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  Or a fight.

  Three guys climb out of a white Cadillac Escalade, and I swear to fate, I smell menace on them. They circle the Corvette, admiring her.

  As they should.

  “Which one of you is Jorge?” Sloane asks. The girl is a pro at not allowing her fear to bleed through her tone or body language. She doesn’t look like a high school student who is way out of her depths.

  She’s a badass criminal, who looks hot as hell while she’s breaking laws and skulls.

  “I am.” Jorge has the driver side door open and is looking in at the ignition. “Where are the keys?”

  “You’ll get the keys when I get the money.”

  He shakes his head. “No can do. I need to make sure she runs.”

  “She runs. Are we making a deal or not?”

  Jorge strolls over to Sloane, casual-like, but I don’t trust him for a minute. I step closer, looming behind her, my arms folded across my chest like a personal bodyguard.

  I’m watching his hands. They are casual, by his sides. “The keys, bitch. Give them to me. Now.”

  His fingers curl, but I’m too late to stop it. He punches her in the gut.

  My fist connects with his temple, and he goes down hard.

  He comes up with a gun pointed in the center of my chest.

  “No!” Sloane screams and the crazy girl tries to jump in front of me.

  I shove her—way too hard because I’m already shifting. The sound of her body hitting the pavement makes me snarl in fury. One bullet hits my side.

  My teeth snap. Another bullet catches my hip. My clothes rip, and I’m on the shooter in a single leap. The gun gets knocked away, but I miss his throat, biting a chunk of his shoulder instead. His arms come up in protection, and we wrestle, me trying to finish the fucker.

  There are shouts behind me. Sloane screams No! at the top of her lungs.

  I whirl to see one of the guys bending over her, and I leave my prey, growling and snarling, ready to pounce.

  I’m too late, though. The guy leaps through the open door of the Corvette and starts it up. He’s driving it away before the door’s even shut.

  The Escalade peels out, too, stopping to drag the guy I mauled into the vehicle.

  And then they’re both gone.

  They’re gone, and Sloane’s retching on the pavement.

  And she just saw my wolf.

  Fuck.

  * * *

  Sloane

  Bo is a wolf. As fucked up and crazy as that sounds, I can’t be wrong. The clothes he was wearing are tangled around the giant wolf’s body. And there’s no mistaking his father’s dog tag hanging from the chain around its neck.

  Even knowing it’s Bo, I crabwalk backward on the pavement when it comes near me.

  It’s scary as hell—way bigger than a normal wolf, it’s teeth dripping with blood, silver eyes narrowed with fury. It’s fur is silver, too, only bloodstained from the gunshot wounds.

  There’s a blur of motion, a crunch and cracking of bones, and then Bo’s crouching over me, his ripped clothes hanging off him.

  “Fuck, Sloane,” he curses. His eyes still glow silver with rage. He scoops me into his arms and runs for the bike. He sits me on the seat, then opens the saddlebag and produces a pair of jeans. I guess when you can spontaneously turn into a wolf, you have to keep extra pants around for moments like these.

  He kicks off the ruined jeans and shoves his legs into the new pair. His phone, socks and sneakers are on the pavement where they fell off. He grabs them and barely has his feet shoved in his shoes when we hear sirens.

  “Son of a bitch.” He shoves the helmet my way, then kickstarts the motorcycle and roars around the concrete building, driving through overgrown weeds and brush until we bump over curbs and emerge on a back street.

  I cling to his torn t-shirt, which is barely hanging on. I bunch a handful of it together to staunch the wound on his side.

  But clearly, it’s not bothering him.

  Because he’s not a fucking human!

  My mind whips back to every interaction we’ve had. Any clues I should’ve caught about this, this… guy? Wolf? Whatever the hell he is.

  Well, duh. He’s from Wolf Ridge.

  Holy shit—are all the people there werewolves? Was Winslow? That’s why Bo didn’t think he was dead after getting shot by the cops?

  And the fight at school. That’s why he was just laughing when he got beat up. And how he never sported a bruise or any sign of it after he brushed his teeth of the blood.

