Page 26 of Wilde and Deadly

Her fingers tightened around the gun.

She raised it.

Fired twice.

The shots rang out like thunder.

The man jerked, his body spasming before it hit the pavement.

Silence.

For a long moment, all she could hear was her own ragged breathing. The distant lap of the river. The dull roar of blood in her ears.

She took a step. Wobbled. The world swayed violently.

Shit.

The world tilted sideways. Rowan threw a hand out, catching herself against the hood. She could feel the blood pooling in her boot now. Not good. She lifted her fingers from the wound. Dark red gleamed in the streetlights, soaking into her jacket.

“Fuck,” she hissed through clenched teeth.

The knife was still in her. She knew better than to pull it out, but damn, everything in her screamed to do something.

Her vision blurred as she yanked open the badly dented car door, and the interior swam in and out of focus.

“Come on,” she growled at herself. “Move.”

She slid behind the wheel, each movement a new level of agony. Her hands trembled as she slammed the start button. The engine thankfully roared to life.

The SUV, the bodies, the bloodstained pavement—they all disappeared in the rearview mirror as she peeled out, tires squealing.

She merged onto the highway, her bloody hands slipping on the wheel.

God, that was a lot of blood. Too much.

A wave of dizziness crashed over her, and the road tilted like a ship in a storm. She gritted her teeth and tightened her hands on the wheel until the leather creaked under her palms, and her knuckles went white.

Stay awake. Stay upright. Don’t pass out.

Her body screamed. Her vision pulsed at the edges.

But none of that mattered.

They’d found her. Which meant nowhere was safe. Which meant Davey wasn’t safe.

Her stomach twisted, not from pain but from the realization that settled like lead in her gut.

She had no choice.

As much as she hated to admit it, she couldn’t patch this up on her own.

She needed help.

She neededDavey.

seven

Davey wasbone-tired as he parked his car in his reserved space in front of the stately brownstone on the Upper West Side. His parents had bought the place when WSW moved its headquarters to New York City from Washington, D.C., eventually turning the huge house into apartments for him and his brothers. He had the first two floors, Elliot had the next two, and Dom the two above that. The seventh floor and rooftop terrace were common spaces they all shared. Usually, he liked having his brothers close by, but tonight, he was glad to see neither Elliot’s BMW nor Dom’s Camaro in their spaces, even though he’d left work long after they had.

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