Chapter 10
CHAPTER
TEN
WILDE
I ’m rippling with agitation as I head around the property, checking for fire hazards and testing to see if the perimeter fence is still intact.
I’m no less annoyed by the time I get back to my place, so instead of spending the day pissed off, I grab my post—a polished stick that’s about three feet tall and an inch thick—from inside and make my way down to the Lair.
We only officially built this place ten years ago, and just like the Cutty—our town bar—we keep it pristine.
The external timber is oiled and polished to a gleam, standing ten feet tall all around, and whenever I’m here, it’s like everything else falls into place.
Wilde’s End has survived through luck, and we’re not the only remote community out here. The Dale is closest and the biggest, but there are plenty of others that need money to keep going as well. It’s where Peril originated.
It started as illegal fighting rings. People would show up once a month to place bets, beat the shit out of each other, and then leave.
The problem with angry people in an arena is that the matches were fast and dirty.
There were also injuries severe enough that if we didn’t change something, people would start asking questions.
So the podiums were added. Like an obstacle course to fight on, with the main objective being to knock your opponent off instead of beating them to within an inch of their life.
In order to get close enough to knock someone off though, it also gives them the chance to pull you down with them, and matches ending in a draw aren’t profitable.
That’s where our posts came in.
The Lair is roughly the size of a lecture hall, with seating on all four sides and a sunken floor in the middle. The floor is padded to prevent serious injury, but the tiered platforms in the middle and the bars hanging overhead are shiny, unrelenting metal.
No matter how many fights I win or lose here, it feels like home.
I cross the padded floor to reach the starting platform and climb up onto it. My post is heavier than what most people use, but it’s perfect for what I need today.
From the first swing, my muscle memory takes over.
The effort I have to pour into each strike and movement focuses all my thoughts into my training and helps drain the frenetic energy from my limbs.
I move from one platform to the next, testing my balance as I hit and attack imaginary opponents, all of them looking exactly like Foley.
By the time I’m heaving for breath and have sweat running down my back, I’ve almost forgotten about Hudson. Almost. I don’t think his thorn will ever leave my side. I’m overheated, sore, and probably pushed way too hard, but at least I have a second’s peace.
A small break from all the stress and worry about what happens next for Wilde’s End.
It’s a fifteen-minute walk back to my place, and every one of those minutes drags.
It’s been a long time since I lost control of myself like that, and my muscles are making me pay for it now.
Even with the pain, I love this walk. It’s peacefully quiet, the breeze is cool against my sweat, and everything smells like trees and dirt and earth.
Who wouldn’t want to protect a place like this?
There’s a secluded swimming hole I normally bathe in not far from my place, but I opt to use my outdoor shower instead. I avoid it when I can because I hate to waste water, but after that workout, I’m starving, and I refuse to eat smelling like this.
I strip off and shower, scrubbing the horrible effects of the day from me. The world as I know it hasn’t ended yet, and I need to keep focused on that and nothing else. There’s still time to stop the worst from happening.
As soon as I’m clean, I switch off the shower, dry in the sun, and then climb my back stairs. The Wenders and I built this place with our bare hands, and I’ve never been prouder of anything than when we finished and I had a place all of my own.
It’s my sanctuary, and I’ve never had another person step foot inside.
Until now, apparently.
Sitting on my couch, leaning back against my grandmother’s patchwork quilt, is Hudson.
He grins when he sees me, like he hasn’t invaded my personal space, and then his gaze drops from my face … to my dick.
One side of his mouth stretches higher. “Well, that’s unexpected.”
“What the hell are you doing in my house?”
“Returning the favor. ”
The heart-pounding irritation from earlier returns. I’m not sure which part frustrates me the most: that his face can do that so easily or that I worked my ass off to get rid of this feeling for nothing. “Get out.”
“But you didn’t say please.”
“Get out. Please .”
Hudson laughs, and the scratchy sound is too appealing. “I would, but I’m really enjoying the view.”
I huff and cross the small room to pull the quilt out from under him. I’m not modest—I don’t give a fuck who sees me naked—but I’m in no position to make demands when he can’t keep his eyes off my cock. Once the quilt is wrapped securely around my waist, I glare menacingly down at him.
“Show’s over. Get out.”
“Just one thing first.” He reaches for the clay pot on the coffee table in front of him.
I don’t have much in here, but the few things I do have are personal.
Gracie Raylon made that for me when she was six, and it was the first gift I’d gotten in years.
I’m about to snatch it out of Hudson’s grubby hands when he tosses it into the air.
My heart drops.
“No!” I try to catch it, but the pot slips past my grip, and I watch as it drops, fast, and then hits the floor. All I can do is stare as it shatters, the tiny pieces exploding out in all directions.
I barely hear Hudson over the pounding in my ears.
