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  He looks up at me, eyes wide with surprise. He’s breathing heavily, probably from an intense ride. I feel my own pulse jump.

  Silence.

  We haven’t spoken directly to each other since the other day at Riley’s, when he basically offered to take me into the woods and screw my brains out. I shouldn’t be turned on by that, I really shouldn’t. Those condoms suddenly seem a little more appropriate…

  Vanilla! You’re vanilla, not strawberry sorbet. Get it together, I tell myself.

  His eyes scan me quickly, a flash of something before he turns away, hanging up his pack and stacking his riding gear.

  “You’re here early,” he says gruffly, sending me an aggravated look.

  “Early?” I laugh, incredulous. “Pardon me, but I thought your business hours were literal. Tomorrow I’ll come in two hours late. Would that be better?”

  He throws me an annoyed glance and mutters something under his breath that sounds an awful lot like ‘Bad fucking idea.’

  Clearly, I’m not welcome in this sacred, brotherhood-only temple.

  The phone rings and he moves to answer, but I grab it first. It feels good to best him. Dean watches me through narrowed, annoyed eyes.

  “Good morning, Halbbitter Adventure Tours. This is Ava. how may I help you?” I ask in my polished office voice, a taunting smile on my face as I improvise a much more appropriate, if somewhat bland, business name.

  The guy on the phone has a kayak tour scheduled for later in the week and he wants to add two more people to it. I open the digital notepad and take down the information before hanging up.

  Dean is still standing there, arms crossed, clearly waiting for me to fill him in. If being a younger sister has made me anything, it’s petty. So instead I go back to the website and play around with the site builder, ignoring the masculine scent filling my nostrils.

  For the record, this is how a man smells.

  Deric just stinks.

  I can almost hear Dean’s jaw clenching. “Well? Are you going to tell me who the hell that was or not?”

  “Depends…” I wait for him to ask what my stipulations are, but he just stands there shooting me death-glares. I finally relent. “You have to ask nicely.”

  Bad move.

  “I don’t have to do shit,” he growls. “This is my business and you’re an employee… one that I didn’t even hire and certainly don’t have to keep. So you’ll tell me who was on the line or I’ll call Deric and tell him this little arrangement isn’t going to work.”

  Jackass.

  But he has a point, I don’t have anything else lined up and my bank account is too painful to even look at.

  “It’s going to be like that, is it? Sad, you were so charming the other day,” I say, prodding the beast despite the advice of my rational brain.

  He slams his hands on the desk and gets close to my face. “Tell. Me. Who. That. Was… Now!” he barks.

  “Fine!” I shout back, standing up. “It was for a tour with Dex, adding people to their group. It doesn’t even affect you, but there. Now you know everything, my lord master. Happy, asshole?” I bite out. It’s not at all like me, but I’m seething. I’m not fully sure why, but I want to slap that pretty face of his. The one I used to draw like some lovesick idiot in my school binder.

  “Not in the fucking least,” he grumbles, walking past me for the bathroom.

  But I can’t let him have the last word—part of my stupid, stubborn streak. “Well, it’s no surprise considering what a disaster you have here.”

  He pauses and turns back towards me slowly. “What did you say?”

  “Oh, nothing, just that you guys are as careless with this business structure as you are with your bodies,” I say defiantly.

  “And you would know, Miss Unemployment?” he growls, landing the blow.

  I line up my own strike. “Correction: Miss Has a Degree in Management and Administration. So yes, I would know your lack of commitment to anything resembling organization or a plan is going to land you in deep shit… but then, that’s probably familiar territory,” I say, referencing… well, just about everything.

  Dean is a walking, moody magnet for trouble, whether it’s getting caught drinking in the parking lot of Riley’s, rounding the bases with the Sheriff’s daughter at the Den, or the reckless accident that Deric told me ended his professional career.

  He stalks towards me and my brain starts sending panic signals. Danger, Will Robinson! it barks.

