Wilde Thing (Wilde Brothers #3)

Chapter 1

one

. . .

Ronan

"You're a dead man, Wilde!" Mike's face was red with rage. Red enough that I was sure if he managed to get himself up and over the chain-link fence, I would be, just as he said, "a dead man."

Heather snuggled closer and pressed herself harder against my erection.

She was sandwiched between me and the outside wall of the Land's End Bar.

Even wearing only a silky, short dress, she didn't seem to mind that the exterior was made of rough brick or that we were standing next to a trash bin that smelled like something had died in it.

We'd snuck out to the alley behind the bar for a quick fuck, but we'd been interrupted by the asshole who was now halfway up the ten-foot chain-link.

The alley was cramped and dead-ended at the side of the bar.

The only way out was through the bar or up and over the locked fence that Mike, the half-muscle, half-fat gargoyle, who apparently still had feelings for the hot woman in my arms, was hanging on.

I chuckled. "He looks like a gorilla at the zoo.

I thought you two were broken up." I wrapped my hand around her ass and held her tightly against my frustrated cock.

It seemed this wasn't going to end with the seductively sleazy dark alley fuck both of us had pictured.

In my defense, Heather had started it when she slid into the booth and pushed her hand firmly against my dick.

"He's like a piece of gum on the bottom of my shoe. Can't seem to get rid of him," she said on a breathy whisper. She moaned and dropped her head back against the brick as I kissed her neck. My fingers pushed under her panties. She was wet with need, and I was hard as a rock.

The chain-link rattled and clanged as Mike hauled himself up and over the top.

"Going to fucking kill you," Mike growled. He took the fast way down and dropped to the ground. He fell to his knees and yelled out in rage.

"Shit, Mikey, that felt like an earthquake." I was not too drunk for a quick fuck and also drunk enough to say stupid shit to a baboon who outweighed me by a good fifty pounds. I'd been on the receiving end of his right hook before, and it was no picnic.

We gained a few extra seconds while Mikey regained his footing. My tongue dragged across Heather's lips. "Think we'll have to take a rain check on this romantic little tryst, darlin'."

Heather pushed off the wall. "Mike, you big idiot. How many times do I have to tell you, we're through." She turned toward the door.

I grabbed her hand. "Hey, I don't have to worry that he'll hurt you, right?"

Heather smiled and put her hand on my face. "And they say you Wilde boys are all cock and no heart. I'll be fine." She pulled open the bar door. Loud music and voices rumbled through the dark, narrow alleyway.

"Who the fuck says that?" I called to her as she disappeared inside.

I was trying to decide if it was a good or bad thing to be considered all cock and no heart when Mikey, the fuck spoiler, lunged at me.

He threw all his weight behind it. Three beers and three shots were perfect for dulling pain, but they also made for slower reflexes.

I didn't brace for impact in time. There was enough rage behind his body slam to send me flying into the trash bin.

My head smacked the edge of it hard. Sharp pain shot through my skull.

The impact clanged through me, and I dropped to my ass.

Warm blood trickled down the back of my neck.

The alleyway was spinning as if it had been caught up in a tornado.

Before I could clear the dizziness, Mike's meaty fists grabbed my shirt.

He hauled me to my feet. I leaned back against the trash bin for support.

The smell coming out of it mixed with the throbbing in my head brought bile up my throat.

Mike drew back his big arm, and the memory of the last time he threw his fist at me helped clear my head.

Without stepping away from the support of the bin, I moved three steps to the side just as his right hook came torpedoing toward me.

His fist landed so hard on the bin it left a dent.

"Fuuck!" Mike's yell of pain echoed off the brick wall. The reverberation made my head ache more.

Mike cradled his hand and dropped to his knees. "You fucking asshole! I'll kill you!"

"Yep, I heard that earlier, but in the meantime, you should probably get a doc to look at that hand. I could swear, in between the metal denting, I heard some bones breaking." I paused my cockiness a second to puke my guts out … right in front of him.

