Page 107 of Wilde and Deadly

“We’re nothing alike, Frost.”

The smile returned, as quick and sharp as ever. “You only wish that to be true, Cavalier.” He switched to French and said something that had Sabin’s eyes narrowing dangerously.

Jesus. Frost just couldn’t help himself, could he? He had to push everyone’s buttons until he got a reaction.

Davey stepped between them before a fight could break out. He held Frost’s gaze, searching for any hint of deception, but the man’s expression was unreadable. “What’s coming?”

Frost’s lips curved, but the humor was gone. “That would be telling.” He scooped his black hair away from his face, then straightened his jacket, composure firmly back in place. “Let’s just say the world is about to change. And not everyone will survive the shift.”

“Cut the cryptic bullshit,” Rowan snapped. “If you know something?—”

“I know many things, Ms. Bristow,” Frost interrupted smoothly. “But knowledge is power, and I’m not in the habit of giving that away for free.” He glanced at his watch like he was late for a pressing engagement, but when he looked up again, the smug mask slipped completely, revealing something almost... human underneath. “But I will tell you this— there are some things in this world even I wouldn’t sell. And if Praetorian has their way, one of those things will be auctioned very soon. That’s why they want to destabilize Wilde Security. You can stop them. I’mcounting on youto stop them because I can’t.”

“Can’t or won’t?” Sabin demanded.

Frost’s eyes flickered to him, a hint of amusement returning. “Can’t. Won’t. Does it matter? The result is the same.” He turned back to Davey, expression serious now, and with a flick of his wrist, a small data drive appeared between his fingers. “All the data I have on Brody O’Connell. Use it wisely. And now I expect a favor in return.” He tossed the drive, and Davey caught it reflexively.

“That wasn’t part of the deal.”

“It is now.”

“And you just happened to have exactly what we needed on you when Sully captured you?” Davey turned the drive over in his hand, then swore softly. “This was your plan all along, wasn’t it?”

Frost drew a handkerchief from his pocket. “I didn’t expect Sullivan to be quite so…” He winced as he dabbed at his bleeding lip. “Enthusiasticwith his fists, but yes, this was always the plan.”

“You’re a manipulative fuck.”

Frost pocketed the handkerchief and tipped his head in a slight bow. “Thank you.”

He turned to leave, but Rowan’s voice cut through the air like a whip.

“Wait.”

Frost paused, eyebrow raised.

Her stance was rigid, but Davey caught the desperation in her eyes—the raw, unguarded fear she rarely let slip. It twisted something deep in his chest. He stepped closer, creating a silent barrier between her and Frost. He wanted to pull her in and shield her from that sharp, knowing gaze that always cut too deep, always found the places that hurt.

“Please,” she said softly. “Just tell me. Rue. Is she safe?”

Something like genuine regret flickered across Frost’s face. “Define safe.”

Rowan took a step forward, fists clenched.

Davey caught her arm before she could get any nearer to Frost, pulling her back against his chest, keeping her from making a mistake she couldn’t take back. She was shaking, not with fear, but with fury.

“Easy,” he murmured. “I know you want to put a few holes in him, but we might still need him.” He looked at Frost again. “Rue is innocent. She’s not an operative. She has nothing to do with any of this.”

He felt Rowan tense under his grip. He could tell she wanted to argue, wanted to say Rue wasn’t helpless. But this wasn’t about whether Rue could handle herself.

It was about whether Frost had decided she was disposable.

Davey’s voice dropped, lethal now. “If she dies because of your manipulations, I’ll give your name to her father. I know you know who Gabe Bristow is.” He took a step closer, forcing Frost to actually meet his gaze. “Do you wanthimcoming after you?”

For the first time, Frost hesitated. His gaze flicked—just briefly—somewhere past Davey’s shoulder like he was actually calculating the risk.

And that told him more than Frost ever would.

“Okay.” Finally, the bastard sighed, rolling his shoulders like he didn’t like the weight of the moment. “You might want to send an operative to Antarctica with her.” That smirk—slow and sharp—slid back into place. “And now, you owe me two favors.”

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