Page 28 of Heroes & Hitmen (Windy City Wolfpack #1)

Ares

Excitement thrums through my veins as Miley and I tear across the beach, her hand locked tight in mine. Our shoes sink with every step, sand dragging at our heels, but we keep moving, fast and reckless, determined to outrun trouble.

Funny how it always manages to find me somehow.

It’s not the first time I’ve been in a situation like this, caught somewhere I shouldn’t be. Probably won’t be the last. Luckily, I’ve gotten damn good at slipping through the cracks and coming out unscathed.

“Stop!” the voice behind us booms, closer than I’d like. The flashlight beam wobbles wildly as the security guard– or cop, or whoever the hell he is– tries to chase us down, but if he thinks he can best a shifter in a foot race, he’s sadly mistaken.

Miley’s fingers thread through mine instinctively as we sprint for the dark line where the beach meets a jagged stone retaining wall. She’s faster than I expected, light on her feet, and I only have to tug her off-course twice to keep us from faceplanting in the sand along the way.

When we reach the ledge, I swing her up onto it with barely a pause, only letting go once I’m sure she’s secure.

Behind us, the flashlight beam jerks and stutters, too far to illuminate our retreating figures but close enough that I can hear the sound of boots thudding in the sand.

I vault the wall, the side of my leg catching on the chipped concrete edge in the process, a line of white-hot pain ripping up my calf .

No time for that. I grit my teeth and ignore it, grabbing for Miley’s hand again just as the flashlight beam manages to land on us.

“Last warning, I’ll call backup!” the voice bellows, but the sound of it fades behind us as we jump down from the wall and hit the street at a full sprint.

The soles of our shoes smack against the pavement, hearts hammering in tandem. I risk a glance behind us– no flashlight beam, no flashing blue lights. Just the far-off echo of a pissed-off security guard shouting into the night.

We’re not completely in the clear just yet, though.

Cutting between two parked cars at the curb, we dart up the first alley we see, footsteps echoing in the narrow space.

The alley dumps us out on the neighboring street, and we chase half a block up before ducking into another alley.

This one’s dark, narrow, quiet– great for cover.

The two of us slow and I finally let go of Miley’s hand, bracing against a dumpster and doubling over to catch my breath. My lungs burn, but not nearly as bad as my calf. Must’ve caught that wall worse than I originally thought.

When I rise to my full height and look over at my partner in crime, she’s looking back, wild-eyed and flushed. More beautiful than I’ve ever seen her. A giggle bubbles up from her throat as she collapses against the brick wall, the light, lively sound of it echoing through the alley.

“Oh my god,” she gasps between breaths. “I haven’t run that fast since fifth grade.”

The high of the chase still hums under my skin, sparking down my arms, buzzing in my fingertips. I can see it in Miley, too– that wild, electric afterglow. Adrenaline blazing through her veins, lighting her up from the inside out.

She looks alive. Unstoppable. Irresistible.

Pushing off from the dumpster, I close the gap between us in a single heartbeat, grabbing Miley’s face in both hands and crushing my lips against hers.

To my surprise, she doesn’t pull away or even hesitate. She surges into the kiss, mouth open, hands fisting the front of my t-shirt like she’s desperate for something to hold onto. Her tongue greedily seeks mine, tasting every corner of my mouth like she’s been starving for this as much as I have.

When we finally break apart, we’re breathless again for a whole different reason. I rest my forehead against hers, chest heaving, pulse refusing to settle.

“Fuck,” I whisper. “You’re amazing.”

She lets out another laugh, warm and winded against my lips. “We almost got arrested.”

“Worth it,” I murmur, grinning.

Miley’s prim and proper, a rule-follower through and through. She’s clearly not used to this kind of chaos, but she didn’t back down when trouble came knocking, either. I’d venture to say she even enjoyed that little brush with danger.

She keeps finding ways to surprise me, and I’m beginning to wonder if there’s anything this girl can’t do. She’s fucking perfect.

A distant shout echoes from the direction of the beach, dragging me back to alertness. My grin fades as I glance toward the sound, scanning the alley like the shadows might suddenly morph into a threat.

“We should probably keep moving,” I sigh, pushing off from the wall and reaching for her hand.

Miley stops me short, brows knitting together in concern. “You’re limping.”

“What?”

“Your leg, idiot,” she says, pointing. “You’re bleeding.”

I glance down, and sure as shit, my jeans are torn open below the knee, the denim wet with blood.

Kinda forgot about that little mishap with the retaining wall.

