Chapter Two
Wilder
I lock the door to my office and slide the keys into my pocket, already mentally ticking through tomorrow’s to-do list as I turn toward the stairs. Suddenly, I hear a sound. It’s faint, so at first, I think I’m imagining it.
Like something—someone—is sobbing.
I stop mid-step, frowning. Wilder House is quiet at night. Always is. The tenants know the rules, and I’ve made damn sure the building stays safe and calm so there’s no drama or surprises.
The sound comes again—soft, broken sobs—from the back hallway.
My jaw tightens as I head toward it, irritation flaring in my chest. The maintenance closet door catches my eye immediately, sitting slightly ajar.
I mutter a curse under my breath. I’ve been meaning to fix that latch for weeks.
If some stray animal has gotten in, or worse…
if someone’s poking around my tools, I’m going to lose my shit.
I grab the handle and yank the door open, ready to lay into whatever’s on the other side.
And then everything stops.
Curled up in the far corner, perched on a pile of crushed cardboard boxes, is a girl.
No—not a girl—a woman. Young. Barely more than a kid.
She’s hugging her knees to her chest like she’s trying to make herself smaller, blonde hair hanging around her face in uneven strands that look like they were cut by someone with shaking hands and dull scissors.
Her skin—pale under the fluorescent light—almost looks translucent, and her full lips tremble as she cries silently into her sleeve.
She raises her head slowly, her eyes meeting mine. Big, brown doe eyes that immediately touch something in my chest.
We stare at each other, and I momentarily forget how to breathe. Forget why I’m standing here. Forget the sharp edge of anger that had me storming toward the closet in the first place.
She looks up at me like she’s waiting to be hurt and hoping she isn’t, and the combination guts me. I’ve had men twice my size square up to me and felt nothing. One look from this girl, and I can’t make myself move.
She looks terrified. Like a cornered animal waiting for the blow.
A tear cuts down her cheek, and my hand moves before I can stop it—half-raised to brush it away. I catch myself. A stranger reaching for her face is the last thing she needs. I drop my hand.
Up close, I notice the rest of her. Her jacket is thin and worn at the seams. Her sneakers are so beat up the soles have become smooth. She isn’t dirty, but she’s got that look— one I recognize instantly. The look of someone who has nothing.
I swallow hard.
Christ. I’ve seen that look in the mirror before.
“Hey,” I say, keeping my voice low, steady. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
Her shoulders flinch anyway.
“I’m Wilder,” I add after a beat. “I…I own the building.”
That seems to register. A little. She loosens her grip on her knees just enough to stare at me like she’s bracing for the worst.
“Please,” she blurts, words tumbling out fast. “Please don’t kick me out. I’ll be gone first thing in the morning, I swear. I just—I just need somewhere warm. Just for tonight.”
The desperation in her voice hits me straight in the gut.
I glance around the cramped closet—mops, shelves, towels, boxes—and shake my head slowly. “You can’t sleep in here.”
Her face crumples instantly, tears welling again, and I raise my hands. “Hey. That’s not what I mean.” I step back to give her space. “Come on. Let’s get you out of there.”
She hesitates, then carefully unfolds herself from the floor, moving like she expects me to change my mind at any second. When she steps past me, I notice how small she is. Fragile. Like the city could swallow her whole without even noticing.
I lead her into my office and motion for her to sit in one of the chairs by my desk. She perches on the edge, hands clenched in her lap. I grab a paper cup and fill it with water from the dispenser, setting it gently in front of her.
“Drink,” I say. “You’re safe. For now.”
She takes a shaky sip.
“What’s your name?” I ask.
She swallows. “Millie.”
Something in me eases at the sound of it.
She explains in halting sentences how she’s newly homeless, how she didn’t know where else to go, how sorry she is for sneaking into my building.
Each word tightens the knot in my chest. Because I know exactly what happens to girls like Millie when they’re out on the streets at night.
I know the men who would’ve noticed her.
The ones who’d smile first and then assault her without remorse.
Back when I ran with the Serpents, we used to see girls like her drift through the neighborhoods. Lost. Easy prey. I’d walked away from that life, burned every bridge behind me—but the memories don’t fade.
My stomach twists hard.
“You’re lucky,” I say quietly. “Very lucky.”
She looks at me, confused.
“You could have ended up in the wrong place,” I finish.
Millie hesitates, then asks softly, “Is Wilder House…like a halfway house?”
