Page 17 of Wilde and Deadly

He exhaled in a rush. “No. On three?”

She nodded, tensing her muscles, readying to spring to her feet and run. “One... two...”

Before she could say “three,” Davey surged up, firing off several rapid shots. One attacker went down with a cry of pain, but more flooded in.

God. They were like rats streaming out of a sewer during a flood—relentless, impossible to contain. Her pulse spiked, adrenaline surging as the reality of how screwed they were sank in.

“Go!” Davey shouted.

He didn’t have to tell her twice.

Rowan sprinted for the window, crashing through it shoulder-first. Glass exploded around her, glittering like deadly confetti, slicing into her skin as she fell. Her backpack absorbed most of the impact, but pain still rippled sharply through her shoulder and ribs, stealing her breath. She forced herself to roll with it, gritting her teeth as she landed in a crouch on the sidewalk.

Her muscles screamed, but there was no time to register the hurt. She spun around, gun raised, finger hovering on the trigger, pulse roaring in her ears. She braced herself, scanning wildly for Davey, heart in her throat.

He burst through the shattered window a heartbeat later, landing heavily, his leg nearly buckling beneath him.

“I didn’t say three yet,” she snapped, fear bleeding into frustration. She grabbed his hand and hauled him upright.

“You were taking too damn long.” He winced as he put weight on his bad leg, but it didn’t slow him down. His grip tightened on her hand as they shoved through the startled pedestrians. Furious shouts echoed behind them, footsteps closing in.

Too close.

Way too fucking close.

“This way.” He yanked her down a narrow alley that stunk of garbage.

Rowan’s heart pounded relentlessly. How had she let it get this far? How had she dragged Davey into something she should’ve handled alone? Guilt, sharp and nauseating, coiled through her as they burst from the alley onto another crowded street.

She’d lost control of the situation.

And now Davey was in the crosshairs. Right where she hadn’t wanted him to be.

He flagged down a cab, practically shoving her inside before sliding in after her and slamming the door shut.

“550 West 34th Street,” he said to the driver like they hadn’t just run for their lives.

The cab pulled smoothly from the curb just as their pursuers burst into view, their angry faces receding into the distance. Rowan twisted in her seat, watching them vanish, heart still racing wildly.

“You okay?” Davey asked, not so subtly scanning her for injuries.

“I’m fine.” She winced as she plucked a shard of glass from her arm. “You?”

“Still breathing.” He shifted his bad leg as if testing it and hissed out a breath. “What the fuck was that?”

She slumped into the seat, her adrenaline fading into bone-deep exhaustion. Her entire plan—carefully crafted, meticulously arranged—had blown apart like a grenade in her face. “That’s why I told you to walk away.”

“Not a chance in hell.” Davey’s eyes darkened, and his voice had gone dangerously soft. “You’re in deep shit, Ro. Way deeper than I thought. It’s time to come clean.”

Only then did she register the address he’d give the driver. 550 West 34th was the location of Summit One, the sleek, asymmetrical glass and steel skyscraper that housed Wilde Security Worldwide.

No.

Oh, hell, no.

If he got her to Summit One, she’d be trapped under the watchful eyes of WSW, with no chance to slip away unnoticed. Panic surged through her veins like liquid fire, and she reached for the door.

Davey’s fingers wrapped around her wrist. “Relax,” he murmured. “You’re safe now.”

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