Wild Ways Read online

  Wild Ways is a work of fiction. Names, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  A Loveswept eBook Original

  Copyright © 2014 by Tina Wainscott

  Excerpt from Wild on You by Tina Wainscott copyright © 2014 by Tina Wainscott

  All rights reserved.

  Published in the United States by Loveswept, an imprint of Random House, a division of Random House LLC, a Penguin Random House Company, New York.

  LOVESWEPT is a registered trademark and the LOVESWEPT colophon is a trademark of Random House LLC.

  eBook ISBN 978-0-345-54835-1

  Cover design: Caroline Teagle

  Cover photograph: Claudio Marinesco

  Cover illustration: Claudio Marinesco

  This book contains an excerpt from Wild on You by Tina Wainscott. This excerpt has been set for this edition only and may not reflect the final content.

  www.readloveswept.com

  v3.1

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Epilogue

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  The Editor’s Corner

  Read on for a Sneak Peek at Yours to Keep

  Chapter 1

  “So you’re really joining this Justiss Alliance. You gonna wear a cape and tights?” Rath Blackwood leaned back against his Shovelhead Harley in the semidark parking lot of the Ship’s Inn. An odd name considering the dive was nowhere near water.

  Julian Cuevas flipped him off and gave him a hardy-har-har. “No costumes required. Though it is Superman-esque, now that you mention it. Private security firm on the surface, low-key with glasses if you will, but wrangling justice outside the boundaries of the law behind the scenes.”

  Rath whirled his finger. “Booyah.”

  “Cynical son of a bitch,” Julian said, but he couldn’t help chuckling anyway at his facetious use of the marine phrase. “That’s what we stood for, why we joined the SEALs.”

  “Yeah, and look how that turned out.”

  “Don’t remind me.” Julian’s fingers closed over his key, the edges biting his skin. All his plans, his military future, had exploded like an RPG. It hadn’t taken his life or limbs, but it had torn his integrity and purpose to shreds. “This is different. It’s private sector, so we skip the red tape. Risk and Sax have already pulled a mission, and they’re psyched about doing more. I’m ready.” He tipped his chin toward the bar, where a patron’s bad taste in jukebox music thrummed through the walls. “I’m tired of miles of asphalt, punctuated by bars like this. Tired of assessing the hostility of the natives, figuring out whether the place is predominantly motorcycle gang, and predicting how we’re going to be received.”

  It was always the same. How interested were the patrons in the newcomers? Did they give them hairy eyeballs, the look of suspicion? How many wore patches designating them outlaw motorcycle gang members? The one percenters, as they called themselves, were armed, drunk, and sometimes hopped up on crank, a bad combo in itself. Add in the invincibility their gang affiliation gave them and it was danger set to boil.

  Those first few minutes were critical in establishing how Rath and Julian would be perceived. Julian wore his badass Latino look, with his five o’clock shadow and the swagger of a man who had killed—and would do so again, if necessary. Rath, the redneck from Tennessee, wore his longish wavy hair and “don’t fuck with me” airs. Both carried Glocks and knives to back it up.

  Rath stroked his dark beard. “That’s what makes it exciting. It’s like walking into some dive in Afghanistan. Your senses are on alert, analyzing and shit. Keeps you sharp.”

  It did feed Julian’s need for that edge of danger. Getting some guy out of a bad situation was like a hostage extraction. Drunk guy mouthing off to a gang member equaled bad news times twenty. Two rival gangs in the same bar, times a hundred. A war raged right here in America, gang against gang with no compunction about using violence to make a point.

  Julian rubbed the back of his neck. “But there’s no purpose in it. We’re just staying out of their way while we drink and play pool and occasionally rescue dumb people who get themselves into bad situations. I’ve officially gotten the piss out of my system over the defuckle.” A Rathism for the fucked-up debacle that had cost five of their team their careers. “I’m ready to get back in the game. How about you? Come to headquarters with me and check it out.”

  Signing on to The Justiss Alliance a few days ago had felt a bit like walking into the Navy recruiter’s office ten years ago. Three of their teammates had gone through TJA’s orientation so far.

  “Look, I’m not questioning your motives and plans, and you don’t question mine. You go get justice for Chase’s clients.” Rath waved his fingers as though shooing him on. “I’m nailing justice for our trashed careers. For our fallen OIC. We all could have been killed. Risk was nearly mowed down.”

  “Justice, Rath, or revenge?”

  “Same result.” Rath’s mouth set in the stubborn line Julian knew all too well. “I can’t move on with my life until I find out.”

  “The Wolf is long gone. Or dead. We don’t even know the mole’s name. Or that he did set us up.”

  The U.S. agent covertly working with El Martillo, the Hammer, had discovered their goal was a front. Instead of being an organization out to squash drug cartels in Mexico, they were a cartel themselves that wanted their competition out of the way. And they were happy to use the funds and weapons the United States had been secretly supplying to do it.

