Page 27 of Heroes & Hitmen (Windy City Wolfpack #1)

Ares

When I first started planning my move to Chicago, I looked forward to the city’s thriving nightlife. I pictured weekends full of reckless fun– Friday nights spent sinking shots, chasing tail, and staying out till sunrise. The same kind of chaos I thrived on back home, just amplified.

Instead, I’m parked on the couch alone, nursing a lukewarm beer while the glow of the TV flickers across the room. Hell of a party.

Not that I’m complaining about finally getting some downtime.

The last few days have been a blur of tedious jobs that feel like they were designed to bore me to death, so I’ll gladly take a Friday night in over running around the city doing Alpha Gage’s bitch work.

But after a few hours of binging episodes of Naked and Afraid and cranking through leftover pizza, boredom still manages to find me.

I’ve never been good at sitting still. I’m wired for action, for connection, for noise.

This apartment’s too damn quiet. Miley’s been barricaded in the bedroom for hours under the guise of studying, but I’m pretty sure avoiding me has also become her favorite hobby.

I glance toward the clock– which is aggressively ticking toward eleven– and consider leaving her alone.

She probably has to study a lot to maintain the perfect grade point average she brags about.

Except it’s Friday night , dammit, and there’s far better ways we could be spending it than in separate rooms of a too-quiet apartment .

It takes me all of two minutes to come up with an excuse to barge in on her study session.

Even less time to push up from the couch, make a pit stop in the kitchen, and head for the bedroom.

There’s a faint glow under the door at the end of the hallway, the sliver of light perfectly slicing through the darkness.

I approach and knock once, loud enough to startle, not bothering to wait for her to answer before pushing it open.

Miley’s exactly where I expect to find her– sprawled on her stomach in the center of the massive bed with a minefield of books, highlighters, and note cards spread around her.

She’s wearing a little pair of lounge shorts and a slouchy tee, dark blonde hair scraped back in a messy bun.

She doesn’t look up when I enter, just huffs out an annoyed breath as she highlights a line of text in the book spread open in front of her.

“Door was closed for a reason, you know,” she grumbles.

“Not anymore,” I reply, tucking my hands behind my back as I lean a shoulder against the frame.

She sighs, caps her highlighter, and reluctantly glances over her shoulder in my direction. “If you’re going to hover, at least make yourself useful and bring refreshments.”

“Way ahead of you, babe.” I flash a grin as I reveal a six-pack of beer from behind my back like it’s a magic trick. “Thought you could use a study break. Throw some shoes on, let’s take a walk to the beach.”

Her eyes flicker between me and the beer a couple times, the look in them judgmental but also tempted. Then she shakes her head, spouting off an excuse.

“Can’t. I have a test on Monday.”

“And studying too long without a break leads to poor memory retention and irritability,” I counter. “It’s science.”

“Pretty sure cheap beer kills brain cells, not boosts them,” she scoffs, wrinkling her nose in distaste as she eyes the six-pack in my grip.

Good thing I came prepared. Bringing my other hand out from behind my back, I reveal my next trick: a bottle of wine that I picked up from the corner bodega.

“For the refined scholar,” I say, tipping the bottle back and forth tauntingly. “C’mon, babe. A little fresh air and moonlight will do wonders for your mental clarity.”

She snorts in derision, but I catch the shift in her expression that says she’s actually considering it. Her head tilts, teeth catching her lower lip, and I clock the exact moment intrigue wins out over discipline. With the flick of a wrist, she snaps her textbook closed and pushes herself up.

“Fine, give me a minute to change,” she mumbles, scooting off the edge of the bed and heading for the walk-in closet.

I try not to look too smug in my victory when she emerges from the closet a minute later in a dark hoodie that swallows up her slender frame, hands stuffed in the front pocket and a pair of crisp white sneakers on her feet.

Her legs are still bare, the edge of her lounge shorts just barely peeking out beneath the hem of her sweatshirt, and my gaze locks on them as she struts in my direction.

