problem with it.

Grace grimaces then gently pats along the back of her head. When she pulls her fingers away from her scalp, they’re covered in blood.

“Oh, look, I’m bleeding…”

“Shit!” I rip off my hoodie and tee.

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