Page 116 of Wilde and Deadly

She sighed, shaking her head, the last of her tension slipping from her shoulders like a loosened knot.

He watched her for a beat, then reached out, gripping her chin gently, tilting her head up until their gazes met. She should hate when he did that. It was so goddamn controlling.

So why did she melt every time?

He studied her expression, and the worry she saw in his eyes faded. He stroked his thumb across her cheekbone. “But the rest of it went okay?”

“Better than I expected.” The words felt strange on her tongue, and she didn’t quite believe them yet. She’d braced for anger, for blame. Instead, her taciturn, hardass father had just… accepted her. Forgiven her. “I mean, Dad didn’t disown me or threaten to murder you?—”

“Only kick my ass.”

“Right. That’s basically a hug from him. So we’re already ahead of my worst-case scenario.”

“That’s a pretty low bar, Hellcat,” he murmured, his voice warm with amusement as his lips brushed the shell of her ear.

She sighed. It was. But it was also just… the way things had always been.

She’d been raised in a compound full of mercenaries, where bedtime stories were replaced with field tactics, and instead of lullabies, she’d fallen asleep to the sound of her dad cleaning his sidearm. She had an ex-SEAL father who loved her but struggled to express it—a man who could dismantle an assault rifle blindfolded but never quite knew what to do when his daughters cried.

And then there was her mother—warm and wild and full of love but as untethered as the wind. She adored her children with everything she had. But she was an artist first, a dreamer who painted in broad, sweeping strokes, sometimes forgetting that life didn’t always fit neatly onto a canvas.

And Rue. Sweet, reckless Rue, who could charm her way out of anything, lived life like a runaway train and somehow still believed in love and fairy-tale endings.

They had grown up surrounded by gruff, scarred men who gave hugs like they were taking enemy fire and spoke in military lingo instead of heart-to-hearts. Their world had never been quiet. Never easy. It had been built on chaos and adrenaline, stitched together with gunpowder, oil paint, and the steady hum of a life lived on the edge.

Rowan wasn’t sure she knew how to exist any other way. How could she? She wasn’t built for anything else.

“This is my life, Davey.” She tightened her hand in his and drew back far enough to meet his gaze. “I don’t know how to have a normal one.”

“Then don’t. Normal is overrated. Messy, dangerous, chaotic—I don’t give a damn what kind of life you have.” His voice was quiet but sure, the weight of a promise in every word. He lifted their joined hands, pressing a kiss to her knuckles, lingering over her ring finger. “As long as it’s one with me.”

Her breath hitched. She was already there, already his in ways that terrified her. The warmth of his body, the steady strength of his arms wrapped around her, the quiet certainty in his touch—it unraveled something inside her, something reckless and raw.

That was all it took.

She surged forward, gripping his face as she kissed him. It was hungry, reckless, all heat and need. He met her with a growl, his lips crushing against hers, devouring her like he’d been starving for this. His fingers dug into her hips, pulling her closer like he could keep her there forever if he just held tight enough. One hand tangled in her hair, the other fisting the back of her shirt as if letting go wasn’t an option.

A sharp knock sounded, followed by the doorknob rattling and Sabin’s unmistakable drawl. “Y’all done in there, or I gotta hose you down? ‘Cause our Daphne’s about to pin down Brody’s exact location, so you ain’t got time for no post-lovin’ cuddles. We have a Liam to rescue.”

Davey pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against hers. “Guess that’s our cue.”

Rowan let out a breathless laugh, shaking her head. “His timing’s impeccable as always.”

Sabin knocked again, louder. “I swear, I’m gettin’ the hose! In three… two…”

“Jesus, we’re coming!” Davey groaned and stole one last firm kiss before lifting her off his lap. “Thank you for the distraction. I needed it. You ready?”

Rowan nodded and stood, rolling her shoulders back, letting the weight of the moment settle. “Let’s finish this.”

thirty

Liam cameto with a sharp inhale, a gasp that cut through the thick, suffocating darkness. White-hot pain lanced through his skull, sharp and immediate, like a live wire sparking behind his eyes. His vision blurred at the edges, swimming between flickering light and shadow. The scent of mildew and rust curled in his nostrils, damp and cloying. Cold metal bit into his wrists.

Cuffed. Trapped. Fucked.

He forced his breath to even out, shoving past the disorientation. His body still felt sluggish, like his brain was half a step behind the rest of him. But the last thing he remembered surged back into place?—

Brody.

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