Total pages in book: 64
Estimated words: 63055 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 315(@200wpm)___ 252(@250wpm)___ 210(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63055 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 315(@200wpm)___ 252(@250wpm)___ 210(@300wpm)
“What happened?” Wilde demands immediately.
“Fucking Winslow. Got shot by human cops trying to sell a stolen car. I guess they thought he was drawing a weapon.”
Austin whistles. “Where is he?”
“Don’t know. He ran. We’re assuming he’s fine. If he were shot in the head, the cops would’ve found him.” Unless a bullet is made of silver, it won’t stop a wolf. Not unless it blows his brains out. Not even a wolf can recover from that shit.
I realize Wilde is driving toward my house. “Hang on. Take me back to school. I need to get my backpack and bike.”
“You sure? I can drive you to school tomorrow.”
“I’m sure. I need my bike now. I have something to do. And you guys? I may not be in school tomorrow, but cover for me, and tell Coach I’ll make it to the game, if he’ll let me play.”
I have a half-baked plan of how to fix this shit. And it involves getting so far up in Sloane’s business she’ll rue the day she stepped in Wolf Ridge.
“He’ll let you play,” Wilde promises, even though it would be a violation of district rules. You have to be in school that day if you want to participate in any sporting event.
Wilde whips into the school parking lot and parks by my bike.
“Thanks,” I call, already halfway out.
“You going after the girl?” Wilde calls out. Because true friends know what you’re going to do before you even do.
“Yep.”
“Give her hell!” Austin yells with a grin.
“Oh, I will.”
I’m coming for you, Legs.
And there will be hell to pay.
Sloane
I win first place at the Cave Hills Cross Country Invitational and jog it off to cool down before I go back to cheer on my teammates. It’s past dinnertime, and my stomach’s starting to complain as the sunset paints the craggy rocks of Wolf Ridge pink and purple.
This is my favorite time of day in Arizona. There’s nothing like the way the mountain glows.
The peace isn’t real, though. I always have that sense of stealing the moment. Like I don’t deserve to enjoy sunsets or mountains or anything about my life in Arizona.
The meet finally ends, and we filter down to the locker rooms, everyone dragging ass now. I see the large figure leaning up against the building, but he doesn’t set off any flares of warning. He’s not one of the guidos sent to rough me up—I’m expecting them in a couple more days. He looks like a football player.
It’s not until he starts moving toward me that I realize exactly which football player. Not one from my school.
Bo. And he’s coming at me like he’s mad.
I veer to head him off. The last thing I need is him saying something in front of my teammates.
He stalks up to me—I mean right up to me. Like, in my space, his huge muscled chest almost bumping me before he stops. “What. Happened?” His voice is low and mean. It’s an accusation.
A chill washes over me. “I don’t know.” I search his face. “You tell me.”
Tension radiates from his shoulders, a muscle flexes in his jaw. “The cops shot my brother, that’s what happened. When he was trying to sell the car. I’m guessing you weren’t there?”
More ice rushes through me. “Is he—is he all right? Did he live?”
Bo shrugs. “He’s gone. He got away. You haven’t heard from him?”
I shake my head. “Why would I?”
“You’re partners, right? You stole the car—he got the title?”
It’s stupid at this point not to confirm what he obviously already knows, but I maintain a blank face.
He curses and looks away, hands balled into fists. I take a step back. I don’t think he’s dangerous, but the guy is huge, and his anger makes him intimidating.
When his gaze returns, his eyes look more silver than blue—an odd trick of the light. “I’m on you like glue, Legs. Wherever you go, I go. Until Winslow shows up. Understand?”
I throw my hands in the air. “I’m not hiding your brother, Bo. He’s not going to come to me. I don’t have any money—he was supposed to get it. So now we’re both fucked.”
Bo’s scrutiny sharpens. “Why are you fucked, Legs?” His voice is soft and dangerous.
A hot prickle runs up my neck. For one millisecond, I want to tell him. Everything. I want to tell one other human being, so I’m not alone in this thing.
But I have to stay alone, or I sink his ship, too.
He reaches out and cages my arm, his grip coaxing rather than steely.
I affect a loose shrug. “No car. No money.” I turn to leave before he can pry more, but he holds onto my arm and rubberbands me back to face him, causing me to bounce off his very solid chest. The dog tags he wears jingle with the impact. He wraps his other arm around my back to steady me, and we’re both caught for a second—staring into each other’s eyes. His glint silver again. They’re beautiful. He’s really a spectacular specimen of manhood.