Page 19 of The Order of Disorder

It can’t be.

My brain jams like someone yanked the emergency brake. But it’s him.

It’s him.

Standing in front of me like a mirage in the middle of a nightmare. The safest man I know. In this filthy, godforsaken circus of violence and depravity.

Wyatt.Wyatt.

His face is taut. His posture coiled. Those eyes—those icy blue, goddamn beautiful eyes—lock onto mine, and the whole world tips.

I stumble back against the bar, clawing for balance. Rox is saying something—my name? I don’t know. All I hear is my own pulse thudding in my ears.

“Wyatt!” The name bubbles out of me in an explosion of tears. I barely know I’m running until I hit him.

His arms catch me just as I slam into his chest. His handsfind my back. My hair.

“Max,” he gasps. “Max—Jesus. What the fuck?”

He holds my arms tight—too tight—examining my face, and then pulls me against him, hard.

I weep into the solid plane of his chest, overwhelmed by the sense of relief. It’s over.

It’s over, it’s over, it’s over.

He smells like safety. Like home. Like Leathernecks and his preferred brand of soap.

“You’re here,” I mumble into his chest, almost laughing. “Oh my god. Wyatt.”

He pulls me back, fingers digging into my arms, his eyes scanning me again—checking me over, like he doesn’t believe I’m real. I see him take in my state of undress. The g-string, nipple pasties, and nothing else. His whole expression fractures. Not just shock—like, terror. Confusion. Disbelief.

“Max, what are you—what the fuck are you doing here?” he whispers.

“I’m safe. It’s over. You found me.”

“Jesus Christ,” he breathes, worry and concern cracking over his face. Then he pulls me in again and holds me tight.

I don’t know how he did it. How he found me. How he got in. I can’t imagine how he plans to get me out of here.

“Are Jake and Damian here?” I ask, hope and grief bubbling up inside of me.

He goes still. Then locks up.

His fingers loosen in my hair. His spine straightens. I look up at him and his expression crumples.

“I take it you two know each other,” says the man standing beside him.

I blink at him in confusion. I’d forgotten anyone else was there. Rox’s boyfriend.

He’s a few years younger than Wyatt, body gone soft, but he still looks strong. Like somebody familiar with violence.

Why is Wyatt with him?

Wyatt doesn’t answer.

His mouth opens. Then closes. His hands drop.

“Who’s Wyatt?” Rox says suddenly, from behind me. She wraps her arms around the man beside Wyatt and kisses him. “Hi, baby,” she purrs.