Page 102 of Wilde and Deadly

Oh, fuck. That feeling—the sharp, gut-twisting realization that he was already mid-air, no parachute, no backup—hit fast and hard. The split-second before a mission went to hell. The moment before a detonation. The kind of second that stretched endlessly, when you knew you couldn’t stop what was coming, only brace for impact.

He’d seen it before—seen it in ops that turned into disasters. Seen it in soldiers’ eyes right before they realized they weren’t going home. And now?

Now he was watching it unfold in real-time, and he didn’t have a goddamn parachute.

He put the phone on speaker so Sabin and Rowan could hear the conversation. “Sullivan, tell me you didn’t kidnap Atlas fucking Frost.”

“For the record, Brody was against this. But we need answers,” Sullivan said, voice calm, level, like he didn’t just drop a fucking bomb on them. “And this fucker has answers.”

Davey pinched the bridge of his nose. “Jesus Christ.”

“Again, for the record,” Sully repeated, “Brody was very against this. This is all me.”

Davey exhaled through his teeth, already feeling the massive headache forming. “Where the fuck are you, Sully?”

“Went off grid. Don’t trust the safe houses anymore,” he said, sounding annoyingly pleased with himself. “Really, I thought you’d be thanking me, boss. You wanted answers, didn’t you?”

Davey shut his eyes. Breathed in. Out. Failed to find his calm.

“Sullivan.” His voice was dangerously even. “You kidnapped a billionaire with connections to every major criminal organization on the planet. What the fuck were you thinking?”

“I was thinking we needed answers,” Sullivan replied, his tone unapologetic. “And who better to give them than the man pulling all the strings?”

Davey exchanged a look with Rowan and saw his own frustration and disbelief reflected in her eyes. But under that—concern.

For Elliot. For Brody. For Liam. For how completely fucked this had just become.

“Where’s Brody now?” she asked, her voice tight with concern.

Silence.

A long one.

Too long.

Rowan straightened. Sabin stopped pacing. Davey’s grip on the phone tightened.

Finally, Sullivan muttered, “He, uh... he wasn’t too happy about the plan. We had words. He stormed out.”

Another complication they didn’t need. “And he hasn’t checked in since?”

“No,” Sullivan admitted. “Look, boss. I know this wasn’t exactly protocol?—”

“Understatement of the fucking century.” Davey shut his eyes for half a second. Liam was missing. Brody was missing. Cade was possibly lying. And Atlas Frost was now his hostage.

One problem at a time.

He wanted to tear into Sullivan for this idiotic, potentially catastrophic move, but there wasn’t time. “Send me directions to your location. We’re on our way. Don’t touch him. Don’t interrogate him. Don’t?—”

“Yeah, yeah,” Sully cut in. “Relax, boss.” A beat of silence. Then, with pure exasperation, he added, “Sure I can’t punch him? This asshole’s been smirking at me for two hours.”

Davey inhaled. Exhaled. “I don’t have the time or patience to dig a grave for you today, Sullivan. Tomorrow, though? You keep pressing my buttons, and I’ll clear my schedule.”

Sully snorted. “Roger that, boss man.”

Davey ended the call and just… stood there.

One problem at a time,he reminded himself.One fucking problem at a time.

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