I crave damaged women. The more fucked up, the better. Or at least that’s what I thought until Annie. She wasn’t damaged as much as mentally ill and in need of medication. None of her problems are real, but I thought they were when we met. That night at Rusty Cage, I’d gotten attached once she grew teary-eyed about how the world did her wrong.

Messed-up women are both my crack and kryptonite. Though forever drawn to them, they destroy me every time.

I wasn’t always this way. I’d been a normal teenage boy until the day I stumbled upon a violent sight that changed my life.

Out of juvenile hall years later, I’d just wanted to get laid. It wasn’t that easy, though. Nothing would ever be easy after what I’d seen and done.

That’s why damaged, batshit crazy women aren’t in the cards for me, but that doesn’t mean I can’t dream of finding the right one. Sure, the attempt with Annie bit me on the ass—literally in the case of the fucking raccoons she let loose in my place—but I never learn.

Now I have Yarrow under my skin, digging her way past my common sense and fear of pain, death, and damnation. She offers literally nothing in the ways of a woman. I don’t even know if she understands how bad I am for her. Yarrow is a kid really. I think she is anyway. I don’t know a damn thing about her.

The Everything Nice Crew came to Rawlins with a reputation—former whores turned killers. The foxes reeked of damaged goods, so I kept my distance. They’re dangerous to a man with my weaknesses. It was easy with Pepper and Bay—the lesbians wanted nothing to do with me or any man. I doubt they’ve even learned my name in the last two months since they arrived. Ginger was claimed on day one by Oz who eye-fucked her upon meeting.

The rest were just women. Beautiful, fucked-up women that I wanted to stay far, far away from which wasn’t easy since the crew and my club are a package deal.

Until yesterday, I remained ahead of the curve, more focused on dodging Annie than falling hard for another messed-up girl of my dreams.

Now I’m in deep with Yarrow. She can’t give me what I need because I’m not even certain what the fuck that is. Even if I did know, she is barely keeping her head above water. If I grab onto her, no doubt we’ll both drown.

But I refuse to walk away. My desires are selfish and cruel, but I don’t care. I’m not the kid I was before that day in the woods. I’m an asshole now, and I’m not looking to change. Even if I wanted to, I can no more change for Yarrow than she could for me.

But that’s cold, hard logic talking, and I’m no longer a man ruled by his common sense. Instead, my primal urges demand I claim Yarrow even if she kills me in the process.

Convinced I need to protect her from hidden threats; I hang around the townhomes even when I can’t go inside. I don’t care if someone might call this behavior stalking. Fuck them! What do I care what anyone thinks? If I did, I wouldn’t be in the Heretics. I long ago learned I wasn’t suited to live by society’s bullshit rules.

The entire time I’m sitting on my Harley and staring at the townhomes, I think of Yarrow. Did she once sell her body? I can’t imagine she did so willingly. She’s younger than the other women—barely legal even. No, someone forced her, and I wish I could hunt that person down. No doubt, Ginger and her crew fucked up that asshole worse than I’d manage. Even at my most violent, I’ve never been quick to slice off dicks the way the foxes are rumored to.

I do a double-take when Yarrow and Makoa step through the front gate. I hadn’t expected to see her outside. Following her makes sense, but I can’t use the Harley, or she’ll notice. I figure she must be heading to the park nearby, so I decide to park and follow her on foot. I am a half a block behind them until they enter the gas station.

Once they’re walking with their snacks, I linger a block back for the rest of the trip to the park. I find a spot near the playground with a solid view of the basketball courts. Partially hidden behind a tree, I stare at Yarrow like a skeevy douche. All while hoping none of the parents in the park call the cops on me for being a skeevy douche.

Nearby, Deputy Douchebagasaurus Rex—as Glitch calls him—sits in his patrol car. The cops enjoy hanging around the park and pretending to work. In reality, the douches are on the phone or reading. Hell, I once caught a fucker napping.

I’m too far away to see if Douchebagasaurus Rex is catching some shuteye, but I figure he’ll ensure people feel safe.

On the courts, Makoa patiently instructs Yarrow on how to dribble, but no amount of help gets the ball in the hoop. I don’t even know if she’s aiming for the hoop based on how badly her shots are. She’d probably see better if her gray and pink “Arkansas Forever” cap wasn’t pulled so far over her eyes.

I find her lack of athleticism intoxicating. Her vulnerability addicts me. Yarrow doesn’t fit right in the world, but here she is anyway.

Yarrow looks especially beautiful in her faded blue jeans, tattered at the ankles with material hanging over her pink Converse shoes. To brace against the chill, she only wears a long-sleeve gray thermal shirt with a heart printed on the chest along with a light red windbreaker. I notice she doesn’t bundle up as much as some of the other Everything Nice foxes. She and Clove are the least affected by the chilly, autumn weather.

My mother, on the other hand, is a typical woman and always cold. I guess that’s why I always wonder about those women who don’t get chilly. What’s different about them?

