Page 29 of Wilde and Deadly

Davey exhaled sharply, shoving his phone back into his pocket. He cast one last glance at the car before turning on his heel and striding back to Rowan.

She hadn’t moved.

His stomach twisted at how damn still she was, her face too pale, her body unnervingly limp. Luka whined softly, still pressing close to her, his nose nudging at her shoulder.

“Yeah,” Davey murmured, crouching beside her again, running his hand over her hair without thinking. “I’m worried about her, too, buddy.”

The minutes crawled by like hours until he finally heard the screech of tires.

A sleek black car skidded to a stop, and Tessa Wilde leaped out, medical bag in hand, her dark hair spilling over her shoulders in loose waves. She moved with sharp, no-nonsense efficiency, her dark eyes already assessing the situation before she even reached them. The amber glow of the streetlights softened the warm caramel of her skin, but there was nothing soft about her expression.

“Jesus Christ,” she breathed as she knelt beside them. “What happened?”

“I don’t know. Found her like this. Knife’s still in her.”

Tessa’s hands were already moving, checking Rowan’s vitals. “We need to get her inside. Can you carry her?”

Davey nodded, sliding his arms carefully under Rowan’s limp body. He lifted her as gently as he could, gritting his teeth against the twinge in his bad leg.

They made their way quickly to Davey’s apartment, Tessa clearing a space on the dining table. “Put her here,” she directed, already pulling supplies from her bag.

Davey laid Rowan down, but he couldn’t make himself let her go right away. His hand lingered on her cheek. “Don’t you dare die on me, Bristow. You hear me? You don’t get to check out like this.”

Tessa shouldered him out of the way. “I need space to work, Davey. Go make yourself useful and boil some water.”

He nodded, forcing himself to step back. As he moved to the stove, his gaze never left Rowan’s pale face. Whatever had happened, whoever had done this to her, they were going to pay. He’d make damn sure of that.

His hands shook as he filled a pot with water and set it on the burner.Shook.His hands never did that. He clenched his jaw, forcing his grip steady, but the tremor wouldn’t stop. His fingers felt numb, foreign, like they belonged to someone else.

Boil water. Like this was any other night. Like Rowan wasn’t bleeding out on his kitchen table. Domestic normalcy clashing violently with the fucking nightmare unfolding behind him.

He braced his hands on the counter, gripping the edge so hard his knuckles went white. His lungs felt too tight.

Breathe, he reminded himself. In. Out. Again.

Behind him, the soft snick of scissors slicing through fabric made his stomach drop.

“Shit,” Tessa muttered. “This is bad, Davey. The knife’s in deep.”

He turned, dreading what he’d see—but unable to look away.

Blood. So much of it.

His gut twisted violently at the sight of her torso, skin streaked red, her shirt ruined, her body unnervingly still. He had seen wounds like this before—on the battlefield, on mission recoveries—but never on her. Never on Rowan.

And that was different. That was worse.

His voice came out rough, gritted between his teeth. “Can you get it out?”

Tessa’s face was grim. “I have to. But there’s a risk of further internal damage. We really should get her to a hospital.”

No.

His breath locked in his chest, muscles coiling like a live wire. A hospital meant exposure. A hospital meant more eyes, more risk, more people knowing she was alive when someone had just tried to make damn sure she wasn’t.

His voice came out sharper than he intended. “No. No hospitals. If someone’s after her, that’s the first place they’ll look. You know that.”

When Tessa met his gaze, her expression shifted—frustration, uncertainty, maybe even pity. He hated it.

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