Becoming A Vincent (The Wild Ones Book 1) Read online

  Becoming A Vincent

  The Wild Ones #1

  USA Today Bestselling Author

  C.M. Owens

  Becoming A Vincent

  The Wild Ones #1

  Copyright © 2017 by C.M. Owens

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise without express written permission of the author. This eBook is licensed for your enjoyment only. It may not be re-sold or given away to other people.

  The story in this book is the property of the author, in all media both physical and digital. No one, except the owner of this property, may reproduce, copy or publish in any medium any individual story or part of this novel without the expressed permission of the author of this work.

  When you live in a place where “turbo speed” internet is a slight step above dial-up, men carry on nine-year beard-growing challenges out of stubborn pride, and your brothers do things like nail all your shoes to the floor of your cabin just for funsies, you tend to be a little crazy. You can call it a locational hazard, if you will.

  That’s Tomahawk for you.

  We rank people based on just how crazy you are. And the four craziest families in town are called the Wild Ones.

  I’m on the bottom tier of those, so technically I’m not as crazy as the other Wild Ones. In fact, if it wasn’t for my brothers and their endless antics, I wouldn’t be considered a Wild One at all. Ahem. Sure. We’ll go with that.

  Anyway, I have a best friend who endures it all with me. Benson Nolans is my one constant favorite person.

  Without him, I’d probably go really crazy, and not the fun kind. It’d be ridiculous, after three years of a flawless friendship, to mess that all up by falling for him.

  I mean, even if we did get a little too close one night, it’d be reckless endangerment. Even if we did suddenly feel the chemistry that’s always been there and stop toeing the line, it’d be a foolish risk to take.

  It’d be stupid to start hoping a really fun, but completely irrational, night with zero inhibitions might accidentally happen.

  Really stupid…

  Right?

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  Chapter 1

  Wild Ones Tip #189

  You only have two legs. Animals with sharp claws and teeth have four.

  Never get caught in the woods without your gun.

  LILAH

  “You big bastard! Get away from the tree, and no one has to die,” I shout at the hostile cougar that is debating whether or not she wants to climb up after me.

  I even wiggle a puny stick at her like it’s Excalibur or something.

  How did I end up in a tree, wielding a stick like a mythical sword, while a cougar decides if I’m worth the trouble of mauling to death or not? Two reasons: Hale and Killian Vincent.

  Those are my brothers.

  I’m one third of a set of fraternal triplets. My theory is that all the oxygen in the womb was cut off from the two jackasses who are responsible for my current predicament, and I’m the only one who escaped with functioning brain cells.

  Sometimes they act like geniuses, other times…they leave me in the woods with a freaking cougar! And not the kind of cougar who has a hankering for a younger guy. Nope. I’d like that cougar.

  I’m talking about a cougar with sharp claws, sharper teeth, and a lot of power that could destroy me.

  The cougar groans or growls or both. I’m not really sure.

  I don’t speak cougar, but I think that was a sound of frustration, and fortunately, she decides not to shimmy up the tree after me.

  I blow out a breath of relief as the cougar slinks off into the thick woods, a kitten cougar joining her at her side, and they slowly disappear from sight. Obviously I don’t get in any sort of hurry to climb down, just in case that momma cougar is tricky and is playing me.

  Fun fact: most animals are faster than humans. Much faster. Like, you can’t possibly outrun most four-legged creatures no matter what the movies try to tell you.

  Shotguns sound in the distance, and I glare in their direction.

  Those assholes are going to end up with me shooting them with buckshot in the asses. Again.

  This time it will be on purpose.

  Slowly, warily, and all too shakily, I start the treacherous climb down, stepping on a few questionable branches that creak and quiver as I do.

  More shotgun blasts continue, at least staying in the opposite direction of my cougar stalker so that I don’t have to worry about it being driven right back at me.

  As soon as my feet hit the ground, I sprint. In my head, I’m an Olympic runner right now, and nothing can catch me as I put on a gold medal performance.

  My heartbeat thumps in my ears as I run harder and faster than I ever have, leaping over fallen trees or bushes like they’re intentional hurdles. And I run for a solid mile or more, right to my aunt’s cabin where people are everywhere.

  I collapse as soon as I’m surrounded by gun-wielding, bearded men.

  “Lilah! Why are you so sweaty?”

  I’m wheezing for air, barely able to lift an arm to signal that I’m alive, haphazardly sprawled on the ground, and my aunt is furiously inquiring about my sweatiness.

  Awesome.

  “You okay?” I hear someone ask.

  Benson. That’s Benson. I think. My ears are still letting me hear too much of my heartbeat too loudly to be sure. Please let it be Benson. He’ll save me.

  Surely he’ll realize the after-running effects are slowly killing me, and he’ll have to save me.

  Oxygen. I need a lot of it.

  “Lilah?” the guy asks again, but I just wheeze out an unintelligible sound, struggling to catch a breath.

