Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

LUCAS

The explosion vibrated around the room with a deafening roar. The walls shook. A painting rattled. My usually slow-beating heart raced as I clenched my fists, the noise growing louder with each passing second.

The tightening of my fists was the only thing keeping me in check. That and the counting in my head.

I'd lost track of how many times I'd tried to count to ten.

Another boom and my patience snapped.

"Seriously, Wilder. Switch it off or put on those damn headphones."

The explosion echoed again. This time the bottle on the table rattled.

One. Two. Three ? —

A loud scream pierced the air. That of a soldier losing a limb.

That was exactly what was going to happen to Ethan bloody Wilder if he didn't heed my warning and switch off the damn game. My patience was paper-thin. Hell, it had a BMI less than that.

What the hell was thinner than tissue paper beyond my patience and nerves?

"Wilder." It was rare that I growled. Even rarer that my fangs extended. The itch in my gums warned me they were close to the surface, eager to tear out the bear's throat.

I'd drain him dry, and beyond the slurps and the sound of me stamping on the gaming device, nothing but the beautiful sound of a slowing heartbeat would be my soundtrack.

Maybe then I'd be able to get on with figuring out where Hornell was—the former captain who remained the annoying thorn in my side at the top of the Supernatural Investigation Crime Bureau's Most Wanted list.

That and I'd make the bullshit warrants out on me and my team in the Infiltration Tactical Unit disappear. Though not without taking the heads of the corrupt individuals who'd allowed it to happen.

For a vampire, I wasn't usually so bloodthirsty—ironic for sure—but I still hadn't decided if I would do that metaphorically or if I would put them in the ground.

If Callen, my division leader, had his way, it would be the latter.

The sound of blood splattering against the screen with a dramatic grunt of an alien being wounded by a spray of bullets finally did it.

In four strides, I reached the plug socket and yanked the lead.

Exquisite silence.

Which lasted for barely a second before Wilder pounced out of the chair, the movement fast and completely at odds with his huge bulk.

"The fuck you do that for, tosser?"

Angling my head up to stare him dead in the eyes, I huffed out a frustrated breath. "I can't think with all the stupid blasting. You have a headset. Use it."

"I would, but I need to listen out for intruders as well."

"All you had to do was turn the volume down, and we wouldn't have a problem. You're being an inconsiderate arsehole." Any semblance of calm disappeared. My voice shook, my anger vibrating under my skin.

"It was the only way to block out your pacing and heavy breathing," Wilder spat.

"Heavy breathing?!" I shouted incredulously. What the ever-loving fuck? "I breathe once a minute, if that, you ignoramus. And I'm hardly pacing."

Admittedly, I may have been pacing a little, but it was day three of us being trapped together in one of my safe houses outside Brisbane.

We were holed up in the residence I had on Tamborine Mountain. It provided good coverage surrounded by rainforest and had plenty of boltholes and numerous exits should the need arise.

But rather than Wilder being grateful for the safe house or the well-stocked fridge I'd organised or even the comfortable king-size bed that easily supported his giant frame, he grumbled and complained like being here was a hardship.

I clenched my jaw, staring daggers at him.

A hardship would have been me abandoning him at the private airstrip just south of Brisbane and leaving him to fend for himself in a foreign-to-him country with a warrant out for him to be taken into custody for questioning by the bureau.

"Puh- lease ." The word was all derision. "You're practically wearing a hole in the floorboards while you're huffing and puffing. You're even mumbling to yourself." Wilder's shoulders eased a fraction, and the barest of smiles appeared on his lips. He angled forwards, a full-on smirk on his face that was all menace and enjoyment as he aimed to get a rise out of me.

I knew what the arsehole was attempting.

"How old did you say you were again? Maybe you're finally losing the plot. I've heard stories about old vampires losing their marbles. I'll get you a chain you can rattle if you want to keep pacing."

"That's ghosts." My lip curled into a sneer.

It was hard not to bite. Not to push back like I knew he wanted.

The flip in him—the switch from reactive anger to him goading me, looking for a fight—wasn't the first over the past three days. Hell, it'd happened even before that, when we'd been at Hart's place.

The urge to give Wilder what he wanted, to react to the aggression he craved, burned deep in my gut. Not a chance I'd give him that satisfaction. Not only because he was pissing me off, but also because this house had cost a small fortune to kit out to my specs.

The thought was the reminder I needed.

