Page 18 of Wild Hearts (Ruby Ridge #1)

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T he air is thick with summer heat and tequila-soaked ambition. Layla’s cackling like she just got away with something illegal, Amelia’s trying to unlock her already unlocked phone, and I’m floating on this warm, spicy cloud of tequila.

“Wait—hold up,” Layla slurs, spinning in a full circle with her arms flung wide. “Did I leave my bra inside, or am I just free-balling it tonight?”

“You’re wearing a dress,” Amelia replies, not looking up from her phone.

“Oh,” Layla says, puzzled. “Silly me.”

Maverick’s leaning against Carter’s truck, smirking like the idiot he is, one boot kicked up behind him. His shirt’s half untucked, and there’s a lipstick smudge on his neck that doesn’t belong to any of us.

He’s got his eyes locked on Amelia, like she hung the moon. “Damn, dollface,” he drawls, pushing off the truck and swaggering up to her. “You look so fucking gorgeous right now.”

Amelia snorts. “You’re drunk. ”

He leans in closer. “You’re pretty.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Still pretty.”

I throw my arms in the air, spinning dramatically toward the open gravel lot. “I am not going back to the ranch!” I yell, pointing a finger at Amelia. “I want to keep going! I want loud music, glow sticks, and maybe a little property damage.”

Carter groans behind me. He’s been tolerating me all night and is officially nearing his limit.

“Darlin’,” he says, “maybe it’s time we get you back to the ranch.”

“Nooooooo!” I shout, whipping my head towards him. “I don’t want to go back to the stinky ranch! I wanna party, I wanna dance! I wanna scream-cry to house music!”

Because I’m me, and tequila is jet fuel, I bolt right into the gravel lot.

Carter sighs the sigh of a man who is one second away from snapping.

“Catalina,” he warns.

I run faster, giggling even louder.

Carter catches me like he’s done it a thousand times. His hands grip my waist, and then I’m over his shoulder, squealing as my hair swings in the air.

“Put me down, you bastard!” I shriek, kicking my feet in the air.

“Not a chance, princess,” he mutters, turning and walking back toward the group without a hint of hesitation, his massive hand planted firmly on the back of my thighs to keep me in place. “You wanna act like a menace, you get carried like one.”

“I will fucking sue you!”

“You’re broke. ”

“That’s really freaking rude.”

Maverick lets out a low whistle. “Well, shit. This feels like a good time to make a suggestion.”

“No one asked you poster boyyy!!” I slur, my voice muffled behind Carter’s back.

He ignores me. “Let’s go to VYCE. It’s this insane nightclub in Nashville. Strobe lights, DJs, and insane cocktails. I know the owner,” he muses, “they always let their favorite quarterback in.”

“Quarterback?” Amelia asks suspiciously.

“I’m the starting quarterback for the Tennessee Mustangs, dollface,” he says, grinning like a fucking idiot.

Layla squints at him, sprawled out on the concrete like a starfish. “You mean like, a real NFL team? Not, like… a bar league?”

He gasps, “I literally have a trading card.”

Amelia scoffs, reapplying her red lipstick. “That sounds fake as fuck.”

Maverick lets out a deep sigh as he turns his massive body towards Carter. “Come on, bro, back me up.”

Carter sighs, still holding me like I’m a backpack. “Unfortunately, this dipshit isn’t lying.”

Layla stares. “Are we sure he didn’t just pay someone to print his face on a deck of Uno cards?”

“Google me,” Maverick says proudly, flexing his arms like a goon. “I’m very famous.”

I groan from where I’m dangling. “Fine. If you get us into a club where the music makes me want to levitate, I’ll believe you.”

He grins. “Buckle up, baby girl.”

The drive to Nashville is a blur of wind, glitter, and Layla screeching the lyrics to every single song like an actual hyena.

Maverick’s behind the wheel, hyping himself up with one hand on the wheel and the other gesturing like he’s conducting an invisible orchestra.

Amelia’s in the passenger seat, pretending not to enjoy the way his knee keeps brushing against hers.

I’m in the backseat, half lying across Layla’s lap and trying not to spill my emergency flask.

Carter’s following behind us in his truck, probably regretting how his night is turning out, but also too stubborn to leave us alone in a city with his idiot brother.

We pull up to VYCE, and the line wraps around the block. There’s a girl wearing fishnets, a tiara, and sobs into a vape. A man in a fur coat is juggling LED glow balls, and someone’s doing pushups in the parking lot and yelling “NO THOUGHTS, JUST VYCE” like it’s a religion.

It’s fucking perfect.

The second Maverick steps out of the SUV, all hell breaks loose.

“Oh my God, it’s him!”

“MAVERICK HAYES!”

“MARRY ME!”

Phones flash. Girls scream. Someone throws a rhinestone-encrusted bra at him, smacking him in the face, and he catches it and gives us a smirk.

“You’re welcome,” he says with a wink.

I nearly choked on my saliva .

“I can’t believe this idiot is famous,” Amelia mutters, her tattooed arms crossed.

“Yeah, well,” Carter says, appearing at my side like a pissed-off shadow, “he is.”

Layla’s already posing in front of the neon VYCE sign, flipping her hair and shouting, “GET IN LOSERS, WE’RE MAKING BAD DECISIONS!”