  It was decided to send in a team of SEALs to take out the leadership and make it look like another cartel hit. Then the United States could gracefully back out of their relationship, deeming it too volatile. But as two of the SEALs slipped into the leader of the Hammer’s bedroom, they discovered someone had already executed him and his wife—and was waiting to kill them. He succeeded, mortally wounding the OIC—Officer in Charge. His identity revealed exactly who was behind the assault.

  To prevent retaliation, the U.S. government claimed that the rogue OIC had undertaken the assault himself, talking five SEALs into going with him. Those SEALs had been tried in a mock hearing for the public’s benefit. They had not been court-martialed, but had been relieved of duty.

  Julian ran his thumb along the tank of his Harley Fatboy. “You going down to Mexico by yourself is a bad idea. The Hammer’s as powerful, and as violent, as the other cartels. If they recognize you, they’ll feed you to the dogs. We could run this through The Justiss Alliance—”

  “I told you, this is my gig. If I crash and burn, I do it alone.”

  Julian had to try, even though he knew Rath was as moveable as a mountain when he set his mind to something. Julian knew his brother was only trying to protect the rest of the team, but he hated to think of Rath going it alone. He held out his hand, clasping Rath’s. “I respect that. Stay alive.” The two hugged briefly and stepped back. “When are you heading down?”

  “After I go home and set my affairs in order. I want to make sure my younger brother ends up with all my shit. Otherwise it’ll get sold for beer and cigarettes. I’ll keep in touch with you chuckleheads, don’t worry.”
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  “Ah, now you’re just getting mushy.”

  Rath straddled his bike and kicked up the stand. “I’d better roll before I start embarrassing myself. Be safe.” He started the engine and tore off into the night.

  Julian watched until his taillight faded into the distance. A deep, sudden sense of isolation kicked him in the ass. It was the first time he’d been alone. Growing up in a big Puerto Rican family, then on to BUD/S and the teams, he’d always had people around. Now he stood in the nearly empty parking lot of a run-down bar feeling utterly alone. To punctuate the moment, the light that shone over the remaining bikes parked along the wall crackled and blinked out.

  Julian was about to mount his own bike when a familiar sedan pulled into the lot and parked. He’d seen it at the gas station earlier that evening. The driver, a beautiful redhead, had pumped gas while the guy with her ambled into the station. Julian had toyed with offering to take over the nozzle for her, as a gentleman should, but her suspicious glare halted that idea before he’d taken a step closer.

  She pulled her hair into a ponytail with a practiced hand as she stepped out of her car and searched the parking lot. Her gaze skipped over where he lurked in the shadows, then settled on the door with an odd mix of trepidation and determination. She did not by any stretch look like the kind of woman who regularly went to bars like this, even with her faded jeans and black boots. Or gun, he noted, seeing the faint outline beneath her shirt at her waist.

  Her light, creamy complexion reflected the light, which revealed high cheekbones and a lush mouth. No makeup. She looked healthier than the women he saw in these dives, no sign of the ravages of meth use. She wasn’t here to buy, sell, or get laid, but she did have a purpose.

  She got back into the car, and the two remained there. They weren’t making out or sitting in a way that indicated they were on a date. Something about them—about her—gave him a hairection. That was another Rathism, a word Rath had made up for when the hair on the back of one’s neck stood on end. An omen. These two were up to something. He crept around the back of the stand-alone building that he suspected had been a fast food restaurant at one time and came out not far from their car.

  Though she had parked off to the side, and some distance from the second light in the lot, Julian could see the way she scanned the parking lot.

  Her voice was soft, yet it carried to where Julian lurked. “I see a few Harleys, but not enough for the whole group to be here. And no Billy Bob outside guarding the bikes.”

  “They must have changed their plans,” the man said. “We should probably head out.”

  “They might just be running late. It’s not like these gangs have a rigid schedule.”

  There was nothing familiar or warm in the tone of their conversation. They were obviously here for some purpose that involved the Kings of Chaos, since this was their territory. That made it even more intriguing. Dealings with gangs like them usually involved drugs or stolen motorcycles, and Julian’s gut said that this woman had no interest in either.

  The two in the car didn’t speak for several minutes. Waiting in the shadows was nothing new for Julian. Usually there was the prospect of something exciting at the end of any wait. Being shot at. Taking out bad guys. This time it would be solving the mystery of why these two were here.

  Ten more minutes passed. The bar door opened and four men and two “ol’ ladies,” as the bikers called their women, stumbled out. The men’s vests bore the Kings of Chaos logo: a ram’s head, its horns curling back to form handlebars. A little research on the smart phone always paid off. The Kings had racked up some serious offenses over the years, including murder, motorcycle theft, and extortion. They were vicious and unpredictable, but they weren’t known for attacking outsiders without provocation. Of course, provocation was in the eye of the beholder.

  Several of them had sized up Julian and Rath when they’d entered the bar, no doubt taking in their confident swaggers and the cold, hard way they assessed the room. Maybe they’d noticed the lumps beneath their loose shirts. Julian and Rath gave them respectful nods that meant: You don’t give us trouble, you won’t die tonight.

  The biggest of the men who’d just walked out grabbed his woman’s hair and spun her around, leaning into her face. “You don’t talk to me like that, bitch. You got that?”