I refused to buckle. I wasn't here to babysit or play games with Wilder and his grizzly's instincts.

What we needed was to clear our names, shut down the bullshit case against my team, and put Hornell behind bars or in the ground. It was rare I opted for the latter, but the growing body count Hornell was responsible for and, quite frankly, the abhorrent experimentation and projects he fronted meant his death would be justly deserved.

"Ghosts, huh? Really?"

Bloody hell. Why did I even respond to "correct" him? Talk about allowing myself to be dragged in.

I worked hard at relaxing my tight muscles, when what I wanted to do was close my eyes, throw my head back, and cuss him out. Perhaps beg for divine intervention. But I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of letting him know how much he rattled me.

With the exception of tearing the plug from the wall socket.

I had my limits.

Focussing on getting my composure back, I stepped towards the workstation, saying, "Did you get the information you were looking for?" I sort of kept the bite from my question.

Working in the back office, I'd been neck deep in calls on a secure line to Callen, the SICB division leader and my friend. We'd been discussing more sensitive details about past ITU cases that Wilder most definitely didn't have the clearance for.

Not that he had any clearance.

Hell, neither did I, for that matter, since I was underground, staying clear of the SICB agents instructed to bring me and my unit in.

Thankfully, Callen's name wasn't attached to any of the leaked files—nor the bullshit ones. While he used to be a part of the team, his appointment to division leader happened over two years ago. The files making their rounds didn't appear to go back that far. It was a stroke of luck that he maintained his position and was able to act as our eyes and ears while the rest of the team were scattered around Australia, hiding out.

"I'm just waiting for a contact to get back to me. I took a break to clear my head."

I bit my tongue from making a snide remark about the noise and sat down, my back to him.

"It looks like your team's files made it to the ShadowNet before Hart was able to take it down."

I froze, stomach bottoming out. Turning slowly, I faced him. "What?"

"I said?—"

I frowned and shook my head, cutting him off. Making zero attempts at keeping the bite out of my tone, I snapped, "I know what you said. I'm just wondering why you're only telling me this now."

This man was going to be the death of me.

That he would sit on crucial information that put my team at risk while he indulged in mindless gaming was beyond frustrating.

Once again, my gums itched. As did my trigger finger.

Staring at me, seeming completely unaffected, Wilder didn't even offer a shrug.

"Just to be clear. You discovered this information yet decided to play a stupid fucking game instead?" I seethed, my hands clenching at my sides. "There are some serious fucking consequences, not only to my team but also their families. Lives could be ruined or taken because you prioritised playing over having a simple conversation with me."

Not even a flicker of remorse registered in his gaze. "Gaming helps me think. My brain needed a rest while I figured out the best course of action." His unrepentant voice, almost at the point of monotone, simply fuelled my frustration.

Dead. He was going to be the deadest bear that ever died.

"Think?" The vein in my temple throbbed. "Think?" My voice rose. Putting my claws around his thick neck would be beyond satisfying. "While our entire operation hangs by a thread, you were thinking by blowing shit up?"

"Killing aliens, actually." This time, a one-shouldered shrug punctuated his words.

Turning my back to him, I paced, trying to contain the rage bubbling inside me. "You know what? I'll handle damage control. You just go back to your precious game."

"You're so dramatic. Geez." An over-the-top sigh escaped him.

Me? Dramatic?

Okay, so I was admittedly close to tearing his head off, but while he may have no allegiances or responsibility, I did.

Heck, that pretty much summed up my life. My whole existence.

The vein in my temple pulsed, my headspace struggling to find room for all that needed to be done.

"That's the information I'm waiting for from my contact. They're providing some coding that will allow me to not only pull the data but also track who's accessed it," Ethan said.

I stopped short, my focus returning to him as he continued to speak.

"You know how impossible that should be, right?"

Shit, I really did.

All my fight evaporated. "You have a contact who can do that?"

"Yes." A smug smile made its way to his lips.

The expression caught my attention. Did I want to smack the smile from his face? Hell yes. But it wasn't lost on me that, self-satisfied or not, it was the first time I'd seen a smile reach his eyes.

The move somehow brightened his dark brown eyes, shaking away the deep, pissed-off intensity that was usually present. The flash of his white teeth contrasted sharply against the unruly beard that framed his jawline, making him appear frustratingly handsome.

I gritted my teeth, unwilling to acknowledge the pull his smile had on me.

