Page 1 of Wild Return (Wild Heart Mountain: Wild Rider’s MC #15)

SYDNEY

M y heeled boots clack on the concrete steps as I descend into the brewery cellar. The sweet smell of hops permeates the air, and light slants through the single high window. I stomp over to the rows of stacked kegs, slicing through dust motes in my wake.

Of all the men to walk into the clubhouse last night, Viking was the last one I expected to see. He’s military for life; he made that clear four years ago.

I thought I was over him, but seeing the way he waltzed in as if he’d never left, with every club member slapping his back as if he’s a returning hero and not the man who left me in pieces four years ago, enrages me..

The peacefulness of the brewery cellar usually calms me, but not today. My body vibrates with energy as I pull up the inventory app.

I move down the rows of beer, counting kegs and punching numbers into the app, but my mind keeps returning to Viking.

The way he slid off his bike as if no years had passed, the new scar on his left temple, the soft way he looked at me, and the old nickname on his lips brought back too many memories.

Memories that took four years and five continents to erase.

And with one word, cupcake, it all came flooding back.

I stop between rows B1 and B2 with no idea how many kegs I’ve counted.

“Damn,” I mutter to myself.

I stomp back to the cellar wall and begin my count of the bottom shelf again. They’re stacked two deep, and I count in twos until I reach twenty-four at the end of the row.

I make a note in my app, and my mind thinks about the time Viking picked me twenty-four wild daisies, one for every week we’d been together, and gave them to me tied up with a piece of string.

I dried those damn daisies as if they were red roses and kept them for weeks in a ceramic pot by my bed.

Until he left, and I chucked them in the compost.

The sound of voices pulls me out of my reverie. Barrels’s booming voice precedes him down the cellar steps.

He’s followed by a dozen hungover resort guests, all wearing matching t-shirts with the face of one member of their party on it. The man in question has disheveled hair and red eyes and looks like he’s about to puke into one of our kegs.

We make good money from the brewery tours and especially the bachelor parties, who spend big in the tasting room.

Barrels gives them the full tour, describing the precise temperatures needed to store different types of beer in detail.

I can tell the group doesn’t care, that they just want to get to the tasting, but Barrels doesn’t notice or he’s deliberately drawing it out.

He was a first-class sergeant in the army, and with his curt manner and formidable frown, none of the men are going to ask him to get on with it.

I sidestep around the group and duck into the next row of kegs. The tall rows muffle their voices.

I begin my count on Row C1, starting with the top shelf and counting in twos. This is the IPA special that’s shipping out on Friday to a new distributor on the East Coast.

The count is soothing and keeps my mind off Viking.

As I get to the bottom row, Barrels moves the tour group out of the cellar, and it descends into peace once more.

“Two, four, six…” I stop abruptly and peer between the kegs. There’s an empty space in the back row. The kegs are stacked beside each other in pairs, and there’s a spare space where one keg is missing its partner.

I walk slowly down the row, peering in between the kegs to check if there are any other empty spaces.

There’s only one missing, and I would put it down to a staking error except it’s the second time it’s happened this month. Once is an error; twice is suspicious.

I tag it as missing in the inventory, and it flags as a red mark in the app.

I glance up at the busted security camera in the corner of the cellar. Even if it were working, the angle might not see into this corner. I’ve been meaning to get it fixed for the past few weeks, but there’s always something else to do.

I sigh and move it up my mental to-do list.

Without warning, my mind cuts to last night and Viking’s throaty laugh as he stood around the fire pit with Raiden and Hops and Barrels.

I shake my head, trying to clear the memory, and stuff the tablet into its case and head upstairs.

The office is open plan, and my desk is to the right, looking out of the glass window to the brewery floor. I nod to Isla, who sits at the desk next to mine on the days she comes in. She looks like she’s about to say something but must think better of it when she sees my expression.

I slide the tablet onto my desk, but the missing keg is playing on my mind.

Barrels must have finished the tour by now, and I decide to find him.

His office is at the other end of the metal walkway that overlooks the brewing tanks. The brewery floor is the heart of the brewery, and giant metal vats line one wall, each brewing up a different type of beer.

Before I get to the stairs that lead down to the brewery floor, the door to Barrels’s office opens, and he steps through.

“You got a minute?” I ask.

He frowns. “If you’re quick. I’ve got to help Charlie in the tasting room.”

It’s likely he doesn’t want to leave his wife alone for long if there’s a group of men in there. So, I get straight to the point.

“There’s another keg missing.”

He looks up sharply and stops. “Which one?”

“From the IPA line. The order going out on Friday.”

“Shit.” He runs a hand through his short hair. “That’s two in one month.”

I press my lips together, not liking what I have to say next. A lot of the staff working here are from the club, and if I voice my suspicions, it throws suspicion on everyone.

“I think someone’s taking them.”

I expect Barrels to be upset, but he nods once. “Perfect timing. I just hired extra muscle.”

Viking steps through the office behind Barrels. His large frame and height mean he’s as wide as the walkway. His eyes lock on mine, and a corner of his mouth tilts.

My stomach drops. “You’re hiring him?”

Barrels holds his hands up. “I don’t have time for this. Whatever is in your past, you two need to sort it out. I’m needed in the tasting room. Sydney, show Viking around and take him through the security protocols.” He lowers his voice. “And fill him in on what you just told me.”

Barrels heads down the staircase to the brewery floor and disappears into the tasting room, and I’m left facing Viking. He towers over me, and I refuse to strain my neck to look up at him.

“I’ll show you the cellar.”

To get to the cellar, I need to get down the metal stairs on the other side of Viking. I glare at him pointedly, but he doesn’t move.

“The cellar is down the stairs.”

I stare at him, wondering when he’s going to take the hint and move out of the way. He doesn’t.

“The stairs are behind you.”

Viking smirks. “I know.”

Instead of going down the stairs first like a polite human, he shifts his body sideways and offers a hand, indicating for me to go first.

I squeeze past him so close to the railing it imprints on my back, but I still brush against him as I go past. There’s a moment of pressure when his hard body is against mine.

His scent of leather and coffee beans encases me for a moment, making my head spin and my heart race.

A hundred memories of his body pressed against mine flit into my brain.

“After you, cupcake,” he murmurs. And his voice is an echo from the past, scraping every raw part of me.

My head spins, my heart races, and there’s a tug in my core.

Then I’m past him and gripping onto the railing to keep my balance.

I inhale sharply and suck in long breaths as I descend the stairs. I don’t dare look back at Viking. I don’t want him to see the effect he’s having on me.

I’ve got to keep this professional, find the keg thief, and whatever I do, don’t melt for the man who broke my heart in two.