Page 126 of Wilde and Deadly

Instead, his gaze flicked up to the walkway.

Through the ghostly green glow of his NVGs, he picked out Dominic from the group. His brother was holding position near Cade, rifle steady, expression unreadable. But Davey didn’t need to see his face to know the truth.

If Dom was the one standing in Brody’s place, Davey wouldn’t stop either.

His stomach clenched.

Sullivan wasn’t just chasing a traitor. He was hunting his twin.

His other half.

And if it was Elliot or Dominic on the other side of this?

Davey would be the one marching down that tunnel, too.

The others were watching, waiting to see how this would play out. He could order Sullivan to stand down, but that wouldn’t do shit. If he forced the issue, Sullivan would go completely rogue.

And Davey couldn’t afford to lose both of the O’Connell twins in one night.

He exhaled, tension coiled tight in his chest. “Fine. But you follow my lead.”

Sullivan didn’t answer.

Didn’t need to.

Because if it came down to it, they both knew he wouldn’t.

But at least, for now, he fell into line with the rest of the team.

They moved forward, leaving the cramped tunnel behind as the space ahead opened up into something larger. The walls widened, the air shifting—less suffocating, but colder.

The ghost station.

A cavernous expanse of crumbling tile and rusted steel, forgotten beneath the city.

The station’s platform stretched out beside them, half-swallowed by darkness. The remains of old signage clung to the walls—letters half-faded, warped with time and water damage. Stagnant puddles lined the cracked concrete floor, their surfaces rippling as rats scurried through them, disturbed by their approach.

Somewhere above, the distant vibration of a train rumbled through the infrastructure, a ghost of movement in a place meant for the dead.

Davey kept his weapon raised, scanning the space ahead, every muscle tight.

Then—he saw him.

Liam.

Cuffed to a rusting bench.

A bomb vest strapped to his chest.

The world narrowed.

His vision tunneled, everything zeroing in on the blinking red countdown.

Five minutes.

Someone inhaled sharply.

Bridger went still.

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