Page 105 of Wilde and Deadly

Frost only laughed, all teeth and blood.

Davey reached them in two strides, shoving a hand against Sullivan’s chest before this turned into something messier. “Back off.”

Sullivan didn’t move.

“Sully.”

Nothing. His grip was locked, his jaw tight, his whole body wired.

Dangerous. That was the only word for what this moment was turning into.

Davey dug his fingers dug into Sullivan’s shoulder and dropped his voice to a low growl. “Stand down. Now.”

For a heartbeat, Sullivan didn’t move. His eyes were locked on Frost, something feral and desperate in his gaze. Then, with agonizing slowness, he released his grip on Frost’s collar. The chair settled back onto all four legs with a dull thud.

Frost’s grin widened, blood pearling at the corner of his mouth. “Ah,” he said, voice just this side of taunting. “I see it now. It could have so easily been you if they’d touched the right nerve, but you’re too unpredictable. Brody was the safer bet.”

Sullivan lunged forward again, but Davey was ready this time. He caught him around the chest, shoving him back. “I said stand down!” Then, softer: “Let me handle this. You’re too close.”

When Sullivan turned, Davey was struck by the raw fear and turmoil in the man’s eyes. Then, as quickly as it came, the moment passed. Sullivan’s jaw clenched and he pulled back, lifting his hands in a silent surrender.

Davey kept his gaze on Sullivan for a beat longer, making sure he wouldn’t lunge again. When he was satisfied, he turned back to Frost, who was watching the exchange with undisguised glee.

“You’re enjoying this.”

Frost’s smile was all bloody teeth. “Immensely.”

Davey kicked at his chair, tipping it onto its back. “Enough. You have exactly ten seconds to start talking before I decide whether to take you apart piece by piece. Or I can let Sully finish what he started.”

“Fine.” The amusement was still there, but underneath was the sharp, assessing eyes of a predator. “Fine. I’ll be generous. Consider this a freebie.” He smiled over at Sullivan. “Broderick O’Connell is your mole.”

The silence that followed was a black hole—sucking all the air, all the sound, all the sense out of the room.

For a full five seconds, no one moved.

“Bullshit,” Sullivan snarled and yanked the chair upright hard enough to give anyone whiplash.

Frost grunted in pain, but then just shrugged. “I know. Hard to hear, but your twin is a traitor. He’s been working against you this whole time.” He tilted his head toward Davey, lazy, like this wasn’t about to end in blood. “But he sees it, don’t you, Wilde?”

His stomach turned to stone. There it was. The thing he hadn’t wanted to name, hadn’t let himself believe.

And yet…

The second Frost had said it, something deep in his gut had twisted because it made too much sense.

Brody was the mole.

This whole time, he’d been the one pushing the hardest to go after Cade. He knew the evidence would back him up because he’d fucking planted it.

“You son of a bitch,” Davey growled, advancing on Frost. “How long has he been working for you?”

Frost’s smirk widened. “Oh, Brody doesn’t work for me. I’m just the messenger.”

“You’re lying,” Sullivan repeated, but this time his voice was quieter. More desperate.

Frost sighed, shaking his head. “No, Sully. You just don’t want it to be true.”

“Prove it.”

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