  It’s why Wolf Ridge wins all the sporting events.

  Why his eyes seemed to change color. They were changing—to the color of his wolf’s eyes!

  I should be more freaked out than I am. My mind is still reeling, but my body? My body’s one hundred percent on board. Bo is a wolf. A bonafide, howls at the moon, shapeshifting wolf.

  My nipples peak and thighs tighten around his hips. No wonder he’s literally an animal in bed.

  No wonder his body is a work of art. His muscles unbelievably big. His movements so agile.

  And right now, he’s all business.

  He doesn’t stop to talk or make a plan, he just zips through the back streets of Naco until he gets on the state highway, then I-10.

  I don’t complain.

  My belly aches from getting punched, and my side is one giant road rash from Bo pushing me out of the way of the bullet.

  None of that matters, though.

  What matters is that I don’t have any money to give the don’s men tomorrow. Which means my life is over.

  For a moment, I consider involving Bo. Could he fight them off for me? Kill them?

  But no, the don is too powerful for one high school kid to take on—even if he is superhuman. These guys were just associates of his. If they disappear, he’ll send more. Serious ones, from Detroit. Not these Arizona idiots he hired.

  And they won’t stop coming. Not until the done gets his pound of flesh.

  Besides, I don’t know if it’s true that bullets can’t hurt Bo. Maybe he’s dying right now and just has a really high pain threshold. I lift the shirt away from the wound I was staunching, but I don’t feel blood gushing beneath it.

  I bring my fingertip to the wound, touching as lightly as possible. He doesn’t wince. I probe it a little more. Feel the bullet lodged near the surface.

  I work it out with my fingertips, half-shocked, half-satisfied when it pops out into my palm.

  “Thanks,” Bo shouts over the wind.

  It’s the first thing he’s said since we left.

  Remembering where the second wound is beneath his jeans, I work my fingers down past his waistband until I find it and work the second bullet out.

  Okay, yeah. Definitely superhuman strength and healing abilities.

  “Sloane—are you okay?” he shouts.

  “I’m okay.” I mean, I’m in pain, but big picture, fine. No bullet wounds. No broken bones.

  There’s so much more I want to say, but it’s impossible with the wind and the speed. And besides, I still sense anger and tension radiating from him.

  I don’t know if it’s just leftover aggression or if he’s mad at me. Either way, I’m not going to poke the bear. I mean, wolf.

  Fall is still warm in Arizona, but I get cold on the ride with the sun down and the wind whipping at us. I’m beyond grateful when Bo takes one of the Tucson exits—I don’t think I could stand another two plus hours back home.

  Chapter 11

  Sloane

  Bo drives downtown and parks beside a row of motorcycles in a lot behind what looks like a nightclub. The city is hopping. Young people pack the back patio and music thumps from inside.

  We both dismount from the bike, and I pull off the helmet.

  Bo crowds into me, his eyes still glinting silver, his form still tense and angry. He wraps a fist in my hair in the back and brings his face right up to mine. “You’ll take it to the grave with you,” he growls.

  I sudde
nly understand his tension. I saw something I wasn’t supposed to see.

  “What you saw back there. You won’t speak a word of it to anyone. Ever. Understand?”

  Menacing Bo is frightening, but it turns me on. Knowing the cocky roguish flirt—the guy with all that easy-going charm—turns into a two hundred pound deadly weapon when threatened and ignites some primitive part of my brain. Male as protector. Or provider. Or general bad-ass you want on your side.

  “I won’t. I promise.”

  “Swear it.” I hear the growl of the wolf in his voice.

  “I swear.”

  He looks at me a moment longer, then releases my hair. “I’m gonna ask for help here. Don’t speak unless you’re spoken to, or you’re damn sure I want you to. Got it?”

  Got it. Bo is in charge.

  I can roll with that.

  I can definitely roll with it.

  He turns and stalks toward the back entrance of the club. I have to hurry to catch up with his long strides.

  “No entrance here,” the bouncer growls as we walk up. “Go around front to get I.D.s checked.”