Wilder was trouble. I didn't have time for distractions, especially ones wrapped in a package as aggravatingly bulky and grumpy as him. It shouldn't be charming—him being a cranky arsehole.

Suppressing the urge to roll my eyes, I forced myself to focus on the serious issues at hand. "Well, get them on the line," I demanded, trying to ignore the warmth spreading through me despite my irritation with him.

He quirked his brow before making a show of looking at his watch with sloth-like speed. "They'll be in touch in four minutes. While ‘playing games,'" he said pointedly, "I thought of something I want to try that should help us fly under the radar when the tracking software is running. Without it, it won't take long before alarms are ringing and those individuals who've accessed your team's profiles are shutting down and deleting their fingerprints."

I held back my wince. Humble pie tasted like shit, but sometimes it was necessary to throw some whipped cream on it and eat it all up.

"Thank you. Do you need help?"

Wilder's skill set was phenomenal—he had some serious creative brainpower working for him. Not that I was too shabby with computer software. But working inside the law meant my creative instincts were regularly restricted.

A hacker like Wilder, who, despite his years working for the British Cyber Unit, absolutely no longer worked inside the restraints of the law, was a wholly different breed. As a hacker for hire, he operated in the shadows, bending and breaking the rules with a finesse that left even seasoned cybercrime investigators scratching their heads.

Because of course I'd done my research on him since being holed up for the past three days.

A few days ago, Hart—our "unicorn hacker" who'd fallen for one of my agents, Smythe—had brought him in to assist in a nightmare case that spread deeper, darker, and wider with every minute that passed.

Before then, I'd never known about Ethan Wilder's existence. Why would I when he lived on the other side of the world?

Now, I knew a lot more. Though I suspected Wilder could redact information he didn't want me or anyone else to know.

I couldn't help but be grudgingly impressed.

Despite my reservations about his methods, his approach was effective. He got things done, no matter how illegal and morally questionable they might be.

Yet, that was also why he was caught up in this drama in the first place: his involvement in assisting Hornell.

Because of that, I couldn't fully trust him. He'd pleaded his case and promised his "innocence" as far as how deep his involvement went. But still, I wouldn't let down my guard.

What was probably even worse was that the situation we were in meant I was officially on the run. Every day I didn't turn myself in for questioning, I broke the law.

Talk about ironic.

Wilder's "No" to my offer of help was part scoff, part confusion.

Whatever.

I sat back down in front of my computer system, viscerally aware of Wilder sitting a metre away on my right.

While waiting, I'd check on Shaw and Michaels.

They'd been in Brisbane when the alert for us to be taken in for questioning had been triggered.

I absolutely regretted parting ways, wishing they'd come here with us to act as a buffer rather than heading to another of my safe houses south of Gympie, about three hours north. A small light-aircraft airport close by meant they had options if they needed to make a quick exit.

After logging into the encrypted server, I shot them a request for a welfare status report.

Their reply was immediate: Safe .

They were working on their contacts, trying to find a location on Hornell. Once they had something—a possible lead—I'd be the first to know.

The sound of Wilder's fingers flying over the keyboard drew my attention.

I glanced at his screen. "That them?"

"Nah, it's my neighbour asking for me to pick her up a battered sausage from the chippie."

Sarcastic arsehole.

"Yeah." He sighed, no doubt hearing me grit my teeth. He hit a few more keys. "They've managed to get the coding sorted. I'm going to add my own special blend of magic to it. Then we'll get this bad boy running."

The glee in his voice was at complete odds with every other tone he'd used.

And I got it.

Chubbing up over tech or coding that was hands down a beautiful masterpiece had happened to me a time or two over the years. His voice, though, while already gruff, had an extra layer of gravel. Hell, an air of whimsy coated his words.

He must be pretty impressed with himself.

Not that I wasn't.

"Fucking magic," he said with glee, punching in some numbers before stretching his large arms above his head and easing back in the leather chair. The metal structure creaked at the movement.

He was a seriously built guy—all barrel-chested and long limbs. At six foot six, he towered over me.

Pulling my attention away from his bare forearms, which were smattered with dark hair, I zeroed in on his computer monitor.

Excitement clenched my heart, holding it firmly in its grasp as the program appeared to be doing exactly what it was created to do.

While I was pissed that the data had made its way to the ShadowNet, pulling my focus—albeit briefly—away from finding Hornell and trying to discover the hold he had over the government officials Murdock and Jefferson, I was grateful Wilder discovered the breach.

