Page 5 of Wilde and Untamed
Elliot checked his watch again and swore under his breath. “We’ll finish this later. Just be ready.”
“Always am,” Griffin said as he headed to the door. He paused at the threshold and glanced back. ”Just... be careful, cuz. With Frost, with Praetorian. With her.”
“I’m always careful.”
Griffin’s laugh was sharp and genuine. “No, you’re not. You’re just better at hiding the reckless shit than the rest of us. But don’t worry. I’ll be ready to pull your ass out if you need me.“ He tapped his knuckles against the doorframe. “And for what it’s worth, I’m happy for Davey. Just wish it hadn’t cost us Cade.”
Elliot didn’t move as Griff vanished down the hallway. The mention of Cade twisted in his chest. Another fracture in their family, another casualty of the war with Praetorian.
But he couldn’t fix that right now.
He had exactly three minutes to get to Frost’s, and being late to Atlas Frost’s party wasn’t just rude, it was potentially dangerous.
He snatched up his keys and moved for the elevator, checking his reflection in the polished steel doors as they slid shut. Griffin hadn’t been wrong about the tie. He looked like he was trying too hard, which was absurd. This was a mission, nothing more. Another cover to keep intact.
The fact that his pulse kicked up a notch every time he thought about spending three weeks pretending to be engaged to Rue Bristow was irrelevant.
The elevator descended toward the parking garage, and Elliot tried to focus on the tactical elements of the evening. Frost’s penthouse would be crawling with New York’s elite—politicians, tech moguls, old money socialites. Any one of them could be connected to Praetorian, feeding information back to their handlers. He needed to stay sharp, watch for tells, catalog faces and conversations.
The elevator dinged softly as it reached the garage level. Elliot stepped out into the concrete cavern of WSW’s underground parking, his footsteps echoing off the walls. His motorcycle waited in its designated spot—a sleek black Ducati that could slice through Manhattan traffic like a blade.
He swung his leg over the bike and fired up the engine, the rumble reverberating through the garage. The familiar weight of the machine beneath him helped center his thoughts. This was what he was good at—moving fast, thinking faster, staying one step ahead of whatever was coming.
Even if what was coming was Rue in a cocktail dress, probably already three drinks in and charming information out of every dangerous person in the room.
The ride to Frost’s building took exactly four minutes through the maze of Manhattan streets. Elliot pulled up to the valet stand outside the gleaming tower that housed Atlas Frost’s penthouse, handing over his bike to a young man who looked like he’d rather be anywhere else. If he had the time, he’d have parked it himself. But he didn’t have time.
The lobby was all marble and glass, designed to intimidate. It didn’t work. Much.
He announced himself to the security desk and waited while they verified his invitation, studying the cameras positioned atevery angle. Frost didn’t take chances with his security, which made him wonder what exactly the man was protecting.
The private elevator to the penthouse required a key card, which the security guard swiped before hitting the button for the fiftieth floor. As the doors slid shut and the elevator began its ascent, Elliot felt the familiar pre-mission tension settle into his shoulders. By the time those doors opened again, he’d be in character. Rue’s devoted fiancé, protective but not overbearing, successful enough to run in Frost’s circles but not threatening enough to be a problem.
The elevator climbed silently through the floors, each number lighting up in sequence. Forty-seven. Forty-eight. Forty-nine.
At fifty, the doors opened onto another world entirely.
three
Rue Bristow had grownup in a training facility for some of the baddest badasses on the planet, surrounded by special forces operatives, mercenaries, and the kind of people who could kill you with a paperclip and a rubber band. She’d learned to read danger signals before she could properly tie her shoes.
So when she stepped into Atlas Frost’s penthouse and every instinct she possessed started screaming, she knew this party was going to be trouble.
And not the fun kind.
The space was all glass and steel, designed to showcase the glittering Manhattan skyline stretching endlessly beyond floor-to-ceiling windows. Beautiful people in expensive clothes clustered around cocktail tables, their laughter mixing with the soft jazz drifting from hidden speakers. Everything looked perfect. Civilized. Harmless.
Which was exactly what made her skin crawl.
Rue adjusted her grip on the fizzy energy drink she’d sweet-talked the bartender into giving her instead of champagne. She preferred caffeine to the fuzzy buzz of champagne. It kept hersharp while everyone else loosened up. Her dad had taught her long ago that people always assumed your glass matched theirs, and assumptions were useful things.
She scanned the room again. She’d been here for twenty minutes, and the conversations she’d overheard had been increasingly bizarre. People who were supposed to be discussing climate research were fixating on specific logistical questions about the expedition. And, okay, the questions themselves weren’t necessarily suspicious—these people were investors, after all. But it was the way they asked that set off all her internal warning bells.
She’d called Elliot for a reason. She wasn’t stupid, no matter what her older sister thought. Rue might chase thrills, but she wasn’t suicidal.
And speaking of the most uptight of the Wildes, where the hell was he? He was late, and that wasn’t like him.
“The logistics must be fascinating,” purred a woman in emeralds whose name Rue had already forgotten. “All that equipment transport in such isolated conditions.”