Curious about her body heat, I ponder a dozen questions I have about the beautiful brunette fox. Too busy daydreaming, I don’t register a gangly man on the court with Yarrow and Makoa. A second after I notice him, the asshole’s on the ground with blood pouring from his nose.

I’m on the move toward the basketball courts, but Deputy Douchebagasaurus Rex is closer, and he’s already yelling commands at Yarrow. People run from the scene while the man on the ground wails about a broken nose. Makoa freezes when the cop pulls his gun and points it at Yarrow, but her hand slowly reaches for what I suspect is a handgun hidden in a back holster under her windbreaker.

“Yarrow!” I yell while jumping over a kid’s abandoned riding toy.

I already see Deputy Douchebagasaurus Rex pulling his trigger and her body responding to the shot. The Rawlins cops are too quick to shoot. Once the first bullet flies, they tend to unload on a person before finally stopping.

“Yarrow!” I holler again while slowing down as Deputy Douchebagasaurus Rex turns his gun in my direction. “Put up your hands.”

Her gaze remains laser-focused on the cop, and her fingers twitch as if already feeling the gun in her hand. I stand still with my hands up so Deputy Douchebagasaurus Rex will settle down.

“It’s okay,” I tell her even if I’m unsure she’s listening. “Makoa is okay. You are okay. Just put your hands up, so the asshole cop doesn’t get spooked and shoot you in front of these kids.”

Yarrow finally blinks as if awakening from a dream I assume involves shooting the cop and probably the guy on the ground. I don’t know what the bleeding asshole did, but his nose is most definitely broken.

“Makoa, put your hands up, okay, kid? Show Yarrow it’s okay to do that.”

A sharp little fucker, Makoa doesn’t hesitate. He senses where things are headed. The cop hasn’t said a word since I arrived, but his finger is dying to tug on his trigger. He just needs Yarrow to make a move.

“You have the right to remain silent,” Yarrow says and slowly lifts her hands. “Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.”

“Don’t fucking move,” Deputy Douchebagasaurus Rex tells me before stepping closer to Yarrow.

“Everything is fine,” I say, and Yarrow finally looks at me. “Whatever the cop thinks you’ve done doesn’t matter. You just let him think that while I get Ginger, okay?”

“What about Makoa?”

“I’ll take him home.”

“I haven’t said anyone can leave,” Deputy Douchebagasaurus Rex snaps.

“You have no reason to keep me, and I know you won’t harass a kid in front of all these nice tax-paying parents, will you?”

“Just go,” he says before yanking Yarrow to a tree where he orders her to place her hands.

I expect her to swing around and punch him, but she remains passive. Well, more like patient. When he asks her name, she recites the Miranda warning again. Douchebagasaurus Rex finds her gun and asks if she has a permit to carry. She continues to recite the Miranda warning.

“I thought you were taking him home,” Deputy Douchebagasaurus Rex says to me.

“I’ll wait until you have her cuffed and in the car. Don’t want you making up a reason to shoot her.”

“Fuck off.”

“Roy,” snaps an approaching deputy. “There are kids in the park. Watch your language.”

With more cops around and the arrival of EMTs for the whiny fucker on the ground, I figure Yarrow is safe from harm for the time being. I gesture for Makoa to follow me.

When Yarrow glances in our direction, I tell her, “I’ll get Ginger.”

“You have the right to remain silent,” she replies and smiles at Makoa.

I nod at her and then hurry the boy out of the park. Once out of earshot from the cops, I ask, “What the hell happened?”

“Some guy came over and started talking to her. Like trying to pick her up for a date. She didn’t talk to him, and he called her a bad word. Yarrow threw the basketball at his face, and he fell down.”

“That’s it?”

“Yeah, but then the cop was suddenly there and yelling at her.”

“Rawlins cops are jerks.”

“I know. Dad told me. Is Yarrow going to jail?”

“For now, but Ginger will fix things.”

“Did you think the cop would shoot her?”

“Did you?”

“Yeah,” Makoa says, sounding like he might cry.

“Yarrow hit the guy in the face, huh?” I say, hoping to distract him. “I saw her trying to get a basket. I assume she threw the ball better at his face than in the hoop.”

Makoa gives me a weak smile. “Yeah, she’s really not good at basketball.”

“It’ll be cool, kid. Don’t worry. You know how tough Ginger is, and your dad won’t let anyone mess with family.”

As confident as I sound, I wish I was back at the park with Yarrow. She looked calm when we left, but she also looked calm less than a minute before trying to disembowel me. The local cops are dicks, and they might try to scare her. If they hurt her, she could react violently and—

No.

Yarrow is smarter than I give her credit. She knows the drill. That’s what the Miranda warning thing is about. She isn’t a victim. She’s tough and smart, and she’ll be fine. In fact, she’ll be out of jail very soon

No way does the sheriff’s office knows what’s about to hit them once the Everything Nice Crew gears up.