“Ma’am, are you okay?” a bouncer asks as she air-guitars to absolutely nothing.

“She’s just… expressive,” I say, grabbing her arm and spinning her toward the entrance.

Maverick high-fives the bouncer and mutters something about “Tennessee Mustangs MVP,” and just like that, we’re waved past the line.

Inside, VYCE is a sensory overload. The bass hits low and filthy through the speakers, giving me chills with every drop.

Lights flash in technicolor streaks across the crowd, fog pumps from the corners of the room, and glitter floats in the air like confetti.

The music isn’t just loud, it’s alive, thumping beneath my feet, in my chest, and behind my eyes.

We move as a unit through the crowd, a cluster of hot, feral energy.

Layla finds the center of the dance floor and immediately starts headbanging like she’s been possessed by a demon in platform boots. Her ponytail flailing around like a safety hazard.

“I love us!!!” she screams.

Amelia and I throw ourselves into the beat, grinding, laughing, and singing lyrics half-wrong but full-volume. Her arm loops around my shoulders as we sway, twist, and shout.

“I’m gonna need someone to carry me out of here when we leave,” I yell in Amelia’s ear, throwing my arms around her neck.

She smirks. “Bitch, I know you mean you want Carter’s hands all over you.”

I scoff. “Please. He fucking wishes.”

Carter

Layla’s already in the middle of it, headbanging and screaming lyrics with her tongue out like she’s performing an exorcism. Maverick trails after Amelia like a lovesick puppy, that goofy smile on his face like she didn’t just roll her eyes at him five seconds ago.

None of that fucking matters.

Catalina, the stunning woman she is, is making me grind my fucking teeth.

She’s a fucking vision under the strobes.

Her bronzed skin glows like she’s made of honey and fire, her hips move to the beat enticingly, and her succulent ass is wrapped in a little black skirt that’s driving me straight to hell.

She laughs with a random woman as they dance with their arms thrown up, and her head’s tipped back, exposing the curvature of her neck that makes me want to sink my teeth into her supple skin and mark her for everyone to see.

I see some fucker slide in behind her like he belongs there—hands on her hips, lips at her neck, and his cock pressed against her ass like he earned the right to touch her.

I tense, every muscle locks up like a rubber band pulled too tight.

My chest burns, and even the roar of the music can’t drown the white-hot spike of jealousy that rips through me.

She doesn’t fucking stop him.

She leans closer into him, grinding harder, slower as she meets my gaze across the dance floor.

I know it in my fucking bones, that’s she’s putting this show on for me.

She’s taunting me with her chestnut gaze locked onto mine, smirking like it’s her goddamn job to get underneath my skin.

Her hands lift above her head, that sinful body twisting to the rhythm while that asshole grips her hips tighter, thinking this moment belongs to him.

My fists clench, no fucking way.

I move, shoving through the crowd, my body hums with barely leashed rage. The guy doesn’t even see me coming. One second he’s humping Catalina like a dog in heat, the next I’ve got my fist twisted in the front of his shirt, yanking him back so hard he nearly falls on his ass.

“The fuck–”

“Get the fuck off her,” I growl, eyes locked on his like I’m daring him to say one more fucking thing. “You think you can just put your hands on her and walk away with your teeth still in your mouth?”

The dude stumbles back, palms raised like the fucking coward he is. “Shit, man—I didn’t know she was with someone.”

“I’m not,” Catalina says sweetly, pushing herself closer to him, rubbing her hands on his chest to piss me off some more. “Come on, dance with me, pretty boy.”

He shakes his head aggressively and runs off like a pussy.

I turn on her, my hands find her hips, dragging her against me so fast she gasps. “You trying to piss me off, princess?”

She tilts her head up. “Mmmaybeeeeeee.” she slurs, barely getting the words out as she throws her head back against my chest. “Ma–maybe I just needed a real man to dance with.”

My breath punches out of me in a growl. “You want a real man?” I lean in, my lips brushing against her earlobe. “ Keep grinding that ass against me like that and I’ll show you just how real I can be.”

She lets out a breathy laugh, rolling her hips again. I feel her press against my cock, already hard from watching her, already fucking aching.

“I thought you didn’t want to touch me,” she whispers, feigning innocence with a smirk that could bring me to my knees.

“I didn’t,” I rasp, my grip tightening around her waist. “But now I’m gonna make damn sure no one else touches you either.”

She tilts her head back against my chest, grinding harder, her body fitting into mine like she was made for me.

“Possessive much?”

“Fuck yes I’m possessive,” I mutter into her neck, dragging my nose along the soft skin behind her ear. “You think I’m gonna watch some random asshole put his hands on what’s mine?”

She gasps, like she’s pretending to be surprised. She fucking loves it.

“You keep talking like that,” she breathes, “and I’m gonna make a mess all over your jeans.”

I curse under my breath, my hips jerking forward. “Darlin’, you’re one grind away from me dragging you out of here and bending you over the nearest surface.”

“I fucking dare you,” she purrs, throwing it right back at me.

Right here, on this dance floor, in the middle of strangers, strobe lights, and dirty bass drops—I forget everything.

Her father. My morals. What’s right. What’s wrong.

All I see is her. My hands on her hips, and her body against mine. If I don’t walk away right fucking now, I’m going to ruin her for anyone else.