  Dean’s voice is a deep, throaty growl, his green eyes sparkling with cold rage. “You might be from here, but you’re just another kind of tourist. Stay. Out. Of. My. Fucking. Way.”

  Then, before my heart has returned to my chest, he’s disappeared into the bathroom. I hear the stereo switch on. Moments later, the angry bass line of Alice in Chain’s Man in the Box plays through the thin walls.

  At least we agree on one thing.

  Neither one of us wants anything to do with the other.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  DEAN

  I throw myself full force into work. Anything to keep my cool and avoid another explosive encounter with Ava. She’s only been working here one morning so far and I’m teetering between self-disgust, anger, and a painful, ever present hard-on. Fuck, I hope she finds another job quick.

  At least she’s gone for lunch. I don’t have to deal with her challenging me or giving me shit over the business. Who the hell does she think she is? She might have a nice shiny degree, but she doesn’t have two clues about the woods.

  Exhibit A: She’s wearing another color of the same style of too-short hiking shorts she probably got at a Dick’s Sporting Goods on the advice of some clueless teenager. She goes hiking in those and, between the blackberries, the poison oak, and the mosquitoes that are starting to make their presence known, her legs are going to look like a crime scene.

  Whatever, she’s not my problem. If Deric wants to bring her in, he can be responsible for her. I’ve already saved her ass once in these woods all those years ago. That should suffice in my book.

  If only her ass wasn’t so damned appealing. I can almost feel the weight of it in my palm, the soft curving flesh… She’s fit, her body taut, probably from some chick sport like Pilates. It’d be nothing to lift her, to wrap her legs around me and drive into her, her ass in my hands…

  Fucking focus!

  She’s Deric’s little sister, damn it. AKA she’s in the ‘look but don’t touch’ case… In fact, she’s in the ‘don’t even look, you sick fuck’ case.

  Deric would probably disembowel me if he knew all the thoughts that are racing through my mind, all the things I imagine doing to his baby sister. Shit, even I want to strangle me. Self-loathing doesn’t seem to be quite enough to keep her out of my dreams, though. Every time I close my eyes to sleep I keep picturing those pouty lips of hers… and how’d they’d look wrapped around my cock. I keep hearing her voice, that sultry, sexy sound and how much I want to know what it sounds like when she moans.

  That’s all I’m allowing myself. Wet dreams will have to suffice. Ava needs a nice guy—not some asshole like me who screws up anything he touches. I’ll stick to my sexual diet of actual tourists. There is no way in hell I’m risking everything we’ve built here for a quick romp in the bushes, no matter how appealing it sounds.

  I pull my attention back to work. I’ve got a tour almost every day this week and I’ve just bought a handful of bikes from a shop in Bend. I’ll need to tune them all up and make sure they’re in working order.

  Cycling has always been big in the Northwest, but we’re no Moab, and the number of tours that are stacking up surprised me. I won’t complain, though, even if it means shelling out more for additional bikes to meet the volume of customers.

  I’m out behind the Den where we put up a small shed to store the bikes and my tools. I’m replacing spokes on the wheel of one of our touring bikes after a wayward branch and an inexperienced rider screwed with it on its last foray. It’s
simple but precise work. The focus helps clear my head.

  The business line starts ringing inside, but Ava is gone, and I don’t have time to drop everything and go running, so I ignore it. A minute later and my cell is going off on the other side of the shop. Again, I ignore it, but the caller seems intent on pissing me off and it’s ringing once more. Frustrated, I toss my tools down and go grab it. The screen shows Dex’s face.

  “The fuck’s going on, man? I’m in the middle of shit,” I answer impatiently. Unlike him and Deric, whose tours require a lot less gear, my end of the business is much more equipment-oriented. The lazy assholes haven’t exactly gone out of their way to lend a hand. Their post-tour routine generally involves going over their gear to make sure they’ve got it all back before heading over to Gracie’s to pick up one of their townie fuckbuddies.

  Dex’s voice sounds weird when he answers. “Take that wheel spoke out of your ass for a minute, Dean. I’ve got real shit going down right now.”

