Page 61 of Wilde and Deadly

“Ohh, this is nice,” Benji said, rubbing the leather seat with both palms.

Rowan twisted in the passenger seat to glare at him. “Touch anything, and I’ll break your fingers.”

Benji snatched his hands back, holding them up in surrender. “Message received, scary assassin lady. I’ll keep my paws to myself.” When the car rumbled to life, he cackled with delight. “A combustion engine? Not electric! Damn, I didn’t think anyone still drove these things.”

Davey glanced at him in the rearview mirror. “It’s a classic. Now shut up and keep your head down until we get to the safe house.”

Benji mimed zipping his lips, but his eyes still gleamed with excitement as he hunched down in the backseat, hugging his hoodie.

Davey pulled the Mustang smoothly into traffic, the powerful engine purring as they wove through the midday crush of taxis and self-driving cars. The gleaming spires of Manhattan rose around them, the sleek glass and steel of the skyscrapers reflecting the watery winter sunlight.

The ride across town was tense and mostly silent, broken only by Benji's occasional nervous tapping against his laptop case.

Rowan stared out the window, her mind churning.

Atlas Frost.

What was his play here?

And how deep did this go?

They arrived at a quiet luxury high-rise on West 82nd, its sleek facade elegant but unobtrusive— the kind of place where high-profile residents valued privacy over flash.

“This is your safe house?” Benji asked, peering out the window. “Looks pretty swanky for a bunch of mercenaries.”

“It’s an investment property,” Davey said shortly, steering the Mustang into the underground parking garage. He parked in a corner spot near the elevator and killed the engine. “Easier to secure than a hotel. Now move.”

They hustled Benji into the private elevator, with Rowan keeping a wary eye on the garage until the doors whispered closed. The ride up was tense, Benji shifting from foot to foot, still clutching his damp hoodie like it was a shield.

The elevator doors slid open on the 15th floor, revealing a spacious apartment with floor-to-ceiling windows and a sweeping city view. Minimalist furniture in muted tones and abstract art pieces gave the space a modern, curated sophistication—sleek, expensive, and impersonal. Everything was deliberate. Nothing personal. Nothing traceable.

Davey ushered Benji and Rowan inside, and her gaze swept the room out of habit. The rest of the team was already there, gathered around the large dining table between the kitchen and the living area.

“You’re late.” Elliot looked up from his tablet, his eyes narrowing slightly behind his glasses as he took in Benji's disheveled appearance. “Who the hell’s that?”

fifteen

“This is Benji,”Davey said. “He’s one of Rowan’s informants. He’s offered us intel in exchange for protection.”

Benji shifted nervously from foot to foot, his eyes darting to each man in the room. Elliot sat at the end of the table doing something on a tablet. He had his glasses on, so he was deep in work mode. Dominic paced the length of the room, radiating restless energy, his need todo somethingpalpable. Meanwhile, Sabin lounged in a nearby chair, one leg thrown over the arm, perfectly relaxed. Too often, he reminded Davey of a big cat, seemingly lazy but always ready to pounce at a moment’s notice.

Sullivan and Brody O’Connell sat at the opposite end of the table from Elliot, a forgotten card game splayed between them. The twins were identical—same dark hair, same intense gray eyes—but the scar slicing down the side of Sullivan’s face set them apart. While Brody was all polished charm, Sullivan had a rough edge that made people think twice before messing with him. But according to Elliot, Sully was a good guy. Loyal, reliable, steady. His twin was a little more reckless and carefree but no less loyal.

And, finally, rounding out the group, there was Liam, leaning against the wall, his arms crossed, his head tilted back, eyes closed. Liam had been born deaf, but had a cochlear implant that he usually turned off in busy environments. Whether or not he had it turned off now was anyone’s guess. Either way, he was about as deadly as men came and could shoot any weapon you put in his hands with almost preternatural accuracy.

Benji swallowed audibly, his fingers tightening around the edge of his hoodie like it was the only thing keeping him grounded. His eyes darted to the table, then to the door, then he turned like he wanted to bolt.

Rowan stepped in front of the door, blocking his path. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“Yeah, I-I don’t know about this, man. I just want to stay alive, all right? I didn’t sign up for some James Bond spy shit.”

Rowan rolled her eyes and spun him around so he was facing the room again. “Relax, Benji. No one’s asking you to play secret agent. You wanted protection…” She motioned to the men. “Meet the best in the business.”

Elliot frowned and took off his glasses, folding them on top of his tablet. “What kind of intel?”

Since Benji didn’t seem inclined to answer, Davey did. He crossed to the fridge and tapped the door to see what they had stocked. “I assume you’ve briefed everyone on the situation?”

“Yeah, someone put a goddamn hit on you,” Brody said, his hand tightening into a fist on the table.

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