Becoming A Vincent (The Wild Ones 1)

He’s the one guy in Tomahawk who can kick Killian’s ass, even though Killian is a mean fighter with a nasty right hook.

“This is between us and her. Look what she fucking did!” Hale roars.

They both point to their patchy, messed up, mostly clipped beards, and I snicker to myself as Benson works hard against his own laugh.

“Guess the beard challenge is finally over,” Benson says, amused.

“No!” my brothers shout in unison.

“She did this! Not us. We can’t lose by default!” Hale adds.

“Nowhere does it state that you have to trim it yourself to be the loser. Just says it has to be trimmed,” Benson says, his beard twitching.

“Then who did she cut first?” Killian demands.

“Same time! I have a video of it!” I pull my video camera from my backpack, and Benson takes it and puts it on a table next to the door, not looking at it.

“You can’t be serious!” Hale growls.

I giggle like an idiot, staying safely tucked next to Black Belt Benson.

“You did break her bed while trying to steal her ceiling fan,” Benson points out helpfully.

“But this is the beard challenge! Too far. Too fucking far,” Killian barks.

“You also left her behind with a momma cougar.” Benson sounds less amused and a little angrier about that.

I stand a little taller, primly smirking at my brothers.

“Didn’t know there was a cougar when we left her, jackass. This would be deserved if we did.”

Killian gestures to his mangled, uneven, horrible beard—or the remnants of it anyway.

“And you rebuilt her bed way too big for her mattress. You also wrecked her dock lift—since you never built your own dock—and then messed up the entire end of the dock when the lift crashed into the lake. You still haven’t fixed that, by the way.”

They both blink, then as one, glare at me like I’ve been tattling. I totally have been tattling.

“So you think this is justified?” Killian asks incredulously, shifting his gaze and staring at Benson as though he’s an alien from outer space.

“I think it was just a matter of time before you pushed her too far.”

“She pushes us too far too!” Hale snaps, pointing at me. “You act like she’s an angel. In case you’ve forgotten, we’re not the only heathens on this corner!”

“Take it up with your uncle. You’re not touching Lilah.”

They both narrow their eyes, and I confidently slide in next to Benson as he drops his arm to my shoulders. I’m practically gloating as I curl up against his side.

“This isn’t over, sis. You’ll have to come home sooner or later.”

“If you touch her hair in any way, I’ll shave you both bald and drag you across the lake daily for at least a month. Then I’ll let your uncle take his turn,” Benson threatens, and I grin a little bigger, while simultaneously getting a little sick.

I never considered they might come after my hair.

The Wild Women are serious about one thing—hair. Why? Well, that’s a long story.

My hair is long, dark, and I’ve worked damn hard to keep it healthy at this length. As if thinking about it, Benson runs his fingers through it absently, still staring down my brothers.

I’m not sure why that feels so intimate, but it does.

“Fine,” Killian snarls, but I still don’t trust them not to touch my hair.

My hair!

There are only so many ways to stay feminine when you have to live in the wilderness. My hair is one thing that reminds me I’m a girl most days.

Well, that and my vagina.

I don’t let the hair grow long there, in case you’re wondering.

“Get home. I’ll call your uncle,” Benson says dismissively.

They both threaten me one last time before stalking off, and Benson shuts the door as I step back. I blow out a relieved breath, until he turns to look at me with exasperation.

“Are you serious? The beards? You went for the beards?” he groans.

“This is why I didn’t tell you my plan,” I state dryly, defiantly crossing my arms over my chest.

His eyes dip to register the motion, and he swallows as he presumably loses his train of thought. I have no idea why I decided to come over here in a skimpy little pajama set.

It’s midnight now. I should look like death, per the usual. Not like a sex kitten.

Yesterday I looked like a hobo. I didn’t want to be so unappealing tonight, and don’t ask me why. I’m suffering some confusion at the moment.

His eyes drift down my legs that have a touch of tan on them. And they’re smooth, because unlike the men in this town, I use a razor.

My camisole top barely covers anything, and even shows off a sliver of skin of my stomach. It’s not completely flat, but it’s mostly flat. Flat enough to show off. It’s also a little too chilly out there to be dressed like this.