Page 46 of Unveil
“Wait, don’t tell me. It’s bad luck. It won’t come true if you tell.” His smirk is tight. “We don’t want that, do we?”
I answer through gritted teeth. “Youwon’t want it to come true. But I sure as hell do.”
His eyes narrow, then a slow smile curls his mouth. “You’re hot when you’re mad. I like that in a fiancée. You’ll fit right in with the Furys.”
“Had many fiancées, have you?” I snarl.
“No, Luna.” His gaze locks on mine, all humor gone. “I’ll only ever have you.”
I let him see every drop of my hate.
“Be careful what you wish for, Orion Fury.”
Fuck, that was close.
My fingers shake as I inspect every bolt, wire, nook, and cranny of the SUV’s undercarriage, heartbeat thundering like the clouds rolling down the mountain. Adrenaline and exhaustion rattle through me as I work, not easing up even when I find the black box glued to the frame and start to pry it free. Without Luna watching, waiting to pounce on any sign of weakness, the anxiety that’s been pent-up since my brothers and I hatched this plan releases.
She’s given me the cold shoulder since the chase, eyes glued on the view. Fine by me. She can take in her new home without having to see how on edge I was while getting us out of enemy territory and into Lost Cove.
The past twenty-four hours have been a shit show.
This wasn’t the way I wanted to claim my bride. In all the time that I watched Luna Bordeaux, only once did I manage to get close enough without detection. Her needy moans from that night were the soundtrack to my fantasies for three hundredand sixty-five days. When I finally had her in my arms again, I wanted more ofthat—less murder, kidnapping, and car chase.
But Sol and the Wildes gave me no other choice but to steal back what’s mine.
And to top it off, before the deep woods swallowed my signal, my brothers texted that while they were checking on the other Troisgarde daughters, Bart slipped out of the hospital, somehow shaking my tranq dart within an hour. Which means Bartholomew Wilde is in the wind. Not good.
Dash and Hatch had to split up to search for him, which meant no running interference for the trackers Sol planted on their cars. We’d checked all our vehicles before the performance and removed the one from mine, leaving it in a local dumpster to keep their cars the decoys and mine in the clear.
We should’ve known something was off. The devices were in easy-to-find places and shitty models. It never crossed our minds that Sol would plant two, but he’s not the head of one of the most dangerous crime families in the country for nothing, and the smart motherfucker outplayed us. With my brothers stuck in New Orleans and a tracker still hidden on my SUV, Sol followed the only vehicle moving. Mine.
I grunt, leveraging my knife under the box. The thing’s stubborn as a tick. Granted,thisone is a BlackJack, a BlackStone Securities model, so I wouldn’t expect anything less. But thankfully, after another twist, it pops free.
“Got you, fucker.” I drop it into my hand and exhale, resting my head on the dirt.
Knowing I had this tracker on me for the last three hours in Wilde territory was enough to fuck me up.
Of course, Sol caught up with us right before the exit back to Dark Corner. With Nox racing me like a madman, I couldn’t risk taking a sharp turnoff and getting cornered, so into the lion’s den we went.
And not just any lion’s den. Ruth “Bossie” Wilde’s land. She’s the matriarch that runs these parts, grandmother to none other than Bartholomew, Rufus, and Ozias, and she’s as ruthless as they come. The last place I want Luna is anywhere near the Wildes, and I had to drive for hours in a land full of their proverbial landmines, each corner and bend a possible trap.
After an eternity, I finally got us into the red painted woods of Lost Cove, neutral territory in our world. We’re still hours from our Dark Corner holler, but safe from the Wildes, so I took the first dirt road turnout that could hide us to ditch the BlackJack.
The overgrown path led to a rocky cliffside where a river runs twenty feet below. Rain upstream has filled it to the brim, flooding banks and cresting over boulders. Humidity clings my shirt to my sweaty chest under my leather jacket. A gust whips under the SUV, bringing the earthy scent of petrichor and some relief from the early autumn heat.
Normally, I’d skip the jacket, but the heavy air, plummeting temps, and whistling wind means a storm’s brewing. A bad one, judging by the thunderclouds veiling the highest mountains on the horizon. The radio forecaster said it’ll rain buckets for the next week. “The storm of the century,” they said.
Folks ’round here don’t place much stock in catastrophizing like that. Meteorologists rarely get it right, focusing on the plains and valleys rather than the peaks. We’re a different biome—in every sense—but whether they’re right about the severity, a stormiscoming, and I need to get my girl home.
These mountains are prone to mudslides, rockslides, and washouts in the best conditions. Once we’re out of Lost Cove, we still have hours more off-roading to go, and it’s already dusk. I won’t feel safe until we’re in King Fury land, and I just want my bride home, where she belongs.
Once she’s there, I’ll do everything I can to convince her to be mine. I know I can do it. Like my father was able to with?—
Don’t think about that.
I shove the tracker into my pocket and scan the chassis, this time for damage. The Nyx Headhunter’s fender and tailgate are fucked from the love taps I gave the Bordeauxs, but it’s nothing I can’t fix with Hatch’s help. Everything under here looks fine.
The SUV shifts above me.
