Page 79 of Wilde and Deadly

“No, but it happened on my watch.”

Jude crouched in front of him, steel in his blue eyes. “Then do what you do best. Get up. Get even. But don’t sit here beating yourself up for something you couldn’t have seen coming.”

Davey let out a breath, tension coiled so tight in his chest it ached.

“Just eat something,” Dom said from the doorway, his usual easygoing demeanor absent. “Then go hunt down the bastard who did this.”

Davey huffed. “Thought you were supposed to be the nice one.”

“I am,” Dom said. “But I draw the line at someone poisoning my brother.”

Before Davey could respond, a soft groan from the bed cut through the room.

He shot to his feet, heart slamming against his ribs as the heart monitor spiked.

Elliot shifted, his brow furrowing. His eyes fluttered open, bleary and unfocused, before landing on Davey.

For a long second, he just blinked.

Then his lips parted, his voice rough as hell. “Shit. Am I dead?”

Libby made a choked sound—a half-laugh, half-sob—as she pressed a trembling hand over her mouth. The relief in her eyes was stark, glassy with unshed tears.

Jude exhaled sharply, tension draining from his body so fast he had to grip the back of Davey’s chair to steady himself. His fingers flexed against the worn fabric, knuckles white, but his voice, when it came, was even. Firm. “Not yet.”

Dom let out a breath and scrubbed both hands over his face. “Jesus, El.” His voice was thin, unsteady. “Had to make an entrance, huh?”

Elliot’s lips twitched—just a flicker of his usual smirk—but then he winced.

Davey picked up the cup of water the nurse left and held it to Elliot’s lips. “Easy. Small sips.”

Elliot obeyed, taking a few careful swallows before leaning back against the pillows like that little bit of movement had exhausted him. “Ugh. Feels like someone used my stomach as a basketball.”

“Because they pumped it,” Davey said, voice rough. “Maybe don’t eat poison next time, dumbass.”

Elliot’s eyes flickered to his mother, then back to Davey. The haze of confusion was clearing, replaced by a sharpness that belied his weakened state. “Right. Poison. And here I thought it was just bad pizza.”

A sharp inhale from Libby. She crossed to the bed in a rush, smoothing Elliot’s sweat-damp hair back with shaking fingers. “God, baby, you scared the hell out of us.”

“Sorry, Mom,” Elliot mumbled, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment as he leaned into her touch. When he opened them again, his gaze swept the room, taking in the tense faces of his family. “How long was I out?”

“Eight hours, fourteen minutes,” Davey said, his voice clipped.

Elliot’s eyebrows rose. “You weren’t keeping count of seconds, too, big brother?”

“Twenty-six seconds. Happy now?”

A flicker of understanding passed between them. Elliot’s expression softened. “I’m okay, Davey.”

“You almost weren’t.”

Jude’s jaw flexed. He didn’t speak, but the weight of his fury settled over the room like a tangible thing. Dom stood rigid beside him, his usual happy-go-lucky energy replaced with something colder, more focused.

Elliot shifted, wincing as he tried to sit up straighter. “What about Benji?

Davey hesitated. Then shook his head. “Didn’t make it. He was already gone by the time we got there, and you were blue—” His voice broke, and he couldn’t finish the sentence.

“Fuck.” Elliot exhaled sharply, scrubbing a shaky hand over his face. “Fuck!”

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