Even more so that he'd come up with a solution and was dealing with it.

Being the boss could be isolating. While I treated my team with respect and care, work mode was my default setting. Part of that was always thinking, planning, and trying to stay two steps ahead.

That was no slight to my team. They were competent and followed leads without prompting, but I was involved in their decisions.

Wilder taking the lead was as disconcerting as it was liberating.

The thought pulled me up short.

Liberating?

What the ever-loving hell?

Oblivious to the direction of my alarming thoughts, Wilder continued to veg out in the leather chair like he was kicking back in front of the TV.

What must it be like to be so laid-back and chilled, behaving like you didn't have a care in the world?

He shot bolt upright. While I could only see the side of his profile, I saw enough to recognise the incredulity.

"What is it? What's wrong?" I moved my chair close, almost within touching distance, and received a whiff of his scent: spring forests after a light shower.

Somehow keeping my expression neutral at my observation, I focussed intently on his screen.

Four windows highlighted different data—two static and the other two moving with fresh information.

"What's that?" I pressed, trying to absorb as much of the information as possible. Data, in general, I could handle, just like I could coding, but even with my specialism in the creation of tech, which honestly was more like a hobby and had earned me a pretty penny over the years, I struggled to know what I was looking at.

Not that I'd tell Wilder that.

"Someone's online right now, trying to access the files."

"Can you stop them?"

A fast look at me and I pressed my lips together. A bubble of ill-timed amusement tried to break free at Wilder's expression that morphed into a blend of disbelief and irritation. His jaw tightened, eyes narrowing at me.

His gaze bored into me with a mix of annoyance and superiority, as if the very notion of questioning his abilities was preposterous.

Choosing to keep my mouth shut and liking a little too much that I was able to get a rise from him, I simply gave a chin lift towards the screen.

His "of course I can stop them, why do you even doubt me" look stayed in place a second longer before he turned his focus to his keyboard. Another smug smile settled on his lips, capturing my attention. Fascinating. It seriously was.

This grumpy bear had a hair-trigger mood switch. Why I found that as fun as it was riveting was all levels of worrying. No doubt because I'd lost count of the years since another person had stirred any reaction in me.

"Done."

I barely held back my body jerk, having been lost in his focussed, gleeful expression while he'd been working.

"I've even tracked their location. I've put it on the central encrypted server you pointed me to earlier."

Impressed, I bobbed my head. "Thank you."

"I didn't do it for you."

The creak of my molars grinding filled my ears. Maybe if I concentrated on that, I wouldn't decapitate him. That was how far he pushed me.

I knew better than to bite, than to react to his snide remarks and sarcasm-laced digs, but….

"So why did you do it?"

The question had played through my mind so many times over the past three days. Even before that when we were at Hart's warehouse.

Wilder turned in the swivel chair to face me, then studied me with an intensity that would likely have made a lesser agent shrivel.

Not me.

I'd spent longer than a lifetime under the scrutiny of dominant supernaturals. I'd worked hard at erasing several in particular from my memory while fighting to never feel cowed or overpowered again.

A grumpy bear would need to try a lot harder to successfully intimidate me. And his size…. I shook any thoughts of his vastness away. Large, muscular, thick, and tall were all elements of my personal kryptonite that I couldn't think too deeply about.

Probably because he was the polar opposite of the nightmare I'd lived with in the past.

Instead, embracing his anger, his indifference, or whatever mood he fired my way remained the safest option.

For Wilder too.

He just didn't know it.

Just when I considered rolling back to my station, he parted his lips, saying, "That kid Hart's all over—he didn't deserve what happened to him."

Surprise kept me quiet.

"I'm not going to justify why I take on the jobs I do, but I am all levels of pissed off that I wasn't fully aware of the specifics of the chip or the program that I designed for Hornell. The name wasn't anywhere within a thousand miles of this. And I always do my due fucking diligence."

For the first time since speaking, he cast a steady glance my way. "If none of you want to believe me," he said with a shrug, "then that's on you. I don't give two shits."

We held eye contact for a long beat. Confusion swirled in every available space in my body.

Did I believe him? Not that he cared either way, apparently. But still, did I?

His shock when he'd first arrived at Hart's warehouse had appeared real. And would I have brought him with me, to one of my safe houses, if I thought he was a genuine risk? Likely not.

