Page 42 of Heroes & Hitmen (Windy City Wolfpack #1)

Miley

Sunshine streams through the bedroom window, warm and golden, spilling across the floor like a promise. The weather’s perfect– bright, breezy, not a single cloud in sight– and I take it as a sign that the universe is finally throwing me a bone.

My sisters and I made a plan earlier in the week: if Saturday dawned sunny, we’d hit the beach. No overthinking, no last-minute cancellations. No pairings, politics, or powerplays. Just a full day in the sand with zero responsibilities.

The group chat’s already blowing up by the time I start pulling myself together for the day, Jordan sending aggressive all-caps messages demanding that I hurry up.

I scroll through with a laugh, feeling a surprising lightness in my chest as I pull my favorite bikini from my drawer and put it on.

The ribbed lavender fabric hugs my body just right, and I toss a soft white sundress over it, tying my hair back in a messy braid.

Loose enough to look effortless, tight enough to keep it out of my face. Perfect.

For the first time in a while, I don’t feel like I’m dressing for battle. Just the beach, the sun, and the promise of quality sister bonding time.

I pack a tote with military precision, filling it with all the necessities– towel, sunblock, sunglasses, a well-loved paperback, extra hair ties– while leaving plenty of room for snacks. Slinging it up over my shoulder, I turn to regard my reflection in the mirror, and that’s when it hits me.

This is the last time I’ll ever get to do this.

One last, carefree beach day with my sisters before I disappear and everything changes.

My chest goes tight as it sneaks up on me– a pang of grief so quick and sharp I almost lose my breath.

I’m tempted to linger in it, let it carve out space for what I’m about to lose, but then I hear the clatter of dishes from the kitchen and am quickly distracted from the emotional spiral I was about to go down.

I step into the kitchen, and there’s Ares– shirtless, for absolutely no reason other than to make a statement about his abs, squinting at the dishwasher like he’s never encountered modern appliances before.

His muscles flex in slow motion as he reaches in and attempts to rearrange the lower shelf, lips drawn in a frown.

“What the hell are you doing to my dishes?” I ask, dropping my bag on the counter with a thud and opening the cabinet above to raid it for snacks.

He looks up, and that stupidly sexy smirk spreads across his face like it’s just been waiting for a chance to attack me. “Morning,” he greets, voice still gravelly from sleep.

“Are you trying to commit a hate crime against my plates?” I deadpan, arching a brow.

“They started it,” he replies without missing a beat, straightening and wiping his hands off on a towel. “Your cutlery is hostile. I was just defending myself.”

I glance down at the dishwasher, where the silverware is sticking out from the basket at odd angles like a metallic threat. “Right. The spoons staged a coup.”

“Exactly.” He leans back against the counter, folding his arms. His eyes flick to the beach bag, then travel leisurely down my legs and back up, making zero effort at subtlety. “Where are you headed?” he asks, cocking his head.

“Beach day with my sisters,” I say as I pull a box of Thin Mints from the cabinet and shove them into my tote.

“Ooh, you in a bikini?” he muses, biting his lip as his gaze turns molten. “Count me in.”

I shoot him a look over my shoulder. “What part of that sounded like an invitation?”

“ You in a bikini ,” he deadpans, as if repeating that sentence is explanation enough.

I roll my eyes and stuff a bag of pretzels in my bag on top of the cookies. “Sorry. Girls only. ”

“Sexist,” he scoffs.

I shrug unapologetically.

He pushes off the counter and takes a step closer, trying that annoyingly charming puppy-dog expression he uses when he really wants something.

“Come on,” he presses, the low rumble of his voice stirring something deep in my belly.

“It’s your last weekend here, babe. You really gonna deprive me of your company? ”

“Yep,” I quip, slinging my beach tote over my shoulder and moving to step past him.

He plants himself right in my path and reaches up to run a hand through his copper hair, my gaze snagging on the way his huge bicep bunches with the movement. “It’s a public beach,” he points out, a mischievous smirk creeping across his lips. “I could just show up, y’know.”

Fair point.

He steps in close enough for me to smell the coffee on his breath and the familiar, intoxicating scent of his skin, and for a second, I forget how to be clever.

“C’mon,” he coaxes, the deep, gritty tone of his voice like steel over velvet.

An awkward little laugh slips from my throat. “You’re not gonna let this go, are you?”

“Nope,” he quips, flashing me a grin.

