Wild Man (Wild Men Book 1) Read online

  Wild Man

  Melissa Belle

  Copyright © 2019 Melissa Belle. All rights reserved.

  Published in the United States of America by Autumn Ink Press.

  This is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. All names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual situations or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, transmitted, or distributed in any form or by any means, except for brief quotes used for the purpose of review, without the prior written permission of the author. Any trademarks, service marks, or product names are the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference.

  Cover Art: J. Hunter Designs

  Editing: Jay Dylan

  Proofreading: Dawn Yacovetta

  Contents

  Also by Melissa Belle

  ABOUT

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Epilogue

  SNEAK PEEK AT COLTON

  SNEAK PEEK AT COLTON

  SNEAK PEEK AT COLTON

  What’s Next — DECLAN

  Also by Melissa Belle

  About the Author

  Also by Melissa Belle

  Boston Boys Series

  BOSTON BILLIONAIRE

  BOSTON LOVE

  BOSTON ESCAPE

  BOSTON ROOMIE

  WILD MEN Series

  WILD MAN

  COLTON

  DYLAN

  AYDEN

  JENSON

  BRAYDEN

  CAMERON

  DECLAN

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  ABOUT

  WILD MAN is book one in a duet.

  Colton Wild didn’t save me. He showed me it was safe to live again.

  I met him when I was sixteen and broken. When the world was filled with fear.

  He was seventeen and ridiculously cocky. He was also hotter than the sun with his messy blond hair, clear blue eyes, and wicked grin.

  My family and I were on the run from a predator, and Colton was harboring his own secrets and pain. We were two lost souls, and the moment I saw him, I felt something spark inside my soul.

  He flirted with me shamelessly, and I pretended to hate him. I wasn’t allowed to get close to anyone. My life, and my family’s life, depended on it.

  But I couldn’t stay away from Colton. He was the brightest light I’d ever seen.

  And once the sun went down, I threw all my rules out the window…

  Prologue

  Colorado

  Skylar

  We’ve reached the trailer now. I stop behind a tree so that we can’t be seen by my mom, who I can guarantee is waiting up for me.

  “It was nice to meet you, Colton.” I hold out my hand like a dumbass, like this amazing boy didn’t just nearly take my virginity less than ten minutes ago.

  As always, he handles my awkwardness with an easy charm. “I think we’re a little too close for just a handshake, Skylar Rosewood.”

  When he kisses me, I kiss him back like it’s the last kiss we’ll ever have.

  “You’ve got a sexy tongue,” Colton says. “You’re driving me crazy with it, Sky.”

  I lean into him, and he drives his leg in between mine. My body starts to shake, and I feel like I’ll absolutely die if we separate.

  “Oh, God.” I moan as Colton sucks on my neck and puts his hand on my ass.

  When his other hand squeezes my breast through my thin tank top, I really think I’m going to explode.

  But when he says, “Let go,” I freeze.

  I’m supposed to keep everyone at arm’s length. That’s what will keep me safe.

  “I really do have to go inside,” I say. “My mom could come out and see us.”

  “Can I have your phone number and address?” He hands me his phone. “Type them in for me, please?”

  I hesitate.

  “I’ll call you,” he promises. “As soon as we get home to Montana. I won’t bug you, though, so I’ll wait to reach out. Sound good?”

  I don’t think I’ve ever been so sad, because I know none of that can happen. This is the last time I’ll ever see Colton Wild.

  Girls like me don’t get happy endings. We only get goodbyes.

  Chapter One

  Eighteen Months Earlier — Small Town, Indiana

  Skylar

  I hate Sundays.

  “Kill him! Suffocate him!” My father screams at the football game on the television screen.

  Sitting next to my father on the couch while he vents at whatever sports is in season isn’t my idea of a good time. It’s probably not most fourteen-year-olds’ dream. But sometimes, I’m able to get him to drink less this way.

  Plus, my panic attacks tend to be smaller if I’m a witness to his mood. When I’m in my room and can hear the shouting—but can’t see what’s happening—I have more difficulty.

  “Can you believe that fucking guy?” Dad points his beer bottle at the screen and turns to me. “Fucking idiot, isn’t he?”

  I sit on my hands and nod. “Can I get you some water?” I ask him.

  “I’m fine.” He holds up his beer bottle again. “I got all I need right here.”

  I spend the next few minutes finger-combing my hair. The red color has always frustrated me, and I long for blond hair like my mom’s. But I popped out with hair like my dad. “A shock of red hair right at birth” mom always says fondly. I keep it as long as possible because it darkens the color.