Something niggled, though. Didn't quite sit right. Though I didn't expect I'd be getting any answers, which made sense because unravelling Ethan Wilder and discovering what kind of man he was, let alone his secrets, was not in my top ten list of priorities. Not right now.

A beep from his monitor dragged our attention to it.

Wilder tensed immediately, his fingers flying across the keys as I inched in closer to his side. Alarm pulsed through my veins as I committed each detail to memory, absorbing the words his coding had been set in to alert us should we be at risk.

At risk?

There was an almost maniacal bubble of laughter wedged in my throat, threatening to burst free.

I never lost my shit in public. Never lost control with someone else present.

At risk didn't even begin to cover it.

I leapt out of my seat and raced to my station to punch in the coding for lockdown.

My systems would be fried, with the exception of the two laptops in my go bag and the collection of equipment already in the back of my SUV.

"We've got to move." I half expected my inappropriate snicker to burst free. Relieved I'd contained it, I snatched my keys and stood in front of my security system. "How long?"

"Seven minutes." Wilder was out of his chair, one hand on his keyboard, the other typing on his phone.

While questions buzzed around my head concerning how on earth we'd been discovered, it wasn't the time. Instead, I focussed on my security system. The SICB would eventually be able to breach my safe house, but I wouldn't make it easy on them.

Once I sorted the appropriate lockdowns, I cast a quick glance at Wilder. At his full height, he was impressive. Standing there with his fluffy Cookie Monster laptop bag under his arm, he was definitely a vision of something.

My lips twitched despite the countdown and the precarious situation.

"What?" Eyes narrowed, he zeroed in on me, just daring me to say something. When I didn't speak, he huffed out a breath. "I got conned into buying raffle tickets for a charity event. I could have bought a thousand of the damn things with how much I paid."

The tightness in my chest loosened a fraction. This was so not the time for any of this.

Five minutes.

I needed to destroy my phone and activate another. I also needed to?—

"I've reached out to your team. Told them to be on high alert."

It took me half a beat to nod in acknowledgement. Apparently, Wilder also had mind-reading skills.

I swiped my phone off the table, crushed it in the palm of my hand, and discarded the debris.

"We'll need to get another car. I'm not sure if mine has been compromised," I said, picking up the go bag I kept in my workspace and glancing around the room. The house needed to be locked down so nothing could be salvaged by the SICB, who'd be here any moment.

The fact that they'd found us so quickly was a concern and kept my ego in check.

Four minutes. It was now or never.

"We've got to move."

A firm nod from Wilder, and then he took hold of his laptop, swiped his small travel bag, and was at my side in two large strides.

He took the lead so I could engage the additional security on the room and then the house. Unfortunately, both would eventually be breached. While the security system was my own tech and the best in the exclusive market—no way had I allowed mass production from my patent—the SICB had the details on file.

Because of course I'd shared that intel. Well, 85 percent of it. As my government, the agency I'd dedicated the past few decades to, I'd trusted them almost implicitly.

The almost was the reason I'd held back that 15 percent.

Following my gut, which was right in this instance, was a bitter pill to swallow.

Once outside and surrounded by the eucalypt forest, I inhaled the familiar scent—a blend of clean, crisp notes of menthol and pine with a hint of rich earth. But hell if, with the tension vibrating through my body as I looked at the driveway entrance, it didn't carry ominous undertones that had no place here. The fragrance of eucalyptus leaves, though usually soothing, seemed tinged with impending danger.

I paused from heading towards my SUV, not sensing Wilder's large presence.

The hell?

I spun, searching, listening keenly.

A rustle to the side of the house that led into the forest reached me. My muscles tightened, ready for action. I zeroed in on the unfamiliar weight of my sidearm, not used to wearing it. Tingles shot through my fingers as I prepared to move, not wanting to budge an inch as I waited.

Either Wilder had finally wondered what on earth he was doing by still sticking around and had abandoned the mission or…. Hell if I knew what the alternative was.

I needed to move. Get in the SUV and drive away.

The sound, however, kept me rooted. That and my gut told me I needed to be here.

Almost two decades, and it had rarely let me down. Before that was another story, but I hoped my instinct wasn't messing with me.

Branches snapped. Foliage was flattened by a force I couldn't see even as I angled my head to look.

My fingers twitched, still not ready to move to my gun but prepared to do so in an instant.

A heavy huff and a cuss carried in the wind. Immediately, I relaxed.

Wilder.

