How to Escape With Your Criminal Mate (Hated and Fated #2)

Chapter 1 Down for the Count

Wynn

Why did I think battling a wolf shifter twice my size was a good idea again? I’m a lover, not a fighter.

Okay, that sounds cheesy as hell, but I’ve got bigger problems. Like not getting knocked out.

My opponent lunges, closing the distance between us in the fighting pit. I weave around him, bouncing on my toes.

"Can't run forever," Cade taunts. Want to bet? Agility is my only advantage.

Cade's from the Clover Pack and a wall of pure muscle even in his human form. He closes in again and swings a powerful right hook. I dodge, pivot on my heel, and throw my weight into a swift jab that connects solidly with his ribs. The impact sends a satisfying reverberation through my arm.

Yes! Maybe all the combat training my pack imposed on me while growing up is worth something after all. Maybe I can do this.

"Woo! Go Wynn! Kick his ass."

The cheer in the roaring crowd is only one among many, yet I hear it so clearly.

Oh right, that's why I'm here. To impress a guy.

Keyed up on adrenaline, I grin and toss a wink at the cute barista cheering from the front row.

But this is no time to get distracted. Cade shakes off the impact of my blow, a predatory grin spreading across his face.

Uh-oh. Still too close. Shit. I’m supposed to be avoiding him. Wish I could say it’s the first time I’ve been distracted by a pretty face but it happens more than I’d like to admit.

Cade’s fist slams into my jaw. I stumble backward, stars and little cartoon birdies swirling across my vision. His massive fist connects again. My lip splits open with a sharp sting and blood flies.

It's all downhill from there.

The rest of the fight blurs together in a painful haze. It’s not pretty. Cade puts me out of my misery a short time later, delivering a vicious kick that knocks me flat on my ass. I lie in the dirt, really basking in the humiliation of losing in front of an arena filled with screaming spectators.

Remember this moment the next time you get any bright ideas about your fighting skills, Wynn. Defeat tastes bitter like blood and sweat.

A bell rings, signaling the end. My cousin's voice booms out across the arena and declares Cade the victor.

At least I'm still conscious. Small mercies. I push myself up onto my elbows, wincing at the ache in my jaw, sides, and a hundred other places. My ribs are definitely bruised, if not cracked. Even though we heal faster than humans, I sure will be sore tomorrow.

"Not bad, pup." Cade extends a hand, hauling me to my feet. He’s a good sport too? Somehow, that hurts my pride even more.

Alpha Adelaide Blackwood strides into the fighting pit, shoving me away as she grabs Cade's wrist and hoists it high in the air. The audience erupts into thunderous cheers. She ignores me while wrapping up the bout and encouraging everyone to come watch Cade in the next round.

As the spectators start filing out of the Proving Grounds arena, I spot my crush again, the gorgeous barista with eyes the color of hazelnut lattes who works at my favorite coffee shop in Concordia.

The one who draws little wolf faces in my latte foam.

We’ve been flirting for weeks and he promised he'd be in the front row for my big fight.

He delivered, but it's not my performance that has him swooning.

My heart sinks as he vaults over the low barrier into the pit, making a beeline for the victorious Cade. He practically throws himself at the burly wolf, batting his lashes and tipping his head back as he giggles at whatever the shirtless champion whispers in his ear.

They stroll away together, Cade's arm slung casually around my crush's shoulders.

Ouch. That almost hurts worse than a punch to the face. Almost. If the barista really liked me, losing wouldn't matter. He’d tend to my wounds and help me salvage the night. Apparently I'm not worth consoling. Only conquering heroes get the prize.

"Stop picking losers, Wynn," I grumble to myself, edging away from all the commotion. Why do I have such awful taste in guys? Wait, I'm bi, so that's not fair to all my dating disasters. I have terrible taste in girls too, and terrible taste in everyone else who falls outside those categories.

"Wynn, wait!" Adelaide calls out to me.

When I turn to face her, she tosses a towel at me.

“Hope you weren’t fighting to impress me,” she states, blunt as ever. “You failed.”

I roll my eyes. “You know just how to cheer a guy up.”

"I’ll send you an email about everything you did wrong in the morning," she responds seriously. "Does that cheer you up?"

"Uh, no?"

She blinks at me, genuinely baffled, as if dissecting my combat failures and cataloging every weakness should lift my spirits. With her massive build, no-nonsense short hair, and always unsmiling face, she's been known to make lesser wolves quiver.

To me, Adelaide Blackwood is just the cousin I've never really understood.

She's the Alpha leading our pack now. One little fight was supposed to impress my crush and show my cousin that I’m as capable as anyone else in the Iron Pack.

Mission not accomplished on both counts.

"If you learn from your performance, you won’t make the same mistakes next time," she insists.

"Not sure there will be a next time," I mutter.

"Well, what about this?" Given her thick eyebrows and dour face, it’s hard for her to appear giddy, but she gives it her best shot. "We made so much money tonight."

"Woohoo," I say without feeling. "Go money."

The Alpha leaves me to lick my wounds in peace. I take my time limping out of the arena.

I once spent most of my time trying to escape the Iron Pack. The strict rules and constant contests of strength were tiring. I moved out of pack territory and into the city of Concordia as soon as I turned eighteen.

But the pack has transformed since then.

The change hits me the moment I step into the cool night air.

The sentry posts and barricades that once walled off our central common area have vanished, replaced by neat sidewalks lined with hedges and lampposts.

New shops and restaurants crowd the main square, including bars and pubs near the arena already packed with noise and bodies. I veer away from the chaos.

Watching the pack evolve drew me back into the fold… but that doesn’t necessarily mean I belong.

I walk listlessly through the streets, not even sure where I’m going or what I need beyond an ice pack. That would sure come in handy right now.

And a win. I’d love a win. Just one damn victory to prove I'm not completely useless.

A trio of shifters roll by as they patrol the territory, and I give them a nod as they head to crowd control duty.

Guarding must satisfy some primal protective instinct because it's always been popular despite being totally unnecessary. Nobody’s stupid enough to wander uninvited into the land of snarling wolves with anger management issues.

The fight nights finally give the guards something to do, even if it's mostly breaking up drunken bar fights.

Wait. Are my eyes playing tricks on me? Lamplight illuminates a man in dark clothes trailing behind a large group walking toward the main gate, there one moment and then gone.

He slips off the path and into the darkness.

Heading toward the forest? Visitors aren't allowed beyond the main square on fight nights.

Why is he venturing deeper into our territory?

Is he… Is someone actually trespassing?