  Despite what my mind thought during that muscle-burning sprint for my life, I’m not actually an Olympic runner. I’m a run-to-survive-only kind of girl. I’m always suspicious of those people who say they run for fun.

  Personally, if you’re running regularly, I assume you’re hiding something nefarious and practicing your getaway for whatever is coming after you. And I don’t want to be your friend, because I hate running.

  Someone scoops me up, and my eyes roll around lazily, taking in the bearded face of my lifter.

  Benson. I knew it.

  I groan a sound that is supposed to be appreciation, and he cradles me closer.

  More gunshots from farther out have me narrowing my eyes again.

  “What are those jackass brothers of yours shooting at when we’re having a party?” my aunt demands.

  Words still aren’t working out so well for me, so I just continue to stare and wheeze.

  Did I mention I hate running?

  They’re shooting to “guide” me out of the woods, as though I don’t know which direction to go. Pricks.

  The gunshots grow silent, while Benson continues to hold me. His beard is annoying me at the moment, causing me to fidget. Really, who needs a beard that long? It’s tickling my stomach on the sliver of skin that is showing where my shirt has risen up.

  I hate beards. And I’m constantly surrounded by them.

  “Lilah, I’m going to ask you one more time—”

  “C
ougar,” I manage to say, interrupting my aunt.

  Her eyes grow wide.

  “Kai Wilder’s cougar?” she asks, unconcerned.

  “Ha! No. Wild momma cougar,” I say, my pants growing shallower as my breaths come easier.

  “You sure?” she asks, putting her hands on her hips.

  “Pretty fucking sure, but I didn’t hang out to check her belly for a scar, since she was trying to kill me or whatever.”

  Benson snorts, and my aunt turns about ten shades of red.

  “Go get cleaned up. Use the soap on your mouth. Your date is coming to meet you in…well, shit. He should already be here.”

  My date. How did I forget the date?

  My aunt has been trying to marry me off since I turned eighteen. That was six years ago.

  She’s old school. I’m surprised she waited until I was eighteen, if I’m being honest.

  If it’d been up to her, and if I had been more mature—pfft—I’d have been married by sixteen and popping out babies by eighteen, like my mother. But it wasn’t up to her. Still isn’t. And I’m still not mature enough for tiny human making.

  Women cook. Men bring home the bacon. Yada yada yada. Her mind is set in stone on how things should work.

  I’m self-sufficient as far as finances go, so no thank you to the husband’s paycheck.

  “Right,” I say, knowing appeasing her is easier than arguing with her.

  Benson lowers me to my feet, making sure I’m steady before he releases me, and I thank him, patting him on the chest and ignoring his beard that tickles my hand.

  I head in, wash up, check to make sure I’m not a solid shade of red from all that exertion, and reemerge just in time to see…Mr. Fucking Gorgeous.

  Yep.

  The guy is so pretty that my eyes hurt.

  Wow.

  Where the hell did she find him? Not that I want to date him. The guy is too pretty to be anything less than suspicious, but still…

  “Oh! Lilah, this is Liam. Liam, my niece—Lilah.”

  Liam. Nope. Two L names would just cause confusion.

  I still drink in the sight of him, because Liam is pretty, and I like looking at him. It’s been a while since I saw someone past puberty without a beard.

  He thrusts his hand out, and I note it’s tan and a little calloused, meaning he possibly spends time outside and working with his hands. Or he jacks off outside a lot. One of the two.

  His blond hair looks incredibly touchable. His smooth jaw is definitely a refreshing sight next to all the overgrown beards in this place.

  This place being Tomahawk, Washington, a small lake community in the middle of no-damn-where, and a hop, skip and jump away from the Canadian border…which is also right in the middle of no-damn-where.

  I’m always leery of newcomers, because…back to that running thing.

  If you didn’t grow up in Tomahawk, then the only reason you’d be here is to run from something somewhere else.

  “Nice to meet you,” I say, smiling.

  His grin is immediate, but I can tell he’s no more interested in me than I am in him. He looks distracted, if I’m being honest. In fact, I think he’s searching for someone as he looks around.

  My poor aunt is going to have to wait on all those babies she wants me to pop out. She probably dragged him out here.

  “What brings you to Tomahawk?” I ask conversationally.

  Population? Three hundred.

  “Just moved here.”

  Correction, three hundred and one.

  “Why?” I ask reflexively.

  “Lilah!” my aunt scolds.

  “It’s a reasonable question. Ninety-five percent of the country doesn’t even know we exist. The other five percent like to pretend we don’t.”

  Liam laughs under his breath, glancing down at his feet for a minute. “Long story. Your aunt tells me you do some online graphic designing.”

  I just nod, deciding not to go down that boring road of what we each do for a living.

  “Have a seat, Liam. Lilah, you sit next to him,” my aunt says without an ounce of subtlety

  “It’s less painful if you just roll with it and let her think she’s winning.”

  “I can hear you,” Aunt Penny grumbles.

  Liam’s grin only grows as I say, “I know. We can hear you too.”