  Another play takes place. I hardly pay attention to the games, no matter what’s on, but I instantly know this result isn’t going to please my father any more than the last one did. My stomach coils with tension because these moments never end well.

  “Fucking shithead!!” My father raises himself off the couch and screams a mouthful of obscenities at the TV.

  I lean as far away from him as possible, using the arm rest on the end of the couch as an excuse. Tugging at my hair, I glance at my phone, but I have no texts to distract me.

  I’ve never been a sociable girl, not since my father’s drinking went from occasional to daily. He didn’t always drink like this, but when his company went under and his financial security disappeared when I was six years old, so did our semblance of a happy, loving family.

  I glance up at the TV just in time to see somebody score for the wrong team.

  “The running back just fumbled the damn ball away! He took the fucking pipe! Took the pipe! Goddamn motherfucker!” My father kicks the coffee table and nearly spills his beer right out of his hand.

  “Dad, it’s okay,” I say.

  Big mistake.

  Whappp!!!

  The slap across my face is always startling, no matter how many times I’ve endured it.

  This one’s particularly hard, though. So hard my head snaps back, and I can taste blood from my teeth slamming together.

  “Not okay,” he mutters. “I love you, Sky.”

  Oh, no. I know what will follow when he says I love you. Sure enough, before I can move away fast enough— br />
  Whappp!!!

  Right across my same cheek. I can taste the blood even stronger now.

  “I love you, so you know I need to show you what’s right,” he says as he turns back to the game. “Screwing up is never okay.”

  My eyes smart with tears, but I refuse to let him see. Instead, I grab my notebook and my phone and hustle outside to the old tire swing in our backyard.

  As I swing back and forth, letting the tire take me wherever it wants, I scribble in my notebook. I’ve got a big story due for my high school newspaper next week, and I want to make sure it’s perfect. It’s a cold fall day in Indiana, but I’m not going back inside until Dad passes out. I glance at the time on my phone, trying to ignore my chills from the gusts of wind.

  Pass-out time should be in about two hours. That’s usually how long it takes him to drink too much and get riled up enough that his body eventually gives him peace.

  Unfortunately for the rest of us, we never get that peace. Not when we live with a monster and have no way out.

  The anxiety I’ve pushed away takes over, and I bring the swing to a stop and stand up. Taking my notebook with me, I run to the very back of the yard where I’m completely out of sight from inside the house. I squat down on the ground as the yard spins around me, and I desperately try to suck in air. I force myself to focus my attention on the falling leaves around me. After what feels like forever but in reality is probably only a few seconds, I’m able to take a deep breath. My body slumps in exhaustion.

  I’m outside. I’m safe. For now.

  As my brothers have gotten older and bigger, Dad tends to stay away from them. But they were never his favorite targets anyway. Mom and I are the ones he takes his rage out on. Nick and Ben protect us whenever they’re home, and they’ve taken Dad on directly plenty of times.

  The thing is, for every ten times they stop him, there’s always that one time they’re not around.

  And Mom still sleeps with him in their bedroom. When I see her bruises in the mornings, I can barely get my breakfast down.

  I look down at my half-finished article, determined to make sure I get one thing right. My family may be falling apart, but I can at least make sure I’ll have a way to support myself when I’m out of here for good.

  Chapter Two

  “Wake up, Skyscraper.”

  I open my eyes to my brother, Ben, lifting me into his arms.

  “Hey,” I murmur into his jacket as I bury my face so he can’t see the marks.

  No need for my brothers to worry over me in addition to Mom.

  “You’re cold,” he says with concern. “I couldn’t find you at first—what are you doing outside?”

  “Just needed some privacy.”

  “Shit. I’m going to get you out of here, Sky,” he promises, his tone ice with rage. “When I leave for college, you can live with me.”

  We reach the back door, and Nick meets us as we step inside.

  “Feel how cold her hand is,” Ben says to Nick. “How much longer is Mom going to look the other fucking way?”

  “She’s got a plan,” I mumble, but I don’t know if they hear me. “She said ‘someday.’ It will be okay. Someday.”

  “This article on increasing funding for the arts program is exactly what people need to hear.”

  I beam as Mr. Colby looks up after reading my latest piece.

  “I was worried the section on the funds was too detailed,” I say.

  “Not at all. You need that part to really impart the seriousness of this issue.”

  “That’s what I thought, too.”

  “You’ve got a knack for this type of work, Skylar. I’m thinking you’d make a great contributing editor next year for the paper.”

  I try not to squeal. “Editor? That would be incredible. I’d love the opportunity to try out.”

  “I’ve got you on my short list.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Colby.”