  Deric had told me he was dealing with some personal issues, but Dex has never volunteered anything, not that I blame him. I’m not exactly the first to hash out my feelings. That’s what my bike and the trail are for.

  I dial it back a notch. “Alright, my ass is duly unoccupied. What’s going on?”

  “They found her,” he says, and I’m not sure, but it almost sounds like his voice cracked.

  The fuck?

  He doesn’t have to specify who ‘her’ is. Dex’s mom was the picture of a used-up druggie if ever there was one. After the third time she got caught pawning her parent’s stolen jewelry and valuables to feed her meth habit, Dex was finally taken out of her custody for good. Off she went for a little stint at the state prison. He used to write letters to her, I remember seeing them in his room, but I’m pretty sure she never answered. Probably for the best.

  When she got out, I know he hoped she’d come back for him and take him away from his uptight, corporal discipline-happy grandparents. But instead she abandoned him to the same parents who fucked her up.

  “You okay?” I ask, not really sure what to say. My own mom isn’t going to win mother of the year awards anytime soon, but she never ditched me.

  He sighs heavily into the phone. “I don’t know, man. It’s pretty fucked up. She stole a car—high out of her mind, go figure—and crashed it. She fucking killed someone.”

  “Shit.” It’s all I can say.

  “A mother of three. She hit a minivan on its way home from soccer practice. The kids were okay, but they fucking watched their mom die on the side of a goddamned freeway. It’s not enough she had to fuck me up, but she’s just destroyed a whole other family now too.”

  There’s anger and bitterness in his voice, that much is expected, but it almost sounds like guilt.

  I breathe out. “Dude, it’s not your fault. Your mom… her decisions are her own.”

  “I know, I know. I just… I feel like if I’d found her, if I hadn’t given up looking for her, maybe I could have helped her get treatment… maybe she wouldn’t have ruined some other poor kids’ lives, you know?”

  “You can’t help someone who doesn’t want it,” I remind him, and fuck if I don’t know with the way I lived like I was on a crusade to wreck and whore my body into oblivion.

  “Yeah,” he says, sounding unconvinced. “She’s in the hospital. They don’t know if she’s going to make it. Honestly, it’s probably best she doesn’t,” he laughs bitterly. “What kind of piece of shit says that about their own mother?”

  “I’m sorry, Dex. It’s a crap situation, but whatever you’re feeling, you’re entitled to feel that way.”

  What am I? Dr. fucking Phil? I sound like an idiot. These sorts of situations aren’t exactly my strong suit, but my friend is hurting, so I take a shot at being supportive—no matter how badly I suck at it.

  “I know… but, considering she might die…” He pauses. I hear him swallow. “I may not ever get closure with her. I’ve got to go out there.”

  “Yeah, of course. Do whatever you need to,” I agree.

  “I already called Deric. He’s going to cover my big tour for this week if you can cover the two smaller groups—half-day trips that shouldn’t overlap with any of your scheduled tours. I know you’ve got all those bikes coming in and more tours than the rest of us, so I was going to lend you a hand with prepping everything.”

  “Dude, don’t even think about it. I can handle it,” I assure him, even though I’ve got no idea how I’ll get all this work done with an extra tour on top.

  “Yeah, well, all the same. I need this business to do well. It’s the only thing going right for me right now,” he argues.

  I know the feeling.

  “Deric will help you where he can, but he said Ava can work full time instead of the three days we agreed on while I’m out so.”

  “No, no, no. I don’t need her help. She’ll just get in the way,” I protest.

  “Dean, fucking work with me. We both know you’ll need the help, even if it’s just grunt work. Please.”

  Hell, I’m a jackass for arguing with him on this. Dex is one of my oldest friends and even though we fell out of touch for a few years, the last six months together it feels like we never missed a beat, just picked back up where we left off.

  He’s right, too. The business is starting to take off. Reviews have been great. It’d be stupid to risk cancelling a tour over logistics like not having the time to prep my gear all because I’m too much of a pussy to work with Ava.

