Page 63 of Wild Angel

I don’t know why, and I don’t know who was involved, but that’s what I’m piecing together. I thought this upheaval was a recent thing—perhaps someone accidentally offed someone’s great aunt or something—but after everything I dug up on the Brennans, I’m not so sure anymore.

Nyx reappears a minute later, hauling a trash bag in each hand, her face set in a beautiful scowl.

God, I love it when she’s angry. It lights up something inside me. The part she calls a monster, I guess. The thing that makes me a sick fuck.

I open the trunk, and she comes around and tosses her things inside. I let her slam the lid closed. The sound reverberates around the empty street.

“Done?” I ask.

“Fuckingdone.” She stalks around to her passenger door, wobbling on her heels halfway and catching onto the roof to steady herself.

Me too, Angel.

I’m done trying to protect you from yourself.

I’m done pretending you’re my captive.

You’remine…and soon the whole fucking world will know it.

Chapter Thirty-One

Savage

“Seriously?” Nyx says dryly when I park alongside a sleek black Rolls Royce Cullinan limousine. The fluorescent lights above make the immaculate paintwork gleam as the armed guard goes to open the door.

I hold out my hand, and after a brief consideration, she takes it.

I lead her to the Rolls, but she draws up short before I can help her into the back. “My stuff,” she says, glancing back at the sedan’s trunk.

“They’ll bring it,” I tell her. The man who’d opened the door for us goes to the junker and slides in behind the wheel, adjusting the seat for his much shorter legs.

Nyx reluctantly climbs into the back seat, shifting over the pale leather to make room for me to get in after her. As I sit, she says, “Thank you.”

It catches me so off guard, I freeze in the act of tugging my jacket straight. “This isn’t a favor.”

Her eyes narrow. “Dick,” she mutters, turning to look around the cab.

A long bench runs alongside one side, a drinks station lit with a blue glow on the other. We’re sitting on the spacious two-seater bench that faces the front of the limousine.

Nyx’s fingers trace the stitches on the leather. “How much does something like this cost?” she asks casually.

“I don’t know. It was a gift.”

She snorts softly. “Of course it was.”

“We have a big day tomorrow.”

Nyx nods, her eyes glossing over as she stares at nothing. “You really think they’ll find him?”

“Donny?” I shrug and reach across the seat and take hold of her exploring hand. She flinches when I touch her, but she doesn’t draw away. “Depends whether he’s still alive or not.”

Her hand trembles, so I tighten my grip.

“He’s alive,” she says, her voice so determined, it’s like she’s willing the universe to make it happen. “He’s alive, and Patrick will find him. And then we’ll find Phoebe and Athena.”

I almost sayif they’re still alivebut something stops me. Instead, I ask, “Does it hurt?”

She blinks as she turns to me. “Does what hurt?”

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