“It’s nothing,” I reply quickly, brushing it off. “Just caught the wall when we climbed over.”

Her lips twist in a scowl, arms folding over her chest. “Yeah, well it doesn’t look like nothing,” she grumbles, casting a wary glance up and down the alley before fixing me with a stern look that brokers zero room for argument. “Let me take a look at it.”

I start to protest, but she’s already pushing me back toward the brick wall with both hands, bound and determined to get a look at my injury. As soon as my back meets the bricks, she drops to a crouch in front of me, leaning in to inspect the damage.

“Jesus,” she mutters, shaking her head. “What did you try to do, skin yourself alive?”

“It’s fine,” I insist, but she’s in full triage mode, hands gentle but firm as she peels the torn denim back to get a better look .

“You a doctor now?” I joke, shifting my weight uncomfortably.

“No, but me and my sisters learned how to patch each other up so we wouldn’t have to go to the creepy-as-fuck medical floor,” she murmurs, trying and failing to get a good look at my wound through the tear in my jeans.

“Ugh, I can’t see,” she huffs, pushing up on her knees and reaching for my belt with both hands.

“Hold still,” she orders as she starts to unfasten it, quick and focused, like this is just another task to handle

I try to obey, but there’s a serious disconnect between my brain and body right now. The second she unzips my fly and starts tugging my jeans down, my cock thickens beneath my boxers, completely ignoring the context of this encounter.

“I’ve been trying to get you on your knees for weeks, but this isn’t exactly how I pictured it,” I tease, chuckling to myself.

She rolls her eyes at my vulgarity, but her cheeks flush a shade darker. “Shut up and let me see,” she grumbles, yanking my jeans down to my ankles.

We both get a good look at the damage– skin torn open, blood dripping– but the wound is also actively healing. I flex my leg, both of us watching as torn skin slowly knits itself back together in real time.

One of the major perks of shifter biology is that injuries heal quick. Severe wounds take longer, but in a few hours, this one won’t even leave a trace.

Miley swipes at the blood with the sleeve of her hoodie, muttering something under her breath about “men and their dumbass hero complex”.

“See? It’s fine,” I say.

She nods in assent, peering up at me through her eyelashes, but she doesn’t move to stand up. Doesn’t reach for my jeans. Doesn’t pull away.

She’s still kneeling there, hands warm against my thighs, close enough to taste. The tension in the air suddenly ratchets up, buzzing between us like electricity.

“Since you’re already down there…” I murmur teasingly, voice rough.

She exhales sharply, a breathy little sound that could be annoyance or interest. Maybe both.

“You’d love that, wouldn’t you?” she scoffs.

“Yeah,” I say. No point in pretending otherwise .

She tilts her head, studying me, something mischievous simmering behind her eyes. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen this side of Miley, but I like it. Rebellion looks damn good on her.

A smirk tilts her lips as her hand slowly glides up the inside of my thigh, her taunting touch stopping just shy of where I want it. My breath catches, pulse skipping, dick getting even harder.

“You want me to…” she muses, letting the question hang.

For once, I’m actually speechless, mouth hanging open as my brain short-circuits.

She won’t… will she?

Her smile curves, wicked and beautiful, and then she closes that last inch. Her palm presses against my shaft through my boxers, fingers curling with deliberate pressure.

My whole body jolts. I suck in a sharp inhale, hips arching toward her instinctively.

She lets out a quiet, smug little laugh. “God, you’re easy.”

“Don’t start something you’re not gonna finish, babe,” I grit out, every muscle wound tight with restraint.

She smirks as she starts stroking me through the fabric, slow and merciless.

Heat curls beneath my skin. “Fuck, Miley,” I gasp, reaching down to sink my fingers in her hair. Not to press for more, just to anchor myself since I’m barely hanging on.

Jerking off in the shower is nothing compared to the real thing.

“Hmm?” Miley purrs, feigning innocence.

Tease.

She knows exactly what she’s doing–her eyes are locked with mine as she continues stroking me through my boxers, daring me to break.

I almost do when she suddenly leans in, breath warm against my cock. For a fleeting, ridiculous second, I actually think she’s going to put her mouth on me, but then she gives my dick a final squeeze and abruptly lets go, leaving me hard and aching.

“Fuck, babe,” I rasp, winding my fingers through the soft strands of her hair and tugging her head back.

Her eyes meet mine, wide and bright, pupils blown wide. She’s clearly running on that same reckless, sparking adrenaline that’s setting me on fire.