What I wouldn’t give to have those legs wrapped around me again.

She stops in front of me, arms crossing, chin lifting in that defiant way that drives me insane. “Don’t make me regret this,” she sighs.

A feral grin stretches my lips. “Life’s too short for regrets, babe.”

She rolls her eyes and bumps her shoulder into mine as she brushes past, leading the way to the door.

Five minutes later, we’re outside, heading in the direction of the lake.

This part of the city is quieter at night, the usual honking and chatter replaced with distant sirens and the soft hiss of tires over wet asphalt.

Since Miley’s obviously made this trek many times before, I let her set the pace.

She walks fast, head down and hands jammed deep in her hoodie pocket, but not like she’s in a rush. More like she’s trying to outrun whatever’s gnawing at her brain.

Chronic over-thinker, that one.

It isn’t long before we reach the public beach, and even though the weather-worn sign clearly indicates it’s closed at this hour, we blow right past it without breaking stride. Our feet sink in the loose sand as we trek out across the vacant beach to claim a spot, dropping down to sit side by side.

The sand’s still warm from the heat of the day, the moon bright in the sky overhead. The dark lake laps gently at the shoreline in front of us, the city at our backs.

Miley draws her knees up to her chest, hoodie sleeves tugged over her hands as I turn to offer her the bottle of wine.

“Want me to open it? ”

She glances at the bottle, then at me, a perfectly plucked brow arching. “You didn’t bring a corkscrew, did you?”

I press a hand to my heart, feigning offense. “What kind of neanderthal do you take me for?”

She just blinks back at me.

“Okay, fine,” I admit, the corners of my lips quirking up. “I definitely forgot. But don’t worry, I’m a man of many talents.” Wedging the neck of the bottle into the crook of my elbow, I twist off the cap with a flourish, presenting it to her. “Ta-da.”

She takes the bottle, holding it up to inspect the rim. “This is a screw top, Ares,” she deadpans.

“Still counts as impressive,” I reply with a wink.

She rolls her eyes, but I catch the flicker of a smile before she lifts the bottle to her lips and takes a cautious sip. She immediately sputters, coughing once as she swallows.

“Wow,” she chokes, grimacing. “Tastes like sour lemon and regret. With a hint of gasoline.”

I chuckle as I lean back on my elbows, cracking open a beer. “Only the best for my mate.”

It can’t be that terrible, because she immediately goes in for another sip, the two of us sitting in silence as we drink and watch the moonlight ripple across the water.

I know she’s not really here for the wine, anyways.

She needed air. An escape. And if sitting next to me under the stars gives her even a moment of peace, I’ll take it. Hell, I’ll give her a thousand more.

“So,” I say after a while, flicking her a sideways glance as I crack open another beer. “Do you always study this much, or are you just inventing excuses to avoid me?”

She takes a slow sip from the wine bottle, then wipes the corner of her mouth with the pad of a thumb. “School’s important to me,” she replies with a shrug. “I want to do well, which means I’ve gotta put in the work.”

“Yeah, well you’re the hardest worker I’ve ever seen,” I say, half teasing, half in awe.

“I highly doubt that,” she scoffs, lowering the wine bottle into the sand.

“I’m serious,” I say, turning toward her, gaze steady. “You’re sharp as hell. Tough, too. Tougher than a lot of the guys I know. You’ve got grit, brains, and the balls to speak your mind. That’s rare.”

“Stop,” she mutters, chuckling uncomfortably as she tries to deflect the compliment.

“It’s true,” I say, taking a long pull from my beer before lowering it to dangle loosely between my fingers. “So… why journalism?”

She’s quiet for a beat, her gaze locked on the lake ahead of us. For a second, I’m not sure she’ll even answer, but then she turns to face me, chin lifted.