  I.D.s. Shit.

  “We’re not coming in. I just need to talk to a manager. Is Jared here? Or Tank?”

  The bouncer looks at him closer, taking in the torn, bloody shirt and blood-stained jeans. He leans forward a little and sniffs.

  Okay. Another wolf, then.

  I look at the sign over the back of the club. Eclipse. A moon reference. So this is a werewolf club.

  He touches a comm unit in his ear. “Jared, I need you at the back gate.”

  A huge tattooed guy appears from the building, his attention trained on us. He examines Bo as he walks up. “Fenton. Winslow’s brother, right?”

  “Yeah, Bo.” He holds out his hand, and the two shake.

  “I’m sorry, man, but you’re like, what? Seventeen? I can’t let you—” His nostrils flare and his gaze drops to the blood on Bo’s shirt. “Fuck. Are you in trouble?”

  “Yeah. Is there some place we can stay the night while I heal?”

  Jared swears again. “Yeah.” He opens the gate and walks out. “You have a ride?”

  “I have my bike.”

  “Good. Follow me.”

  We walk back to the row of parked motorcycles, and Jared climbs on one. I pull the helmet back on and climb behind Bo.

  It’s a short ride—less than a mile—and we pull up at a tall downtown apartment building. Jared lets us in, and we ride an elevator up to the fifth floor. When we get there, he unlocks an apartment. It’s furnished, but there’s nothing personal in it. “This one is empty. There’s no food in the fridge, but you can order in.”

  “Thanks, man. Hey, can you do me one more favor?”

  Jared’s eyes narrow. “What’s that?”

  “Don’t tell the mayor yet?”

  His eyes slide to me, like he’s trying to figure out if I know what they are. “I don’t work for the mayor. But my, uh, boss, definitely needs to know what’s going on. You need to talk to him— tomorrow morning. Don’t fucking leave before you do. Understand? Do I have your word?”

  Bo swallows and nods. “Yeah.”

  “All right. You need anything else?” His eyes travel to me again, and his nostrils flare like he’s sniffing me. “She hurt?”

  “Yeah, she’s hurt. I’m gonna take care of her.”

  “With what, my man? Hang on.” He leaves the apartment and comes back a few minutes later with a med kit. “Here. This should have the basics in it.”

  “Thanks, Jared. I really appreciate it.” Bo offers his hand again, only this time they clasp forearms.

  “Glad to help. I gotta get back to the club, but I’ll see you in the morning.” He releases Bo’s arm and points a finger in his face. “Seriously, man. If you bail before talking to Garrett, you are toast. Understand me?”

  “I won’t bail.”

  “Give me your phone.” Jared takes his phone and sends himself a text, judging by the resulting chime from the phone in his pocket. “‘Kay. You got me now, too.”

  “Thanks again.”

  When Jared leaves, some of the tension drops out of Bo’s shoulders, but his face is still a tight mask.

  “Sit.” He points to a chair in the kitchen.

  Again, I’m more turned on than mad that he’s so curt. I sit in the chair, and he sets the med kit on the table and opens it, scanning the items like he’s never seen them before.

  Ha. He probably hasn’t.

  “Just some ibuprofen would be great.” I snag a packet out of the box.

  He opens the refrigerator and produces a can of Sprite, which he cracks open and hands to me. “I smell blood.”

  “It’s probably yours.”

  He pulls my shirt over my head and curses when he sees my shoulder and arm. I wince a little, too, because it’s one big raspberry.

  “Fuck, Sloane.” He slams his fist down on the table, making the med kit pop into the air. “I did this to you.”

  My heart pounds from the aggression, but I answer him with snark. “You took two bullets for me, Bo. We’re good.”

  He rifles through the kit and produces alcohol wipes.

  “I’ll do it.” I try to grab them out of his hand, but he holds them out of my reach.

  “I’m fucking doing it.” He rips it open and dabs at my road rash with total concentration.

  “Jesus, Bo. Why are you mad?”