"Fuck, couldn't you have turned your head?" Mike's face was pale from the pain. He hadn't looked at his hand yet, but I was sure it wasn't pretty.

The spinning in my head grew worse, and the back of my hair was wet with blood. I reached back and showed him the blood on my hand. "Look what you did, you fucking ape. She said you two weren't together." I put my hand out to help him to his feet. He waved his good hand to tell me to fuck off.

"Heather doesn't know what's good for her." Beads of sweat were piling up on his broad forehead, and it seemed he would be the next to puke. "I know one thing for sure. Ronan Wilde is the last thing she needs."

"You're probably right there. Well, I'm going back through the bar. I think I'm going to need some medical attention." Once again, I used the trash bin for support. My legs wobbled beneath me as I made my way to the door. I stopped to puke again.

"Shit, your head is really bleeding," Mike said.

"Yep, I'm sensing that, thanks." It took all my energy to open the door. The beer fumes shooting out from the hot crowded bar pushed another round of nausea through me. "Fuck, Mikey, you really messed me up."

"Hey, you were fucking my girl right here in the alley."

I smiled sympathetically at him. Poor dude had it bad, and I would have even felt sorry for him if he hadn't just slammed my head into a trash bin.

The noise inside the bar felt like a giant sledgehammer against my brain.

I pressed my hands against the walls as I made my way down the narrow hallway, through the storage area and back into the barroom.

You knew you'd been drinking too much when you'd become buddies with the bartender. Rocky looked up from the beers he was pouring. "Ro? What's wrong?"

My arm was flailing as I tried to point to the back of my head. The spinning room and moving floorboards made that an impossible feat. "Took a blow to the head." I couldn't talk loud enough to be heard over the clamor.

Rocky was an ex-marine who loved, of all things, cats.

He had three Bengal cats. He said he got each one after a divorce and realized the cats were way better companions than his three ex-wives.

He handed out the beer and came down to the end of the counter.

I was holding onto it to keep from falling face-first.

Rocky's forehead wrinkled in concern when he reached me.

Someone tapped my shoulder. I couldn't turn my head fast. It was easier to just scoot my whole body around.

It was a guy who'd probably spent as much time as I had at Land's End.

I'd never learned his name. Our kinship went as far as occasionally lifting our beers each other's direction for a silent toast.

"Dude, I think you're bleeding," he said and pointed to something on the floor. I couldn't look down, and I didn't need to. I could feel the icky, warm drips rolling down my neck. More people around me stopped their conversations to stare at me.

"Uh, Rocky, think I'm gonna need a ride to the emergency room."

Rocky was already pulling out his phone.

"No ambulance," I said. "My insurance plan is shit. Doesn't cover ambulances."

"I'll get Joe to drive you." He tossed me the rag that was hanging over his shoulder. "Here. Stop dripping blood. I'm on mopping duty tonight." He had the phone to his ear. I tried to block out the noise and stares. I was in such a dizzy fog, it wasn't all that hard.

Rocky covered one ear and spoke on the phone.

He was talking as he spotted something over my shoulder.

"For fuck's sake, you too?" he asked. I shuffled my feet around.

Mike was still cradling his hand. His shirt was stained with barf.

Rocky hung up. "Joe's bringing the van around to take you two bozos to the ER.

Now get the fuck out of here. You're ruining the ambience. "

I smiled at him. "Didn't realize that dive bars had ambience."

Rocky scowled at me.

"Yep, leaving now. Thanks, buddy."

Mike lent me his good arm, so I could make it through the crowded room on two feet. Heather stood at a table with a group of friends. She was laughing and looked up briefly to show a look of concern, then she went back to her conversation.

"Hey, Mike, won't happen again. Yeah?"

"Yeah. I'm done with her."

"Good man. Now, can you do something to make this damn room stop spinning?"