I shake my head. “Not officially. It’s not licensed. It’s sort of a place for people who need a fresh start.”
Her eyes shine at that. “That’s what I need. I just—I don’t have any money. I can’t pay rent.”
“I don’t have any units available,” I say automatically.
It’s a lie. And I know it the second it leaves my mouth. But something in me is already shifting, already making space.
I clear my throat. “But I might have another option.”
Her breath catches.
“I’ve got a guest room,” I continue, stunned by myself. I’ve never done this before. Never even considered it. “You could stay there. Temporarily.”
Her eyes widen. “I can’t—I can’t pay. I don’t even have a job yet. But I will. I promise. Just give me a couple of weeks.”
I nod. “That’s fine.”
It’s not about the money. Never was. But she needs to believe it is—needs to feel like she’s earning this, not begging for it. Because I already know one thing for sure. I’m not letting her walk back out into the night.
I lead her up the stairs instead of taking the elevator. Old habit. Gives me time to think—time I don’t actually want.
I keep my eyes forward and still catch it—the careful way she takes each step, like she’s bracing for the floor to give out. Like she’s learned not to trust solid ground. It does something to me I don’t have a name for.
The top floor is quiet, like always. My apartment sits at the end of the hall, door scarred but solid. Home. I unlock it and step aside so she can enter first.
She moves slowly, eyes taking everything in like she expects it to vanish if she looks too hard. The place is simple. Clean. Lived in, but sparse. Nothing fancy. Just how I like it.
“This way,” I say, nodding toward the back.
The guest room door opens to a small, plain space.
White walls. A narrow window. A twin bed with neatly tucked sheets.
That’s it. I don’t have much use for guests.
The few who’ve slept in this room were men running from ghosts…
old associates, washed-up friends, people who stayed a night or two before disappearing again.
Millie doesn’t comment on the size of the bed. She just exhales, like she’s finally letting herself believe this is real.
“You can lock the door if you want,” I tell her. “Bathroom’s down the hall. I’ll leave you some towels.”
She nods. “Thank you.”
The words are soft. Earnest.
I turn to go, already bracing myself to put distance between us, but she steps closer instead. Before I can react, she rises onto her tiptoes and presses a quick, shy kiss to my cheek.
It’s barely there.
But it wrecks me.
My body reacts instantly, heat flaring low and dangerous, and I have to clench my jaw to keep my face neutral. She pulls back just as fast, eyes wide like she’s worried she’s crossed some invisible line.
“Good night,” she whispers.
“Night,” I manage. “Get some rest, baby girl.” The words slip out without permission.
Her breath hitches. Mine does too.
Something flickers in her eyes—surprise, warmth, something fragile—and then it’s gone, replaced by a small, uncertain smile. I back out of the room before I can say something… or do something dangerous.
I don’t trust myself for another second.
The moment my bedroom door closes behind me, I head straight for the bathroom.
I strip, peeling off every item of my clothing with controlled precision that contradicts the urgency burning inside me.
I step under the showerhead and turn it on full blast, closing my eyes with a sigh as the cold water hits my burning skin.
I’m hard as a fucking rock.
Just taking the edge off, I tell myself. Nothing to do with her. It’s a lie, and I know it before my hand even moves.
I close my eyes and run my palm down my length, letting my mind picture her beautiful innocent face…those gorgeous brown eyes and supple lips…
A shaky breath escapes me. I wrap my palm around my cock, imagining her sweet mouth taking me in, wet and hot.
Pleasure shoots through me in an electrifying wave.
I let out a gruff moan as I start to pump myself hard from root to tip, until my whole body draws taut and my head falls back in ecstasy.
“Fuck,” I groan through my teeth as my pleasure heightens. Images of her in very compromising positions flash rapidly in my head, urging me faster until it feels like I’m about to explode.
A loud growl tears out of me, my body trembling uncontrollably as my cum spurts all over my hands and paints the white tiles.
When it’s over, I let go of my cock—still fairly stiff—and brace a hand on the wall with a deep sigh. The water is icy cold, but I barely feel the bite.
I promised Johnny just one thing—never lose control. And for the first time in nine years, I’ve broken the promise.
For a girl I barely know.
“Get your fucking shit together, Tate,” I murmur under my breath.
But even as I say that, I know I’m not letting go. I want her like I haven’t wanted anything in a long time.
If she knows what’s good for her though, she’ll run…