Wild Hearts (Blood & Judgment #1)
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Authors: Eve Newton,Franca Storm
Wild Hearts
BLOOD & JUDGMENT SERIES
BOOK ONE
Eve Newton & Franca Storm
This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
WILD HEARTS. A BLOOD & JUDGMENT Novel.
Copyright ©Eve Newton (2015). All rights reserved.
Copyright © Francesca Julia Gale (2015). All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior permission of the author.
Cover Design by Francesca Julia Gale
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The sale of this book without its cover is unauthorized. If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that it was reported to the publisher as “unsold and destroyed”. Neither the author nor the publisher has received payment for the sale of this “stripped book”.
Chapter 1
~Aria~
I’m pissed.
Never a good thing for someone like me.
Molten heat is coursing through my veins and fueling that familiar fire inside that is calling to the wolf within. The wolf that I’ve tried so damn hard to keep at bay for the last six months. Ever since the 'incident'
.
My steel-toe boots thud on the dirtied concrete of the alley with each furious step I take towards the seedy, shit-hole of a bar up ahead. It’s a well-known biker haunt. I’ve met several bikers in my time—wolves, mostly—but this particular club is notorious for its dirty dealings and no-holds-barred violence. Humans, too, which is always unsavory to me. Their club is no friend to women, except those being paid for their services. The bar they’re hanging out at is a wild, free-for-all place of debauchery for hardened men who won’t think twice about shooting you between the eyes at point-blank range if they don’t like the look of you.
But I’m not worried.
Why?
I’m no ordinary woman. Hell, I’m not even a woman at all.
Besides, I have business to take care of. I don’t have time to worry about a bunch of trumped-up, steroid-abusing street thugs.
“Try her again,” I bark over my shoulder at Carter, my second-in-command.
I may not be worried about my safety when it comes to walking into the biker bar, but I
am
worried about something far more dangerous.
Me.
Or, more specifically, the
wolf
.
That’s the only reason I’m giving diplomacy one last shot here. Normally, I don’t give second chances. Screwing up once is enough to incur my wrath.
“Nothing,” Carter answers after a few seconds, flipping his phone shut with a frustrated growl.
I sigh inwardly, but I make sure that my reluctance to do this isn’t evident on my face. As Alpha of our pack, I can’t afford to show weakness. Especially, not with the way things are right now.
“All right,” I mutter. “Follow my lead.”
“What are you gonna do to her?”
I hear the worry in his voice. I can smell his fear. He’s right to be afraid, because she’s in for it now. 'She'
being Vicki, a long-time member of our pack. At fifty, she’s double my age. Since my father’s death, she’s taken to challenging me at every opportunity. But tonight is by far her worst challenge and infraction. She’s putting the safety of the whole pack in jeopardy. We’re in hiding. Laying low. And she snuck out into this dead-end, hick village for 'some fun'
.
A direct violation of my orders.
She’s about to discover what happens to people who disrespect me and my command.
“I’m gonna teach her a lesson she won’t forget,” I tell him.
I stop a couple of feet from the entrance to the bar and shake off my leather jacket. I’m too damn hot now. My skin feels like it’s burning up. It’s no surprise and nothing new. When I’m this angry, it happens. It’s the strain of pushing back the wolf. I’m no ordinary Alpha wolf. My power is immense and that goes for the wolf as well. Because it’s so strong, it’s more difficult for me to hold it at bay, than it is for any other 'regular' wolf.
I turn to Carter and push my jacket into his hands rudely. He just smiles and nods. He knows better than to call me on my attitude when I’m like this. I’m not gonna fucking apologize for it either. I’m his Alpha. It’s his job to fall in line and take my shit when he needs to. I don’t apologize to anyone. It’s an act of compassion brought forth by emotion.
Emotion is weakness.
I finger the handgun holstered at the right hip of my black leather pants. That bitch is lucky I’m not packing silver bullets.
As I adjust my black push-up bra beneath my skin-tight white tank, I catch Carter staring a little too closely. I roll my eyes and don’t bother calling him on it. All the male wolves are like that around me. They can smell my heightened sexuality, because of my 'gift
'.
With me, everything is intensified. Also, I know how hot I am. Yeah, I’m an arrogant bitch and I’m proud of it. There’s no place for modesty or pussyfooting around in my world.
Life on the run isn’t for the weak. Call it a cliché, but it’s true when they say that only the strong survive. I’ve learned that the hard way.
“Stay here and keep watch, Carter.”
“Aria, I can back you up.”
My first reaction is to reprimand him for not accepting my orders without question. But I see the look in his eyes. He’s concerned for my safety. Carter always carries out my orders without question
except
when he believes I may be walking into some sort of danger. He’s as loyal to me as he was to my father for the two decades that he stood beside
him
as
his
second-in-command.
