Series: Lee Savino
Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 63295 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 316(@200wpm)___ 253(@250wpm)___ 211(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63295 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 316(@200wpm)___ 253(@250wpm)___ 211(@300wpm)
“Better, now that I’m not being poisoned. Que cabrón. I can’t believe that pendejo.”
“We’ll make him pay.” Darius sounds grim and determined. I’m with him, but I need a moment to savor my freedom.
I turn and take Darius’ hand. “Show me around?”
My Viking flashes a devastating smile. “My pleasure.” He leads me on a trail that curves down and meets another footpath. His boots crunch fallen leaves. Birds flutter to and fro as if unafraid of us. It’s so different from Lockepoint. From the East coast.
“Are there a lot of bears in these woods?” I ask. I’m glad we’re staying on a well-worn trail.
“Uh…” Darius seems caught off-guard. “A fair amount.”
“Really?” my reply comes out a squeak. “Are they all as big as the one I saw?”
“That one is the biggest,” he assures me. Which isn’t reassuring at all. “Let’s keep walking,” he says like he’s trying to change the subject.
I narrow my eyes at him but let him lead me further.
A chorus of shouts burst out. There’s something happening in the field beyond a belt of pine trees. I quicken my steps to find out what’s going on, but Darius seems reluctant to follow.
“Incoming!” someone shouts.
I step out onto the field just as a blurred shape darts past me. A tall, shirtless guy in a kilt runs full tilt into the forest, turning at the last minute to catch a big white ball. He crash lands onto a bush, but holds up the ball. “Got it!”
“Watch where you’re going,” Darius snarls. He inserts himself between me and the ball player, quicker than I can blink.
“Sorry, Darius,” the guy calls, throwing a curious look my way as he trots back on the field to join the other players.
There are four of them, all tall and broad-shouldered, and incredibly muscular. The shirtless one, the guy who crashed into the bush, has a chest that’s a jaw-dropping maze of muscles.
The players line up facing each other, two on two. Three of the four wear kilts. One has a poofy white pirate shirt and a red kilt, another has a poofy black pirate shirt that matches his black kilt. A third has a red kilt and no shirt. The fourth is dressed more normally, in a black t-shirt that shows off the tattoos covering his arms from the wrist up.
At some unseen signal, the shirtless one tosses the ball behind him to his teammate in jeans. The kilt-wearing opponents charge forward, but get blocked by the shirtless guy, who tackles them hard enough to slam them into the ground.
I wince, but they all spring to their feet.
“Canyon, what the hell?” shouts the one in the black kilt. “We’ve told you a thousand times. No tackling in rugby.”
“There is tackling. But we’re supposed to tackle him.” The one in the white shirt points to the tattooed player, who has strolled up to a nearby tree. He punts the ball through two forked branches, then pulls out a blunt from his pocket and lights it.
“Awww, Axel. No smoking ‘til the end of the game, you promised,” the three kilted players chorus. The three of them all have sandy brown hair and pale, freckled skin and appear the same age. They’re all the same height and build, too. They don’t look identical, but there’s a close resemblance.
The player near us blows out a cloud of skunky-smoke. He’s leaner than the other three and handsome as a movie star. His long black hair is pulled back into a ponytail. His t-shirt proudly proclaims that Triumph motorcycles are the best in the world.
“Hey, Darius,” he greets us. “Hey, Darius’ lady.”
“Axel,” Darius puts his arm around my waist. “This is Paloma.”
“Nice to meet you,” I say.
Axel offers me the blunt, and I decline with a wave of a hand.
The three kilted players crowd around. They’re all so tall, I feel like I’ve shrunk. “Hey, aren’t you going to introduce us?”
“Paloma, these are the triplets. Hutch,” Darius points to the one in the white shirt, “and Bern.” He points to the one in the black shirt.
“What about me?” The shirtless one pushes between the other two. Up close, his chest is even more amazing. Sweat runs down the grooves of his muscles and darkens the light hair at his temples.
“Put on a shirt, and I’ll think about it,” Darius growls.
“Canyon.” The shirtless one puts a hand to his chest. “Mi’lady.” The triplets all bow.
I stifle a laugh. They’re all so huge and adorable.
Darius squeezes me closer. He’s being all possessive, but I don’t hate it. “These are my stupid brothers.”
“Oh,” I make a mental note. The triplets and Axel all seem younger than Darius and Matthias.
“How many of us has she met?” Bern asks.
“Five. She met Matthias back at the cabin.”
“Has she met Teddy?” Canyon asks.
Darius stiffens at the mention of his twin. “Not yet.”