  A muscle jumps in his jaw. “I’m not mad. I’m…”

  It hits me then that this might be Bo scared. It’s full warrior mode, ready to slay our foes if they return. But maybe he’s just ready to slay me for getting him into this.

  “You could’ve died back there,” he splutters. “And don’t ever try to take a bullet for me again—that was so fucking stupid!”

  He must see the shock on my face because he shakes his head and takes a step back. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean you’re stupid. But you scared the hell out of me. And...I’m in deep shit now. I just violated two pack rules and maybe killed a man. My mom might lose both her sons over your fucking car heists.”

  I want to yell back that I didn’t ask him to come with me, but I can’t get the words out. Blood rushes to my face and tears pop into my eyes. Jesus. I held it together this whole semester at school, fooling the entire student body, but with Bo, I show everything.

  As soon as he sees them, he turns away and punches a nearby wall. “Fuck!”

  “I’m sorry,” I manage to say through the tears in my throat.

  “No.” He turns. “No, no, no. I’m the asshole. I’m sorry.” He scrubs a hand over his face. “I can’t get back in control. Are my eyes still silver?”

  “Yeah, a little.” They are half-blue, half silver.

  “The kill instinct...it was so fucking strong. I would’ve killed all of them.” He draws a measured breath in through his nostrils and holds it for a moment before he lets it go. “That was my first time experiencing it.”

  I blink at him. I want to ask a million questions, but I know he’s not in the mood. Instead, I offer up my vulnerability. The truth. “I’m really turned on by you right now.”

  His eyes flash pure pale silver again, and a low growl comes out of his throat.

  “Oh, sugar. You don’t want to tell me that when I’m in this state. I will fuck you six ways to Sunday. And it won’t be respectful.”

  My pussy clenches with excitement. We lock gazes. I slowly slide off the chair and drop to my knees in front of him.

  He groans and squeezes his cock through his jeans. “You’re making a mistake,” he warns, but he’s already unbuttoning. Already freeing his impressive length.

  Already hard for me.

  * * *

  Bo

  Holy fuck. This is not what I should be doing right now.

  Not when my wolf is still so close to the surface. Not when aggression still pours from me. Not when I need answers from Sloane about what in the hell she’s into that would make her res
ort to trying to complete such an insanely stupid job.

  But she's gripping my cock, opening that gorgeous mouth of hers to take me in. No fucking way I can stop now.

  I’m in the throes of ecstasy from the moment her wet tongue touches the head of my cock. I shudder, my balls drawing up tight, my thighs starting to quake. She lifts her gaze to my face and holds it as she swirls her tongue around.

  I can’t take the tease. I’m way too far gone from that. I grasp the back of her head and shove her over my cock. She gags a little, but it feels too good to let up.

  Fuck. I warned her. I wrap my fist in her hair and use it to control her movements, pushing her over my cock and back off, already close to climax.

  The room spins. My breath rasps in and out harshly. A sheen of sweat coats my skin. My canines descend, a sweet taste filling my mouth. Holy shit! My wolf wants to mark her!

  It’s crazy. The mating instinct is only supposed to come once in a lifetime, with the she-wolf you’re meant to spend the rest of your life with. Sloane isn’t even a wolf. But I can’t deny the connection I’ve had with her from the beginning. Even when I hated her shit and wanted her out of the shop and our lives, I still was drawn to her like a magnet.

  I suck in measured breaths, trying to shove my wolf back down. I can’t mark her—that’s insane. But her mouth feels so hot. So delicious. I'm ready to blow.

  And I don’t want to come in her mouth. I want everything tonight. No—I need it.

  Because she's the reason I'm here. The reason I lost control to save her. The reason I fucked up my whole life. And in this moment, it feels like fucking her hard would make it all worth it.

  With great effort, I manage to release my hold on her hair and pull out.

  "Up," I command, my voice hoarse and guttural.

  I grip her elbow to help her stand.

  I'm already consumed in the flames of desire. It's hard to even speak. "Clothes off."

  I see my own heat reflected in her gaze as she walks backward, leading me toward the bedroom as she reaches behind her back and unhooks her bra.