  He takes off his reading glasses and cocks his head. “Skylar? Is there something you want to tell me?”

  I widen my eyes and instantly cross my arms over my chest. “What do you mean?”

  He steps closer and gently lifts my long hair back from where it’s been covering the left side of my face.

  “How did you get this bruise? Did somebody hurt you?”

  Every day.

  Normally, the marks left by my father’s slaps disappear overnight. Almost like magic, the pain is no longer visible for anyone outside of our house to see.

  But the slap he gave me yesterday came with a little extra sting. He always leads with his strong hand—his right. Yesterday, he was holding his beer in his right hand, and he hit with his left. His wedding band—fucking joke that it is—is a heavy platinum band. It left a mark, a black and blue bruise that my concealer and thick layer of foundation couldn’t cover.

  So I wore my hair down, and no one noticed.

  Until now.

  I feel the anxiety rise inside me as my lungs constrict. Staring at my teacher, I try my best to stave off my panic attack.

  “I have to go,” I say, turning on my heel. “I’m sorry.”

  “Skylar.” His stern voice stops me from running. “What happened to your cheek?”

  I spin around wildly, knowing I have to get out of here before I lose control.

  Desperate to relax my throat, I cough into my hand. “I was at the animal shelter yesterday,” I say in a hoarse tone. “You know how I walk the dogs on weekends. Well, one of them isn’t used to being leash-walked. He freaked out and dragged me so fast across the pavement that I wiped out and hit my face.”

  Mr. Colby’s wise, gray eyes narrow.

  He knows I’m lying. I’m a terrible liar, and he’s going to call me on it.

  But all he says is, “If you ever want to talk, my door’s always open, Skylar. I hope you know that.”

  “Yes. Thank you, Mr. Colby.”

  I turn and practically run out of the room.

  When I finally get off school grounds, I collapse on a nearby park bench where I sit on the cold metal until my breathing has normalized and the blood has stopped rushing through my ears.

  Mr. Colby isn’t dangerous or scary. But the way he was challenging me was. And sometimes, I confuse vulnerability with actual fear. And that was enough to send me running.

  I don’t know exactly when I stopped feeling safe to be alive. But somewhere along the way, the only method I learned to handle my anxiety was to run. Running gives me a sense of control in a world where I have none. And when I feel anxiety sweep through me, I’d rather run than be drowned by it.

  “Someday,” I whisper to myself. “This too shall pass.”

  Chapter Three

  Small Town, Montana

  Colton

  God, I love Sundays.

  Our team crushed Billings on Friday night, and Dylan and I teamed up for two touchdowns. Brayden and Dylan connected on the third, and we won going away.

  Saturday, like most fall weekends, I’m sore. But by Sunday, the pro games are on television, and in between, I’m ready to play again.

  Dylan and I are young to be on varsity, but we’ve been working toward it our whole lives.

  “Colt, let’s go one more time,” Dad says from where he’s standing on Brayden’s family ranch. “And Dylan, that throw was nearly perfect. Just release the ball a half-step earlier, buddy.”

  I take off as soon as Brayden snaps the ball to Dylan. I sprint down the line and then cut outside. Dylan throws a laser, and the placement is perfect. I catch it and run to the makeshift end zone.

  I could do this forever.

  Playing football underneath the Montana sky is the best fucking feeling in the world. Even though it’s late fall, this afternoon is unseasonably warm. The sun beats down on my head, and the breeze is light. I’m with my dad and my cousins, and I love this. I can’t imagine ever doing anything else.

  Dylan smirks as I run back to the three of them. His black hair is slick with sweat, an
d his dark eyes flash with humor.

  “You’re breathing awfully hard there, Wild.”

  “Hey, you fucking try running full-tilt,” I taunt him. “I think Bray needs a turn. I’ll snap.”

  Brayden shakes his head of blond hair that’s the same shade as mine. “I’ve got to get back to the fields. My dad needs help with the cows.”

  “Cowboy,” I tease him. “You’re a walking advertisement for Montana.”

  “And you two are going to play football until you have nothing else in your lives,” he says, giving it right back. “Isn’t that right, Uncle Kent?”

  My dad chuckles and runs a hand through his gray hair. “That’s their dream. It’s good to dream big. Gives you a real chance to get what you want.”

  Dylan holds the football up to the sky like he’s making a promise. “We’ll all make the pros someday, Bray. Just watch.”

  But Brayden just shrugs. “I don’t know if that’s my thing. You two? Sure. I can see it. But I’d miss Montana if I left.”

  “Not me,” I say with a bravado I don’t truly feel. “I can’t wait to be a pro baller.”