Page 16 of Wilde and Deadly

Panic spiked again, bitter and icy in her chest. The idea of facing her father, admitting all she’d done, all the ways she’d failed, was unbearable—but worse was the thought of Davey caught in the crossfire. She met his gaze, and her breath hitched painfully. The anger there she could handle. But the hurt—the raw, aching hurt lingering beneath it—shredded her from the inside out. She had done this to him, had pulled him into her tangled web of half-truths and desperate gambles. He didn’t deserve this, any of it.

“Walk away, Davey.” Her voice cracked, betraying the weakness she tried so hard to hide. “Please. Before you get hurt.”

Before I get you hurt. Before I have to watch the light drain from your eyes because of me.

But she knew he wouldn’t listen. He never had.

A storm gathered in those beautiful blue eyes, dark and dangerous. “Not a fucking chance.”

Dammit. Why did the man have to be so stubborn?

She opened her mouth to retort, but the words died on her lips as she caught movement in her peripheral vision. A hulking figure had just entered the bar, his hand reaching inside his jacket in a way that set off alarm bells in her mind.

“We need to move. Now.”

He must have sensed the shift in her demeanor because his grip on her arm loosened slightly. “What is it?”

“Trouble,” she hissed, already maneuvering them toward the back of the bar. “Big, angry-looking trouble with a gun.”

Davey’s eyes widened as he glanced over his shoulder just as two more goons filed in. “Shit. Friends of yours?”

“Not exactly.”

This was bad.

Very bad.

She’d hoped to have more time before they caught up with her.

“How about we find an exit?”

The hulking man’s eyes locked on them, and his face twisted into a snarl. He pulled a gun from under his coat.

“Down!” Rowan yelled, shoving Davey to the floor as gunshots erupted.

Chaos exploded in the bar. Patrons screamed and dove for cover. Glass shattered as bullets tore through bottles behind the bar.

Rowan army crawled toward a nearby table. Davey was right behind her. He flipped the table over to use as a shield, then grabbed his gun from its holster, checking his ammo situation before thumbing off the safety.

“Care to fill me in yet?”

“Answer’s still no.” She checked her weapon and then assessed their options. The back exit was blocked by one of the goons, and the front door was a death trap. She cursed under her breath.

“Christ, Ro. What have you gotten yourself into?”

Before she could answer, the table splintered above them. She rolled, coming up in a crouch with her weapon drawn. She fired two quick shots, satisfaction flaring as one of the goons went down, clutching his shoulder.

“Less talking, more shooting.”

Davey complied, his aim as deadly accurate as ever. “I can do both. Any brilliant ideas on how to get out of here?”

“Working on it.” She scanned the bar, her gaze landing on the picture window in front. It wasn’t bulletproof. A bullet had already cracked through the glass, and it wouldn’t take much to break the rest out.

“There,” she said, nodding toward it. “We can make it if we time it right.”

Davey looked at the window and then back at her like she was crazy.

“You got another plan, hot shot?”

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