He emerged from the forest looking like he'd wrestled a croc. Twigs and leaves plastered his hair like a crown more fitting to a nymph than a grizzly bear in biped form. Wilder was always striking, but like this, he was mesmerising, especially when his gaze locked on mine.

"Get your bag out of the SUV," he demanded, his gruffness sparking me into action.

I didn't hesitate about which bags to take. I tugged out the bag full of tech and shoved the backpack I'd brought from the house with me on properly over my shoulders, leaving a second emergency escape kit behind. I raced towards him, eyeing the motorbike he'd pushed out of the forest.

I knew better than to ask the million questions concerning the hows, the whens, the whats, and the whys that were racing through my brain.

To be honest, I shouldn't have been surprised that he was so prepared or that he had the contacts in Australia to organise this.

I eyed the saddlebags, then shoved the tech bag inside one of them and accepted the helmet Wilder passed me with a smug smirk. He removed a second from the handlebars and shoved it unceremoniously onto his head before straddling the bike and starting the engine with the electric switch.

I didn't hesitate.

In approximately one minute, this place would be swarmed. I wanted us to be at a distance and not even able to see them in the side mirrors.

Settling behind him, I barely had the chance to grab hold of his waist before he revved the engine, and we flew down the drive. "Fuck me." The words punched out of me unbidden, and I held tighter.

He barely slowed as he turned onto the road before racing onto a smaller side street. I grunted and absolutely didn't squeal as he made an abrupt left turn onto a track used for dirt bikes.

This wasn't a dirt bike, but hell if Wilder didn't handle it with the ease of one as he weaved around potholes and ruts in the hard dirt.

The bike, a sleek, high-performance sports model better suited for city streets than rugged terrain, seemed to defy its purpose under Wilder's command. Its engine roared with power as he expertly navigated the rough track, effortlessly dodging obstacles that would have thrown a less-skilled rider off course.

The last time I'd been on a bike was likely fifty years ago. They were not as fast as this back then. An abrupt laugh leapt out of my chest, not only at my ridiculous "back in the day" thought, but fuck, this was fun. While Wilder was a grumpy arsehole and I wanted to strangle him pretty much all the damn time, his riding skills were impressive.

The wind whipped around us as we leaned into sharp turns, the scent of dust and eucalyptus mingling in the air. I held on tight, torn between exhilaration and apprehension, as Wilder guided the bike with precision and confidence that didn't surprise me. There was no denying his reckless nature, but in this moment, his ability to tame the untameable machine beneath us demanded my begrudging respect.

I grinned, relieved he couldn't see or hear me. Sure, our supernatural hearing went a long way, but muffled by helmets and the sound of the engine, plus add in the tyres on dirt and the wind whipping around us, and I basked in the moment of freedom.

A "whoop" was eager to escape, but I swallowed it down, not wanting to risk the volume.

The worry for my team and what this infiltration meant for our mission hovered at the edges of my brain. Neither was something I could do anything about. Not until we were safe. So I leaned into the momentary escape the ride and Wilder provided.

It was clear he knew where he was heading.

One thing for certain, Wilder was a quick study. His escape plan was impeccable. This route would take us out to the west of the mountain. From there, there was little other than farmland and the vast range heading towards Beaudesert, which was just thirty minutes away. Beyond that and farther west was the outback.

There were also numerous small airbases.

I didn't doubt Wilder was privy to all of this. What I was curious about was where his escape plan would take us.

"Where are you heading?" I mumbled, barely paying attention to the passing trees. Before long we'd be on the bitumen. I suspected I'd have a better clue then.

"I've got something set up in Warwick."

I froze at his voice, loud and clear in my helmet.

"We'll be there in under two hours. So feel free to squeal away when I take the bends on one knee."

Heat engulfed me, embarrassment flushing my skin and itching my fingers.

The only cure would be to wrap them around his neck.

The helmets were fitted with a mic and speaker, but not a chance I'd call him out on it. Pleading ignorance was the only play here.

That and saying, "Whatever, arsehole. Just don't crash and give us road rash."

His huff of laughter filled my ears, not at all gravelly or having anything to do with the way my skin pebbled.

I loosened my grip, aware I was holding on to him as tightly as a spider monkey. As soon as I removed one hand and searched for a grip rail behind me, the engine revved higher, the front wheel kicked up, and I had no choice but to launch at Wilder, wrap both arms around him, and hang on.

My "You fucking arsehole" didn't penetrate his gruff laughter. Not one bit.