Page 1 of California Wild

Chapter 1

San Diego, California

Jesse Navarro stood near the back wall of The Black Coast, arms crossed over his chest, the thrum of bass already vibrating in his ribs.

It was a packed house—shoulder to shoulder, sticky floors, sweat-soaked energy humming beneath the stage lights. He didn’t want to be here. Not really. But Isaac Rayleigh had dragged him out, citing brotherhood and live music and the fact that Jesse hadn’t left his damn apartment in over a week.

“I told you,” Isaac said beside him, nodding toward the stage as the crowd started to swell. “Dead Run Riot is gonna blow your fucking mind.”

Jesse said nothing, jaw tight, eyes locked on the stage. His water bottle hung loose in one hand, condensation trailing down the side. He wasn’t drinking. Not tonight. Not ever again.

He rolled his shoulders, forcing a breath through his lungs.

“I’ve seen them,” he said.

Isaac raised a brow. “Yeah?”

Jesse kept his voice even. “They’re good.”

Isaac snorted. “That’s one way to undersell the most feral frontwoman on the West Coast.”

Jesse didn’t answer. He couldn’t.

Because the lights dropped, the crowd hushed—and then she stepped onto the stage.

Hayley.

His heart lurched so hard he had to blink.

She was exactly the same. And completely different.

Waist-length auburn hair falling like fire over her shoulders, black platform boots, ripped tights, oversized tee that hung off one shoulder like it had been pulled on seconds before hitting the stage. The confidence hit first—cool, effortless. Like she owned the fucking air.

And then she looked up.

Jesse didn’t breathe.

Because for a split second, he swore she looked right at him.

Then she grabbed the mic. And all hell broke loose.

The first note ripped through the room like smoke and thunder, raw and low and full of grit. And Jesse—

He fucking broke.

The sound of her voice cracked through his ribs like a goddamn hammer. That voice—he’d heard it on street corners, in cheap dive bars, in the middle of the night when she thought no one was listening. It had haunted his dreams. Haunted every fucking version of his future.

The drums hit. The guitar followed. A full-body onslaught of sound.

Hayley didn’t sing. She devoured.

Isaac let out a low whistle. “Jesus Christ. That girl’s a problem.”

Yeah.

Jesse knew.

She always had been.

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