Wilder (The Wild Ones 3)

“One of us should stay here,” Nila says, distracted as she devotes her attention to the fireplace, stoking the fire and adding logs.

I silently back toward the door.

“Agreed,” I tell her as I continue easing back, my gaze darting one last look at the thawed popsicle.

“Okay, so paper-rock-scissors?” Nila asks just as I smirk.

“Or calling ‘not it’ works just as well,” I say quickly, before shutting the door and leaping off the porch.

I’m on the snowmobile and cranking it, cutting the wheel and skidding the hauling sled out behind me by the time Nila jerks open the door.

“You—”

I’m not sure what uncreative name she calls me, because I rev the beast and drive like hell toward town to meet up with my brothers, leaving her behind to deal with the screamer.

It takes longer, since I’m towing the big carrying sled, but I finally pull up at the diner, and park next to Hunter’s Yamaha.

I’m blowing heat into my hands, since I never stopped to pull on my gloves, as I head inside, tugging my hat off as I go. I spot the Vincent brothers at our table, and my eyes practically roll around in my skull when they grin at me.

“Heard you clubbed a girl over the head and impregnated her this morning,” Hale says with a straight face as I take the seat next to him.

“Heard your dick left new blisters on your hand,” I fire back.

“Too many Wild Ones,” Mathew shouts from behind the counter, pointing a finger at us.

“Just two families, so we’re still good,” Shade, my younger brother, says from across from me, running a hand over his shaggy fucking hair. Then directs his attention to me. “Nila’s going to be pissed.”

That makes me grin. No matter how old you get, there’s a certain level of pure happiness one takes from making their only sister miserable at every given opportunity.

“We’re going up to Shadow’s Peak today. You coming?” I ask the Vincents instead of saying anything about the popsicle.

The door chimes, and I glance back reflexively. Hale is already whistling under his breath before I even spot the chick who just walked in.

I wonder if she knows how far off the interstate she’s gotten. Given her fancy clothes, thin gloves, and completely impractical high heel boots that she’s shaking snow off of, I’d say she’s real damn lost.

She brushes a lot of errant hair out of her face, and then smooths it all down like it was never wrecked. From messy to polished with a few calculated moves…this girl isn’t from around here. At all.

Even Mathew knows it, because he’s grinning like a bastard as he seats her at the fancy table—the one without any gum stuck to the bottom of it or any rips on the vinyl seats. Hell, the table doesn’t even have dirty words or insight carved into it. Mostly because we’re not allowed to sit there.

The fancy table is only for fancy people.

“I wore a tuxedo in here once. He still wouldn’t let me sit at that table,” Shade states idly.

“We’ll go to Shadow’s Peak later,” Killian Vincent answers, not staring at the fancy chick with the fancy purse or fancy cardigan.

“Speak for yourself. I have a date tonight,” Hale says as he leaps up and struts toward the fancy table.

Mathew narrows his eyes at him, but Hale doesn’t even notice.

We all turn to watch the show, because it shouldn’t last longer than a few seconds.

“When he gets shot down and flames out, I’ll take her out. You dicks can play with yourselves at Shadow’s Peak without me,” Hunter, my other brother, drawls as he leans up on the table, eyes over at the fancy table.

I redirect my attention to the only other guy in the entire restaurant who isn’t checking out the redhead, as she likely wrinkles her nose in disgust at Hale.

Fancy girls and Tomahawk don’t mix.

“I bought a new rifle I want to try out too,” I go on, talking to Killian, annoyed with how stupid these guys are to think a girl like that is actually going to—

Everyone, including myself, turns and looks at the fancy table again when we hear laughter.

I think my eyebrows hurt from being so far up on my head when I see the redhead actually grinning at Hale like she’s interested, her entire body leaning toward his as he…I’m not sure what he’s saying.

But it’s Hale; he never says anything that makes women laugh.

Shaking away from what has to be a sick joke, I call out my order to Mathew, just as the door chimes again.

“Too many Wild Ones!” I hear Mathew snap.

“No. You can’t grow your beard out that long again. I like it the way it is,” I can hear Lilah Vincent saying.

Hell, I could probably hear her from my cabin when she talks that loud.