My Girl to Protect (Wilder House #2)

Prologue

Cammi

Please be asleep.

One quiet night. That's all I want—one night where I can slip into my room, lock the door, and pretend this place isn’t slowly suffocating me.

I push the door open. The smell hits me first. Alcohol.

Cheap whiskey and something sour. My stomach sinks.

The living room is dim—just the blue flicker of the TV and the lamp in the far corner, its light not quite reaching the couch.

Some late-night game show plays too loudly.

An empty bottle lies on its side near the carpet’s edge.

I exhale slowly. Just Mom, I think. I keep my bag on my shoulder—I’ve learned not to leave anything where she or Rick can pick through it—and move carefully through the room toward the hallway, my shoes soft against the floor.

Their bedroom door is open. I glance inside. My mother is sprawled across the bed, one arm hanging over the edge, her blond hair tangled across her face. An empty glass sits on the nightstand beside her.

Passed out. Again.

A familiar ache spreads through my chest, but I push it down. Nothing new. I turn away quietly. Almost to my room. Almost safe.

“Look what the cat dragged in.”

My entire body locks.

The voice comes from the couch. Rick. Of course, he’s here. My mother’s boyfriend has lived here eight months now—long enough to stop pretending to be charming, long enough that I’ve learned to read the danger in him before he says a word.

I close my eyes for half a second, gathering myself before I turn. He’s slouched against the cushions, one arm draped over the back of the couch like he owns the place. His beer bottle dangles loosely from his fingers.

His eyes slide over me slowly. Too slowly. A crawl of unease creeps up my spine.

“You’re out late,” he says.

I keep my voice soft. Neutral. “I had a double shift.”

“Hmm.”

His gaze drifts down my body. My skin prickles. I wrap my arms around myself instinctively.

“Well,” he drawls, “that uniform sure does you favors.”

My throat tightens. I hate the way he looks at me. Like he’s already imagining things.

“Goodnight, Rick,” I say quickly, turning toward my room.

I just need to get inside. Close the door. Turn the lock. That’s all. I reach my door and slip inside.

A hand slams against it before I can shut it. The door swings open again. Rick fills the space behind me. My pulse jumps.

“Why so jumpy, sweetheart?” he says, his breath thick with alcohol.

I step backward into my room automatically. “Just tired,” I murmur.

He leans against the doorframe like he has nowhere better to be. His eyes roam again. Slow. Lazy.

Hungry.

“You know,” he says, “you get prettier every time I see you.”

My stomach twists. “Rick…”

“What?” He shrugs. “Just stating facts.”

His gaze drifts to my legs. To the hem of my diner uniform. “You know men tip better when the waitress looks like you.”

My cheeks burn with humiliation. “I’m going to bed. I’ve got the early shift,” I murmur. My chest starts to feel tight.

“Hold on a second,” he says.

“What?” I swallow.

Rick lifts his beer and takes a long drink before speaking again. “Your mom didn’t pay her share of the rent this month. She’s short, and the landlord’s breathing down my neck.”

“That’s not my responsibility,” I say quietly.

Rick tilts his head. “Maybe not.” His eyes darken. “But you live here too.”

My hands curl into fists. “I already pay for groceries.”

He pushes off the doorframe slowly. “Yeah, I know. It’s not enough, though.” He takes a step inside my room. “I’m just saying,” he continues casually, “maybe you could help out.”

“I don’t have any extra money.”

He smirks. “I didn’t say it had to be money.”

Cold dread floods my body. I just know, immediately, what he means. Months of living in fear, waiting for the other shoe to drop—and now I wish I had left before it could.

“No,” I blurt out.

His gaze drops to my chest. Back to my face. “Oh, come on,” he says softly. “Don’t act like you don’t know how the world works.” He steps closer.

“You’re a pretty girl,” Rick murmurs. “Real pretty.” His fingers brush my arm, and something inside me snaps.

“Don’t touch me!” I shove him hard.

He stumbles back, more surprised than hurt. It’s enough. I slam the door in his face and twist the lock. For a second, there’s silence. Then—BANG. My entire body jumps.

“Cammi,” he says, voice lower now. Dangerous. “Open the door.”

I shake my head even though he can’t see me. “Go away!”

BANG. The door shakes again. My breathing comes fast.

“You don’t want to make things difficult. You owe rent.”

“I said I don’t have it!”

“Then we can work something out.” BANG. “Open. The. Door.”

Tears blur my vision. I back away until my legs hit the bed and I collapse onto it, clutching my phone with shaking hands. Who do I call?

My hands tremble as I scroll through my contacts. One name. Millie—the only person from the diner who’s ever felt like a friend, the one who keeps telling me I deserve better than this. I don’t think. I press call.

It rings once. Twice. Then—

“Cammi?” Millie’s voice is soft but alert.

Tears spill down my cheeks instantly. “Millie,” I whisper.

“Hey. What’s wrong?”

Another loud bang makes me flinch.

Her voice sharpens. “Cammi, what was that?”

“Rick,” I choke. “He’s—he’s outside my door.”

Silence. Another slam shakes the frame.

Millie inhales sharply. “Okay. Listen to me,” she says, voice calm and steady now. “Wilder and I are coming to get you. Pack a bag. You’re coming to Wilder House.” She ends the call.

Hope flickers somewhere deep inside me. I don’t hesitate and instantly start stuffing a small duffel bag with clothes. Minutes later, voices echo faintly through the thin apartment walls. A sudden wave of relief crashes through me so hard my eyes sting again. Thank God, they’re here.

I hear Rick’s protest and anger. Through the door, I hear Wilder, “You need to step away from that door.”

Rick scoffs. “This ain’t your business.”

The sound that follows makes me jump. A hard thud. A grunt. A choked curse from Rick. I rush to my bedroom door, pressing my ear against it.

“Touch her again,” Wilder says, “and I won’t stop at just throwing you out. Now get the fuck out”

Silence stretches for a second. Then the front door slams so hard the walls shake. The next second, I open my door, bag in hand. I find Millie right outside my room. The moment she sees me, she wraps me in a tight hug.

“Oh, honey.”

“I’m okay,” I whisper, though my voice wobbles.

Behind her, Wilder stands in the living room near the front door. “You alright?” he asks.

I nod quickly, letting go of Millie. “Yes, and I’m ready to leave.”

Wilder takes the duffel bag off my hands while Millie slips her hand in mine and tugs. “Let’s go.”

I take one last look around the apartment. Then, a quick glance toward my mother’s room. I should feel guilty. I should be remorseful about leaving her alone. I’m not. She wouldn’t look back if the tables were turned. So, why should I?

The ride to Wilder House is filled with my jumbled thoughts and Millie’s assuring words and concerned glances.

“Here we are,” Millie says softly.

“Guys,” I say in the quiet car. “I don’t think I can stay here. I mean, I appreciate your help with Rick, getting me away, but I—I don’t have any money for rent. I don’t want to be a burden, and—”

“You’re not a burden,” Millie cuts in. “You’re my friend.”

Wilder clears his throat. “And you don’t need to pay rent right now.

There’s a furnished apartment open. When you’ve got the money, you can pay then.

” He says it like it’s already settled, the way I’m learning he says most things.

Millie’s told me enough about the man who runs Wilder House to know he doesn’t offer twice.

I stare at them both, going teary all over again. “Really? Thank you.”

For the first time in what feels like years, my chest loosens. Maybe this place could finally be home.