Page 159 of Wilde and Deadly

“And yet you all but handled me to Praetorian on a silver platter.”

Silence.

Davey felt it like a fist to the ribs—sharp, unrelenting, and deserved. Because he had. He had. He’d sat in that goddamn penthouse and let Stirling name his price. He’d agreed to cut Cade loose to save Rowan, to end the threat, to walk away from that table with his people still breathing.

And it didn’t matter that he’d had no other choice. Cade was still the one who paid the price.

Guilt churned in his gut, but fuck if he could afford to drown in it now. “We’ll figure out a way to keep you on the payroll.”

Cade let out a sharp, humorless laugh, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Keep me on the payroll? Jesus, Davey.”

His voice was quieter now, but that only made it worse. “You think this is about a paycheck? That you can write a number on a check and make this go away?” His lips curled into something almost like a smirk, but there was no amusement in it. Just something hollow. “You didn’t just fire me. You traded me.”

The word hit like a punch to the ribs, and he couldn’t control his sharp intake of breath. “Cade?—”

“You let Stirling put my name on the table like it was a fucking bargaining chip. Like I was something to be leveraged. And now you want to throw me a bone? Like that’ll fix it?” He pushed away from the railing and turned, his eyes burning. “You can’t fix this, Davey. You got what you wanted. The company, the trust, the team. You don’t need me. And honestly? I don’t think I need you anymore, either. So let me save you the trouble of firing me. I quit.”

The words cut deeper than Davey cared to admit. He opened his mouth to argue, to plead, but Cade didn’t give him the chance. He brushed past him, his shoulder bumping Davey’s, and walked toward the stairwell door.

“Cade—” Davey tried again, but the door slammed shut, the sound echoing in the empty space.

Davey stood frozen, staring at the spot where Cade had been. The weight in his chest felt unbearable, as if something had cracked wide open, and he wasn’t sure it could ever be put back together.

The door behind him creaked open, and for a moment, he thought—hoped—it might be Cade coming back. He turned, but it was Rowan who stepped out, her silhouette backlit by the warm glow of the stairwell.

She hesitated, her hand resting on the doorframe. “Hey.”

“Hey.” His voice was rougher than he wanted it to be, the weight of everything pressing down on him. He turned back to the skyline, his shoulders tight. He didn’t want her to see how much Cade’s departure had gutted him.

But then, this was Rowan—she probably already knew.

She crossed the rooftop, the click of her boots soft against the concrete. She stopped beside him, so close that her shoulder brushed his arm, warm even through the chill of the early morning air. For a moment, she didn’t say anything, just stood there, her gaze on the horizon where streaks of gold and violet bled into the city skyline.

“Hell of a night.”

His laugh was rough, nearly a scoff. “Understatement, Hellcat.”

She reached for his arm, fingers curling around his bicep as she leaned her head against his shoulder. “I saw him on the stairs. He looked pissed,” she murmured. “You okay?”

Davey let out a slow breath and turned toward her, dragging her into his arms, needing her warmth, her presence. He buried his face in her hair and repeated her words from the elevator: “Not really.”

She smiled, but worry filled her eyes as she studied his face. She brushed a wayward lock of hair from his forehead. “It’s Cade. He’ll cool off and come around.”

He wanted to believe that, but…

He shook his head. “You didn’t see the look in his eyes, Ro. I offered to keep him in the company, off the books, but he quit. And he meant it. He’s done.”

“Maybe for now,” she said. “But people don’t stay angry forever.”

“Have you met Cade?”

She huffed a small laugh, shaking her head. “I have, and I stand by what I said. Even he won’t stay angry forever. He cares too much. About you, this company, this insane family of yours.”

His throat tightened, his hands flexing against her lower back. “It’s not just anger. He doesn’t trust me anymore. And maybe he’s right not to.”

Rowan tilted her head up to meet his gaze, her touch achingly gentle as she cupped his face, her thumbs brushing over the tension at his jaw. He closed his eyes for half a second, just long enough to absorb the warmth of her hands, to hold onto the moment before reality crashed back down on him.

“Don’t do that,” she murmured. “Don’t carry all of this on yourself. What happened wasn’t all on you.”

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