“It’s the only way to make sense of the world sometimes,” she murmurs. “I like facts, finding what’s real beneath the bullshit. People lie, spin things, hide behind stories. But the truth is always there if you dig deep enough. It’s like solving a puzzle.”

I nod slowly, letting that settle. It tracks. She’s lived her whole life surrounded by manipulation and half-truths. Treated like something to control, not someone to trust.

“Also, I like stories,” she continues, her voice quieter. “Not the sweet, sappy kind, but the real ones. The ones that are fucked up and complicated and still find a way to matter.”

I nod, the weight of her words sinking in as a beat of silence stretches.

“You’ll make a damn good reporter,” I finally say. “Straight to the point, blunt. You see through the bullshit other people can’t.”

She actually smiles at that, and it’s not the polite, performative smile I’ve seen her fake too many times. It’s real, and I’d sit through a thousand eye rolls to see it again.

“Yeah? What about you?” she counters, flicking her gaze over me. “What did you want to be before you got roped into…” she trails off, gesturing vaguely toward the city skyline behind us, “all this ?”

I huff a laugh. “No one’s ever asked me that before.”

She shrugs, tucking her knees in closer. “I’m asking now.”

I look out over the water, letting the question hang there for a moment while I consider how to respond. The waves lap softly at the shore, steady and unbothered, like they’ve got all the time in the world.

“I was never good at school,” I admit. “Not that I couldn’t keep up, I just didn’t care.

Sitting still, memorizing facts, pretending to give a damn about boring shit that didn’t matter…

it felt like a slow death.” I pause, taking another sip of my beer and wiping my mouth off on a hand.

“I liked being out in the woods, running dr ills, learning to shoot. And I hate to fail, so once I learned what I was actually good at, what held my interest, I leaned into it hard.”

She nods slowly, her eyes narrowed and thoughtful.

“After high school, I trained with our alliance’s security squad, then took on a leadership role to help run it,” I continue. “That’s what I was doing before I came here. Training recruits, helping ensure our territory remained protected.”

“So you’ve got a hero complex,” she murmurs, the corner of her mouth lifting. “Guess that explains why you stuck your neck out for me instead of slipping by under the radar until you could go back home.”

I shrug, letting my fingers rake through the sand. “Maybe I like it here.”

She snorts a wry laugh. “Nobody likes it here. We just play the hand we’re dealt, try to survive.”

I glance over at her, taking in the pink flush painting her cheeks and the windblown strands of hair escaping her bun. “Not true,” I say, voice low. “You make this place pretty damn bearable.”

She blinks like she didn’t expect that, then lets out a soft, surprised laugh, raising the wine bottle to her lips for another sip. Then she sets the bottle in the sand and turns to me, something shifting in her expression.

“I don’t want to owe you anything,” she says solemnly.

“You don’t.”

“I’m serious.” Her voice tightens, violet-grey eyes locked on mine. “If this whole thing goes south, I don’t want you getting caught in the crossfire for my sake.”

I lean in, elbows braced on my knees. “I’m a big boy, Miley. I can make my own choices.”

She holds my gaze, the silver edge of her wolf gleaming through her irises. “Just don’t be stupid about it.”

I snort a laugh, gently knocking my shoulder into hers. “No promises.”

She heaves a sigh, leaning back on her hands and tipping her face up to the sky. The moonlight kisses her skin, softening the hard lines of her expression. She looks untouchable and real all at once– fierce and beautiful in a way that demands taking notice of.

Between the stars and the skyline and the black glass of the lake, there’s only one thing I want to keep looking at.

That is, until a white beam of light cuts across the sand and nails us both in the face, temporarily blinding me.

“Hey!” a male voice barks from the shadows. “The beach is closed!”

Miley freezes, her eyes flying wide as she jerks her head toward me, panic flashing across her face.

I don’t hesitate. Ditching my beer in the sand, I shoot to my feet and grab her wrist, already planning our exit as I pull her up with me and growl, “Come on.”