Page 132 of Wilde and Deadly

No room to run. No room for mistakes.

His gaze tracked upward.

There. The access point.

A rusted metal ladder ran straight up from the support column to the walkway. And halfway up…

Brody.

He was moving fast, not trying for stealth. He didn’t know they were on his heels. He reached the top and hauled himself through a hatch onto the walkway.

Davey’s grip tightened around his rifle. They had the upper hand, the element of surprise. But that only meant something if they used it right.

If Sullivan went in half-cocked, they’d lose that advantage in a heartbeat. Worse, Brody could force a fight on the walkway—a fight where one misstep meant a hundred-foot drop into the icy river.

Not an option.

“Brody!” Sullivan’s voice ripped through the night, sharp as a gunshot.

Davey snapped toward him, heart lurching.

Fuck.

Brody froze and then, slowly, turned. A smirk curled at the edges of his mouth.

The element of surprise was gone.

Davey moved, instinct kicking in. “Sully, hold?—”

But Sullivan wasn’t listening. He was already on the ladder, hauling himself upward in quick, furious movements, his boots clanging against the metal rungs. His rifle was slung across his back, forgotten in his single-minded focus.

Brody watched from above, completely still.

Not running.

Not reaching for a weapon.

Just… watching. Waiting for his brother.

Davey’s gut twisted.

This wasn’t a chase anymore.

This was a confrontation.

Cade swore under his breath. “He’s not even trying to get away.”

“Maybe he thinks he can talk his way out of it?” Dom suggested, ever the optimist, trying to find some hope to hold onto. Trying to believe there was a way this didn’t end with a bullet.

“This is fucked,” Cade said.

Dom exhaled. “Okay, so what’s the plan—tackle Sully, shoot Brody, or just stay here and pray neither of them falls?”

Davey’s jaw tightened. “Brody has a detonator.”

Dom blinked. “Right. Forgot about that.”

Cade gave a short nod. “Let’s move.”

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