“I’ll be fine,” I respond, careful not to show him any emotion or affection. Although I’m touched by his concern, I will never admit it. In my experience, when people believe they’ve connected with you emotionally, that’s when they’re able to manipulate you. No fucking thanks.
I haul open the bar door, keeping a check on my strength, so I don’t rip the damned thing off its hinges. No need to show my hand so early.
The second I step across the threshold, the stomach-churning stench of stale beer, sex and sweat assaults my sensitive wolf senses.
My eyes zero in on the sea of leather cuts, identifying each guy inside as a member of the MC. My wolf growls inwardly as it registers each potential threat. Right now they’re too busy to notice my foreign presence. They’ve got enough scantily clad sluts grinding up on them or kneeling at their feet and pleasuring them to ensure my invisibility. At least for the moment.
I take a second to tune out the cacophony of abrasive laughter, cheering and conversation to prevent it from overwhelming my wolf hearing. I’m not used to being around humans and it’s a little much to take for someone with senses as well attuned as mine. But, fortunately, I learned how to control it years ago.
It takes me under thirty seconds to lock onto Vicki’s scent. My gaze snaps to a booth in the corner and, sure enough, there she is grinding on some middle-aged, overweight thug. The
Prez
emblem on his leather cut doesn’t escape my notice. Great. He’s the president of this damn motorcycle club, which means I’m gonna incur the wrath of every single guy in here by taking away his slut candy. Watching their hands and mouths all over one another churns my stomach. She might technically be fifty, but wolves stop ageing somewhere between their mid-twenties and thirties—it’s different for each one. She looks young enough to be his daughter. Sickening. The guy probably thinks it’s his fucking birthday.
I reach them and don’t bother to say a word. They’re both too busy dry humping one another for that. Instead, I grab Vicki’s shoulder and haul her off him, barely needing to use any effort to lift the skinny bitch’s weight. God, she’s so washed up. Ugly platinum blonde hair, too much makeup and barely a scrap of a dress to cover up the fact that she’s not wearing any damn underwear. I’m all for fucking about, but have some damned dignity while you’re at it. I would
never
let a guy use me and take control like she was allowing him to.
Vicki struggles to maintain her balance. When she does manage to stabilize herself, she spins around to face me. Her eyes widen and I feel her fear. It’s gone in a split second as she covers it up with indifference.
I gesture to the door. “Go,” I command her.
“She’s not going anywhere,” her companion says from behind me.
I feel him approaching me.
I don’t bother to turn around. I keep my glare on Vicki.
“Do you know who I am, bitch?” he presses.
The word 'bitch' grates on my last nerve and I fight to hold my temper in check. Once I lose it, all bets are off. The wolf could tear this place apart, along with every single asshole inside.
“Walk,” I grit out to Vicki.
She looks shit-scared again as she catches sight of my gray eyes flashing with fire.
Yeah, you should be scared.
She gulps and then hightails it to the exit. As she pushes through the door, I see Carter grab her the moment she steps outside. Good. He’ll keep hold of her until I finish up here.
“I’m Raze, the President of this club. You just interrupted a business deal. Not a smart move, sweet thing.”
I can’t actually believe he’s still talking to me. Shit-heads like him really think they’re the be all and end all just because they’re packing a damn pistol and a blade or two.
Slowly, I turn around and look up at him. He glares down at me. He looms over me, trying to intimidate me with the height difference between us. A six-foot giant of a man versus my compact five-foot frame.
Size isn’t everything, dick head. It’s all about how you use it.
I wish more assholes like him got that.
He looks me over, eye-fucking me on the spot. He takes in the ink covering my upper arms and then his eyes linger on my left boob and the black wolf tattooed over my heart.
My senses alert me to the fact that the dozen or so men in the bar have risen to their feet and are slowly approaching us to back up their leader.
“Tell me,” I say, folding my arms across my chest calmly, “What did she get in exchange for fucking a greasy, ugly, poor excuse for a man like you?”
His eyes narrow to slits and he grabs a handful of my blood-red curls and snarls, “You’ve got a mouth on you, bitch. We’re gonna teach you a lesson in respect.”
I grab his hand on my hair and growl, “I’m gonna make you
my
bitch.”
He cries out in agony as I tighten my grip, crushing his hand in mine. I watch him shift his weight and I know what he’s going to do. He’s so obvious about it.
Before he can even ready the fist of the hand I haven’t crushed, I thrust out my own, right into his solar plexus. The power behind it sends him smacking into the wall a good few feet back. He grunts as he bounces off it and crashes into the table of another booth. It collapses under his weight, leaving him sprawled out amid the wreckage.