Take Me Wildman (Modern Vikings #6)

Prologue

Beau

I bought this place to disappear. Apparently someone had other plans.

A large banner is strung across the front porch of the house I just purchased, with balloons and ribbons tied to the railings. They give me pause, my brows furrowing as I read the words printed on the banner in bright red, large enough to be seen from the road.

Welcome home!

I slam the car door shut and shove my hands into my pockets as I stare at the house I poured a small fortune into, with its quiet stretch of land and large windows that reflect the desert sky.

Two colorful pots of flowers sit by the front door, but it’s the balloons and ribbons that draw a sigh out of me, and I can’t help but wonder how long it’ll take me to take them down.

It’s unnecessary.

The ceremony of it all. The banners, the balloons, and the woman grinning from the entrance holding a bottle of champagne. It’s all just unnecessary. And annoying. It gives the impression that this is a happy occasion and not a situation I was forced into.

A few months ago, I was living comfortably in the city, working a job I’d trained my whole life for.

I carried my badge with honor and respected the weight it gave me.

I was a good cop, working my way up the ranks faster than most of my peers, admired and equally envied. I was on top of the fucking world.

Now I’m a nobody who has just bought a house in the middle of nowhere. I don’t carry that badge anymore or a sense of responsibility over keeping law and order. Hell, the whole world could burn to ashes for all I care.

“Mr. Donovan!”

The chirpy realtor in a blinding pink suit calls out, waving happily with the champagne bottle in her left hand.

She looks awfully happy, but I suppose I would too if I got a fat check from selling an expansive, remote property like this one.

Well, at least one of us is excited about this whole deal.

“Miss Carter,” I respond, my eyes dropping to the champagne she’s holding, then back to hers.

“Oh, this is from the office. There is also fruit basket on the kitchen counter to welcome you to your new home,” She beams as she turns to the two pots of flowers. “The flowers are from the previous owners. They send their best wishes.”

“I see.”

“You should…” Her words trail off and the smile on her face freezes, her eyes widening as they move past my shoulders. “Is that...you mentioned you had dogs but I thought you meant like a beagle or something, not beasts… Oh my God, there’s more of them!”

Her voice pitches as she takes a quick step, nearly dropping the champagne bottle in her hands.

I follow her eyes to the two dogs peering out through the open car window—large German shepherds that have been known to put the fear of God in people.

They are staring dead into the woman’s eyes, trying to determine whether or not she’s a threat.

She shouldn’t be so surprised. She already knows that I didn’t come out here, buy a two-story house on more acreage than I’ll ever use just to start a family.

I didn’t do all this so I could have a place for a pretty little wife and red-cheeked babies to run around.

None of that interests me. Not after what happened.

No, I plan to start a breeding and training program with my four dogs.

I intend to raise and train them to aid police and military operations or become guard dogs.

They’ll be trained to become drug-sniffing dogs, tracking dogs, and attack dogs, depending on their temperament.

I’ve trained police K-9s before and have enough experience to know which role suits each dog.

“They won’t get out unless I tell them to,” I tell the woman staring at me with fear clear in her eyes.

“Are they… Good God, how many are there?”

I step between her and the car, blocking the view. “They’re harmless,” I repeat, which is mostly true. Still, she obviously doesn’t believe me as she clutches the champagne to her chest, holding it close like a shield.

“I…I came to give you the keys and the paperwork.”

“Of course,” I say, walking toward her. She casts a wary look over my shoulder before turning to me with a nervous smile.

She hands me the key and waits for me to unlock the door before following me in.

We go through the paperwork she brought, and from the nervous looks she keeps tossing at the door, I can tell she’s eager to leave.

“There you go,” she says with a cheerful smile as she shoves her papers into her bag. “I…I should go now and leave you to, um, get settled in.”

“Do you want me to walk you to your car?”

“Yes, please.”

Her relief is palpable as she follows me out, and there’s that look again when she notices one of the dogs watching us. “You said you are a cop?”

“Former,” I say, the word coming out sharper than I meant it to. Whatever emotion threatens to surface is quickly reined in. “I quit.”

She turns, her brows furrowed. “Why would you walk away from that?”

I don’t answer her. How can I tell a total stranger that the reason I turned in my badge was the trauma of losing my partner and best friend in a shootout?

How could anyone understand the scars left after watching the life in your partner’s eyes fade away, the fear and pain before they go dark? Empty.

But life moves on, doesn’t it? There is a grand funeral, there are tears from his widow and children and his colleagues. There are constant looks, questions left unvoiced.

How did you escape the shootout uninjured?

Why did the guy with a family have to die?

Why did you break protocol and split up?

I couldn’t stay. Couldn’t walk every day into work and see my partner’s empty desk, soon to be occupied by someone else.

Couldn’t drive through the city without hearing his voice whining about traffic and missing breakfast. Couldn’t entertain the thought of another taking his place, starting all over again.

Couldn’t trust myself to keep people safe either.

So, I quit.

“Mr. Donovan?”

I turn to the agent, surprised to realize we’re already standing next to her car. I carefully force my face blank as I extend my hand to hers. “Pleasure doing business with you, Miss Carter.”

“Um, of course.” There are questions in her eyes as she shakes my hand, and I curse myself for letting even the slightest of emotion show.

To her credit, she swallows back whatever it is she was going to say as she turns to the house.

“It’s a big place for one guy.” I don’t respond.

“Don’t you think you’ll be lonely out here by yourself, without any neighbors for miles? ”

“I prefer it that way.”

Her eyes move to my car and the nerves return. “I suppose you won’t be alone after all.”

“No, I won’t.”

With one last wary look at my car, she slips into hers and, with a wave, drives off. I watch her car disappear before walking to mine and opening the back passenger door to let out the only family I have left. The only company I need.

My eyes drift back to the banner with its bold colors and massive letters, and for a moment, I consider what this new beginning will bring.

“Welcome home,” I mutter. It doesn’t feel like home, not the kind of place that comes with warmth and laughter. I doubt it ever will.