  “I only meant—”

  He slapped her face. “I don’t care what you meant. It sounded like disrespect.”

  Julian’s body tensed as every cell strained to defend the woman. He knew that biker chicks were treated like property, something they accepted. But that didn’t make it any easier for Julian to stand by and watch it happen. If the bicho hit her again, Julian would step out. It wouldn’t be the first time. He and Rath had almost come to blows with bikers a couple of times over this very scenario.

  The woman lowered her head. “I’m sorry.”

  Her old man released her hair and continued on to his bike, she following like a scolded puppy. It made Julian sick, but at least she wouldn’t be beaten here.

  They were at the far end of the parking lot when the same bully pushed another guy so hard that he stumbled and fell to the ground. He raised his hands when his attacker pulled a gun and jammed the muzzle toward him. Julian strained to hear their low, muttered words, but could only make out “You ever do that again” and, from the guy on the ground, “I swear …”

  The big guy pistol-whipped him and walked over to his bike, so confident that he turned his back. No one helped the fallen guy to his feet. He brushed himself off and slunk toward his bike. They mounted their Harleys without another word. The familiar rumble was only a little louder than the music coming from inside, but soon it too faded into the night.

  “Was one of them the dude you were going to meet?” the man in the car asked.

  “No, none of those guys was Billy Bob.” She turned on her cell phone, the light glowing on her pretty face. “They’re twenty minutes late. I’m going in, have a look around.”

  She stepped out, and her companion scrambled around the front to block her path. “This is a bad idea, Mollie,” he whispered, glancing in the direction the bikes had gone. “Ask yourself this: why is this guy being helpful?”

  Mollie’s mouth tightened. “He said his younger sister was kidnapped when he was a kid, so he could relate to my search for mine.”

  The man’s harsh laugh grated. “He’s going to tell you anything so he can get you alone and do who-knows-what to you.”

  “Uh, that’s why I hired you to accompany me. You said you’d done this kind of work before.”

  His eyes shifted away. “I escorted a friend who was being stalked to a concert once. But this shit”—he nodded toward the bar—“is much bigger than I was thinking. You saw what just happened. These dudes are insane. Even armed, I’m way outnumbered.”

  “You act like I’m helpless.” She involuntarily patted the piece at her waist. “You saw my range target last week.”

  “You’re decent, I grant you that. But even with as much practice as you’ve obviously had, you’re still no match for these guys.”

  “I don’t think it’ll come to that. Billy Bob’s a prospect, not hardened like the full-fledged members. My gut says he’s sincere.”

  The guy let out a long breath. “From what you told me, your gut has dragged you through six states for the last month and a half chasing false leads.” He flicked a glance at his watch. “He’s a no-show. Let’s blow this popsicle stand.”

  She shook her head. “I’m not giving up on her like everyone else in our life has, Kevin.” Emotion thickened her voice, twisting Julian’s heart. “I’m all she has left.”

  A cab pulled into the lot, tires crunching on crumbled asphalt. A man stumbled out and shoved some wrinkled bills at the driver.

  Kevin said, “You want to stick around, fine. But I’m not down for being jumped by a bunch of bikers.” He dug into his pocket and handed her something as he waved at the cabdriver. “Here’s your money
back. I’m outta here. But you shouldn’t go through with this meeting alone,” Kevin called out as he headed toward the cab.

  Mollie wrapped her arms around herself. “Like you said, he’s probably a no-show.” She gripped her door handle as she watched the cab leave. Julian wondered if she felt as alone as he had minutes earlier.

  He stepped out of the shadows, his hands in his pockets to appear less threatening. “Hey, Mollie. As much of a bicho—I mean, dick—as that wannabe mercenary is, he’s right. You shouldn’t be meeting this biker, prospect or not, alone.”

  She started, surprise and fear crossing her face before she shored her shoulders. Her fingers brushed the gun as she sized him up. “You were listening to our private conversation?”

  “Yeah, sorry about that. I was about to roll out when I heard your exchange. I’m not a King.” He figured she was looking for his club colors, the patches members wore on their vests. “Or part of any club. But I did just get out of the military, which means that not only can I use a gun, I’ve faced a lot more than a bunch of bikers. Let me be your backup.”

  She maintained a shuttered expression. “No, but thank you. We’re meeting outside. If he even shows.”

  “Prospects can be worse than patches. In gangs like this, they have to commit a crime to prove themselves before patching in. Things like procuring a babe for a gang rape, for instance. I’m Julian, by the way.” He didn’t bother extending his hand, knowing she’d refuse to shake it.

  Her eyes narrowed. “I saw you at the gas station earlier. Are you following me?”

  “I’m flattered that you remembered. And no, I was here first. Maybe you’re following me.” He tried to make light of the accusation, but her face tensed even more.

  “Please leave. I don’t want you to scare Billy Bob off. Why would you help me, anyway?”

  Hadn’t he taught his sisters and female cousins to be wary of strangers who offer unsolicited help? “Because you’re going into a dangerous situation alone. You may think you’re tough, but if you’re up against a gang, your gun isn’t going to keep you safe.”