Chapter 1
Wild Ones Tip #293
Watch for Wild Ones. Shit usually blows up in our wake.
KYLIE
“You crazy sons of bitches!” I yell as the smoke slightly clears from where Hale Vincent has just accidentally blown up our dock.
His eyes are wide as he heaves himself out of the lake, his terribly long beard dripping with water.
“That was an accident!” he calls out. “I was aiming for the stump and tripped!”
Killian, his brother, points to the said stump that is lifting out of the water.
“It messed up our props the other day!” Killian tries to explain.
A grin spreads over my face when I hear the stampede of feet rushing this way.
“Better run, Vincents,” I say with small smile.
Killian curses, trying to crank the boat, but he’s too late.
Paintballs start flying, pelting the boys as they yelp and try to duck. The tink tink tink is a beautiful sound as the paintballs rapidly crash against the boat, while the army of Malones face off against two-thirds of the Vincent triplets.
“We’ll fix it!” Hale yells as Killian gasses the boat and drives them away from the dock…or what’s left of it.
“Damn right they’ll fucking fix it,” my dad grumbles, walking over as part of the dock breaks off and falls into the water, punctuating the destructive wake of the Vincents.
He groans.
“Damn Vincents. If I hadn’t loved their Momma and Daddy so much, I’d kick their asses all day every day for the rest of my life.”
I grin, knowing he’s full of shit. He has a soft spot for the orphaned triplets. Just like the whole town does.
“It’s not like we’re much better,” Eric points out helpfully.
“We’re all the Wild Ones for a reason,” Jason, another cousin of mine, says, grinning. “Besides, this means we can pay them back.”
Dad points his finger in Jason’s face. “Do not blow up their dock. Bill will never let me hear the end of it. Besides, Vick said he was going to put a ban on explosives if we all kept using them so much.”
Tomahawk problems. Gotta love them.
“You sure you want to go off to LA and miss all this?” Dad asks, his beard moving up, signaling the fact he’s smiling.
Or so I assume.
Tomahawk—land of the bushy beards. Don’t ask. Long story.
Those beards are the reason I love traveling. I don’t even know what the men from this town look like, so if I want my vagina to ever get any exercise…I travel.
For good reason.
Besides, most of the guys here are too afraid to hook up with a Wild One.
Pansies.
“It’s just for a couple of months,” I remind him.
He smiles broader, because that beard lifts higher.
“My fancy artist daughter.”
I roll my eyes, and my cousins start heckling me. When Heath’s muddy foot brushes my boot, my body turns to stone, and I slowly look down.
A hushed silence falls over the yard.
No one moves. Even the creatures of the forest seem to freeze in place, terrified of what I may or may not do.
My red. Beautiful. Shiny. Awesome Boots.
Mud.
Dirty. Mucky. Mud.
“Oh shit,” Heath says on a hiss.
Slowly, my eyes come back up, leveling him with a cold glare. His eyes widen in fear seconds before he takes off running.
I snatch up the paintball gun, and I take aim before firing rapidly, hitting him at least ten times before he collapses and curls into the fetal position.
“You better be glad mud will wash off these!” I yell. Then peg his ass five more times with paintballs as he howls in pain.
My dad is shaking with silent laughter when I glare over at him.
“Just mud. You don’t kill over mud if it’s not the suede.” He raises his hands innocently, and I roll my eyes.
“I’m going to go see Lilah before I leave. So I guess I need a ride there.”
“I’m not going around the Vincents,” he growls. “Not after they just blew up my dock.”
I bat an unconcerned hand. “They’ll fix it. They always do. It’s only Lilah’s shit they never fully repair.”
“Take the boat. I’ll send Heath after it.”
I give him a quick kiss on his hairy cheek, and then he kisses my forehead.
“Be careful in LA. Don’t get arrested. They’re not as lenient as we are around here.”
I flash a grin. “No worries. I won’t be beating boys up on the sidewalks or accidentally blowing up someone’s personal property.”
“I mean it, Kylie. Don’t do anything crazy like crashing your car into a pool again. You’ll have to pretend to be normal for a couple of months and forget your raising. We won’t be there to back you up,” he goes on.
“I won’t be crazy anywhere but Tomahawk,” I tell him, crossing my heart with my index finger.
“Promise?” he asks.
“Promise.”