“Ooops,” he tries, but there’s no apology behind it. “I guess we’re even for the windows now.” He stands, and as he steps around me, he pats me on the shoulder, but I’m still staring at the wreckage in shock. “Just wanted you to know I’m always happy to visit. In case you get any other ideas.”
My indignation is roaring in my veins, and Hudson doesn’t make it a step before I grab his shirt and throw him halfway across the room.
He’s ready for me, and I get an elbow to the face for my efforts.
He takes another swing that I block, and before he can tackle me, I grab him and shove him face-first into the wall.
I need to use my whole body to keep him pinned, even as he thrashes against me.
He’s strong for a city boy.
“How fucking dare you,” I snarl.
He tries for a hard shove backward, and when that doesn’t work, he lets out a chuckle instead. “Coming from you.”
“You can get new windows. I can’t replace that.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t have started this shit with us, then.”
“I wouldn’t have had to start anything if you’d listened in the first place.”
His breathing from our scuffle slows down. “Did you ever stop and think that maybe I’m not leaving because what I left behind is a thousand times worse than whatever you have to throw at us?”
That question hits me in a way it shouldn’t. It’s the same reason so many of us wound up here to begin with, and all I can do is ignore it. I don’t want to understand him. I can’t risk it. “Did you ever stop and think that maybe I don’t give a shit?”
“That would require me to give a fuck about your opinion.”
“So how does this end, huh?” I ask, barely able to hold back from slamming him into the wall again. “I burn down your shit, so you burn down mine?”
“Sounds like a good time.”
“I’d kill you before you got the chance.”
I can only see one side of Hudson’s face, but it’s enough to make out his smile. “Nah. You already told me that you don’t do that.”
“Maybe I was lying. ”
“I’ll take my chances.” He shoves back hard but can’t throw me off him.
What he does do might be worse though. His jean-covered ass rubs over my bare cock. I lost the quilt as we wrestled, and as much as I hate everything about Hudson and the reasons he’s here, it doesn’t change that he’s a stupidly attractive man.
Before he can do it again, I angle my hips away, but it’s already drawn my attention to how close we’re standing. He smells like something sweet, and his skin has warmed the thin T-shirt he’s wearing. The T-shirt I can feel every muscle in his back through.
“Why don’t we make a truce?” he asks.
The word disgusts me. “Never.”
“Don’t think you have much choice.” I’m waiting for him to shove me again, but he doesn’t. “I found your place easily enough, and anything you do to us, I’ll do right back. Which reminds me … I hope you weren’t planning on going anywhere today.”
Going … it only takes me a second. “What the fuck did you do to my truck?”
“Don’t know what you mean.” His dry tone makes it very clear he knows what I mean, the same way I know what he’s hinting at.
He let the air out of my fucking tires.
Unlike him, I have easy access to an air pump.
“Fine, then,” I relent, hating myself for doing it. “Let’s negotiate. What will make you leave town? And don’t say twelve million dollars.”
I’m not expecting him to push back this time, but he only manages enough space to turn and face me before he’s pinned again.
My forearm presses against his throat, but Hudson accepts every bit of pressure I give him.
He gazes steadily at me, and for a moment, all there is between us is hoarse breathing and warring eye contact.
He takes his time to answer me, and when he does, it’s not what I expect. “What happened to your eye?”
He doesn’t need to be specific; I know he’s talking about my scar. He won’t be getting an answer though. “That’s my business. Answer my question.”
“I would, but I don’t think you’ll like my answer.”
I huff and shove against him again before stepping away.
Being close to him and his arrogance makes me uncomfortable, and I can’t keep looking into that irritatingly sly expression.
We’re getting nowhere fast, and I’m running out of options.
“That’s it, then? We keep going until one of us is destroyed? ”
“Or we just stop.”
“I can’t stand by and let you sell off Old End.”
“Old End?” He tilts his head, and the lock that curls up above his forehead falls to the side.
“The town,” I grit out.
“Let me? I’m not asking for your permission.”
I swear every time that he opens his mouth, it makes me want to punch him in it a little more. “Get out.”
“Or what? You’ll manhandle me again?” Then he bites down hard on his bottom lip and shamelessly runs his eyes over me.
I’d been wondering if his taunts were purely to piss me off or if there was truth behind them.
The way he’s looking at me solves that mystery.
I wish I could say I was immune to him, but him blatantly staring at my cock is making it think it needs to put on a show.
I scoop the quilt back up off the ground and wrap it around my hips before I can get hard.
“Pity …” Hudson sighs on his way to the door. “If we’d met un der any other circumstances, you could have manhandled me all you liked.”
He leaves, and I slam the door after him, hotter and more irritable than before I showered.
I’ve never met someone who makes my blood boil like he does.