  Per the usual, I take a seat by Benson on the forever long picnic table, and he elbows me gently. “What about that cougar?” he asks as Liam sits down on my other side.

  “Cougar?” Liam asks, intrigued.

  I shrug, not looking at either of them as we start passing plates around. The food is in the center of the table, and you scoop something out of the bowl in front of you and pass it to the next person.

  Liam catches onto this pretty quickly, even though it’s his first time.

  “Big momma cougar with a nasty temper,” I finally say.

  Cougars aren’t that uncommon around here, but it’s rare they chase you down…unless there’s a damn cub involved.

  “What were you doing out in the woods without a gun?” Benson asks, a little bit of an edge to his tone.

  I cast him a sidelong glance, but he’s practically glaring at me. All you can see on his face are his eyes, most of his nose and a little of his forehead, because…black beard. A lot of black beard.

  “I was in the woods with my brothers, who both had a gun.”

  “Brothers?” Liam asks, and Benson grunts like he’s irritated with the interruption.

  I face Pretty Boy. “I have two brothers. We’re Triplets. I’m the only one who survived the womb with a sense of self-preservation and common sense. Or maybe it’s because I was the only one of the three who was blessed with a vagina.”

  To this, the entire table laughs, except for my aunt, who is groaning and covering her face, shaking her head as though she’s embarrassed.

  “Are they here?” Liam asks so innocently, bypassing the whole vagina remark.

  Idly, I wonder if he’s embarrassed to talk about the female anatomy, and grin to myself, filing away that information for future use.

  When no one answers him, he asks the question again. “Seriously, are they here?” He looks around the table like he’s searching them out.

  More laughter ensues, but not from Aunt Penny. “Those heathens aren’t allowed over here anymore when I entertain,” she tells him, passing a plate along. “Not for a long while. Hopefully they’ll grow up.”

  Aunt Penny will lift the ban soon. She always does. My brothers will be back over here in no time and she knows it. She can’t help herself, because she loves them.

  I scoop out more of the yams and pass the plate along to Liam.

  “We went into the woods looking for the right tree. Those jerks broke my bed—”

  “Broke your bed?” Liam interrupts, arching an eyebrow.

  I really don’t like what he’s insinuating, but since he’s doing it with a playful smirk that I can see because there’s no beard on his pretty face, I let it pass.

  “They were standing on my bed to try and steal my ceiling fan after they broke theirs. Our cabins are side by side. They break in. All the time. No boundaries, those two. So, the bed broke under their combined weight, and I planned to make them build me a new one with a tree or two of my choosing.”

  He blinks at me. But Benson is the one to chuckle, drawing my attention back to him.

  “Your bed wasn’t strong enough to support two people?” the bearded man asks me, eyes twinkling with humor.

  I narrow my eyes on him. “Do you think any guy would make it to the bedroom with my brothers next door?”

  He cocks his head like he’s thinking about it. “Good point,” he concedes.

  “I have to travel when I want to get mine.”

  The humor leaves his eyes, and I grin while tugging his beard a little. He grunts, and I turn back to see Liam smiling broadly at me. Oh, yeah. I probably shouldn’t be talking so openly in front of him.

  P
lates finally stop being passed, and I start eating mine, leaning a little on Benson since I don’t know Liam and don’t like brushing up against strangers over and over. Plus, I’m really tired. And Benson never minds being leaned on.

  Liam’s eyes flick between us, probably getting the wrong idea, but I don’t really care. I have no desire to pop out little Liam babies.

  He glances around at all the beards—literally. Then he reaches up and touches the side of his baby smooth face. I’ll be honest, I am tempted to do that too. I can’t remember the last time I saw a smooth face on a full grown man.

  Well, I can. Three years ago, which was the last time I had sex. The guy was passing through, and I decided to pass through his cabin rental. He didn’t mind. It was a really great night.

  Sigh.

  If I had known it’d be three years’ worth of drought after that, it would have been even more fun.

  “So, how’d you end up with the cougar if your brothers were out there?” Benson asks, even as Liam continues to glance around, probably wondering if they’re in a bearded cult.

  “Those pricks left me out there before I realized it. Next thing I know, there was a cub, and a likely momma cougar, and gunshots, and I climbed the nearest tree.”

  Benson tenses, but the rest of the table snickers. Well, not Aunt Penny.

  “I’ve told you to stop going out into the woods with those two!” she snaps.

  They wouldn’t have left me alone if they’d known there was a cougar, but I sure as hell don’t defend them. They were just trying to get out of sawing a tree down for me.

  The chainsaw is messed up, so it was going to have to be done the hard way. No one in this town is stupid enough to lend them anything of theirs, so borrowing a chainsaw was out of the question.

  “I’ll come build your bed,” Benson offers.

  He usually ends up fixing whatever they’ve broken, since they tend to do a shitty job at fixing it themselves. Not that they can’t fix it, it’s just the fact they love to annoy me to the fullest extent.

  I grin while leaning against him a little more. He always smells so good. “Thanks, but I’m going to make them do it. They broke it, after all.”