  “You’re right, man. Just take care of yourself, Dex.”

  “Yeah, thanks. I’ll keep in touch,” he says, hanging up.

  Ava’s car is pulling up front again. She’s back from lunch. I’m hidden in the shadows of the shed and she doesn’t see me at all. I watch her move, those long legs spilling out of the car first. She stands up and raises her face, smiling in the sunlight, closing her eyes, and soaking in the warmth.

  My cock is rock-hard drinking in the sight of her.

  A hawk shrieks and she jumps a little, spooked. She looks around suddenly, remembering where she is and jogs to the Den. As she runs, her deep V-neck flashes a glimpse of her bouncing cleavage.

  Yep. This is going to be hell.

  CHAPTER SIX

  AVA

  Day two of working at the Den—It can’t possibly get any worse than yesterday, can it? I play some Icona Pop to get me pumped as I wind down the road. Deric headed in early, so yet again I’m driving alone. Me, alone in these woods. It seems to be a trend… One I don’t like much at all.

  I pull off the highway down the curving gravel path to the Den and rocks kick up, dinging off my car and creating their own metallic symphony of damage. I climb out of my car, twisting to see what today’s dents look like, when my favorite teal Prana top snags on a metal latch in the door frame. There is no mistaking the sound of ripping fabric.

  Just. Fucking. Perfect.

  There is a six-inch tear along the side seam stretching from the hem to just below my sports bra. The thin fabric flutters, exposing my midriff when I move, but at least it’s still wearable for today. I sling my bag over my shoulder, hoping the weight keeps the top in place and stomp towards the Den, ticked off. It’s not a great start.

  I walk around the corner to the front door, but the sound of spraying water distracts me for a moment. I turn, squinting to see in the early light.

  There, in all his weighty, muscled glory, is Dean. Wearing nothing but a pair of technical boxer briefs, he’s holding the handheld sprayer from the outdoor shower and cleaning himself off, his back to me. I should move, I should give him his privacy, but I’m frozen, transfixed by the way the water courses in streams down the sharp contours of his back.

  Forget fluttering butterflies, it’s full on Ragnarok in my stomach… and other areas. I press my thighs together and swallow, feeling tingly and aware of every neglected nook and cranny of my poor little vanilla body.

  Good God… his calves. It must be
all the mountain biking, but I’ve never seen a guy with such muscled legs, and I certainly never thought I could be turned on by freakin’ calves.

  My phone starts chiming from my purse, bringing my moment of lusty voyeurism to a startling end.

  Shit.

  Dean spins around in time to see me start to make my retreat, my stupid wayward feet failing to work when our eyes meet. I want to think of something to say… something, anything to make it look like I wasn’t just totally checking him out like a complete creep. Nothing comes. All I can do is stand there as our gazes tangle in some strange and arousing haze.

  Dean looks startled, but he’s not making a move to cover himself. Instead he’s just standing there too, letting me drink in the sight of him. His eyes are intense as he lifts the sprayer and continues washing his chest. And then—Lord, have mercy—he starts to lower it.

  This isn’t happening. This has to be another dream, a projection of my sex-deprived brain.

  Right?

  “Oh. Hey, Ava, I didn’t know you were here yet,” Deric says from the front door. “I was just calling you.”

  Once more my brother shows up to kill my joy.

  I clear my throat and face him. “Just got here.”

  He can’t see Dean, thank god, and therefore is not witness to my complete and total descent into creepville.

  I jump up the step and follow him back into the Den, trying to convince myself that didn’t all just happen, because there really is no way Dean was looking at me that way. Some strange girl in the grocery store, sure, but me? Deric’s annoying little sister? Not possible.

  Deric sits down at the desk. I hang up my bag, flopping onto the loveseat to recover my sanity.

  “So, I had to come in early today because I’ve got to cover for Dex,” he starts.

  “Long night of plowing the field?” I ask, half wondering whether Dean did the same.