I heave a long-suffering sigh, a smile tugging at my mouth despite myself. “Fine. But only if you’re on your best behavior.”

He slaps a hand over his heart, feigning offense. “I’m always on my best behavior.”

“Sure,” I snort, rolling my eyes. “Just try not to embarrass me.”

He grins wider like this is all a game. “No promises,” he drawls.

My cheeks flush. I hate how smug he looks, and I hate even more how much I secretly love it.

“Go throw on some swim trunks,” I mutter, waving him off. “If you’re not ready in ten minutes, I’m leaving without you.”

He salutes and vanishes down the hall while I pull my phone out again to check the group chat. It’s still alive and chaotic, Jordan now on her eighth message asking where the hell I am.

Miley

On my way. Bringing a plus one. Don’t kill me .

I tuck the phone back into my bag and lean against the counter, trying to decide if I should feel anxious about Ares crashing our sisters-only beach day.

But I don’t, not really. If anything, it feels…

right. Like if I pretend hard enough this is just a normal Saturday, maybe the rest of the world will stay on pause and let us enjoy it.

A few minutes later, Ares reappears with a towel slung over one shoulder and his aviator sunglasses already on. His swim trunks are a shade of light blue that somehow makes his tan look even deeper, and his tank top clings to his muscular chest in a way that should be illegal.

“Ready, babe?” he asks, all confidence and swagger.

I swallow the knot rising in my throat and turn toward the door. “Let’s go.”

We’re not the only ones with the brilliant idea to hit the beach today.

It’s crawling with bodies– families with loud kids, couples wrapped around each other like pretzels, clusters of hungover college kids nursing beers and sunburns.

The air smells like sunscreen and coconut oil, the summer breeze blowing just hard enough to stave off the oppressiveness of the sun’s heat.

We were lucky to carve out a decent patch of sand for ourselves, forming a chaotic sprawl of mismatched towels and beach bags.

Jordan and I are currently laying in the sun soaking up the warmth while our other sisters are deep in the throes of a volleyball war with a group of college bros.

Judging by the volume and the gleeful heckling, things have escalated.

Of course, Ares has inserted himself right in the middle of the chaos.

Which is frankly… worrying. The man has the spatial awareness and self-restraint of a golden retriever off-leash, but god help me, he’s pretty.

Shirtless and glistening from either sweat or tanning oil– probably both– his muscles flex as he moves, catching the sunlight in a way that feels criminal.

His copper hair is damp and windswept, and for a moment, I forget how to blink.

He leaps into the air and spikes a ball over the net with perfect timing, earning an eruption of cheers from my sisters.

They swarm him with high-fives, their smiles bright and unguarded, and he gives each of them a wide, easy grin as he slaps their palms. Then he turns around, readying himself for the next serve, and I’m treated to a full view of his broad, muscled back.

“You’re staring,” Jordan murmurs beside me, nudging my thigh with her foot.

“Am not,” I lie, dragging my gaze away and forcing my face into a neutral expression.

Except I totally was.

She snorts, stretching out like a smug little cat in the sun. “Uh huh. So, you ready for the great escape?”

My heart skips a beat at the cavalier reference to our impending getaway, and I exhale slowly as I look out over the water.

The lake is doing that weird thing where it seems calm from a distance, but if you focus too long, you see the constant movement underneath– the restless shifting, like something waiting to surface.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” I murmur.

She props herself up on an elbow, squinting over at me. “Why don’t you seem excited?”

“I am,” I reply quickly, tucking one arm behind my head and making an effort to sound more convincing. “Just… nervous. There’s a lot of pieces that have to fall into place still.”

My eyes drift back to Ares, unbidden. His face is all sunlight and ease, his laugh carrying across the sand like it belongs here.

Jordan follows my gaze. She doesn’t say anything for a beat, the silence stretching between us. Then she hums softly. “Right. Nothing to do with him at all.”

“What?” I snap defensively as I whip my head around. “No, it’s not like that.

She slowly arches a brow.

“It’s not,” I insist. “It’s an act. You know that.”

“Do I?” she says lightly.

“Yes.”

She bites her lip to stifle a laugh, clearly enjoying this. “I’m just saying, you’re always looking at him like you either want to rip his clothes off or shove him into traffic. There’s feeling behind it.”

“That’s just my default expression,” I mutter, rolling my eyes.

But she’s not wrong. Not really . Because when Ares glances over and catches me looking, something passes between us– heat, humor, an unspoken connection– and it turns my insides into jelly.