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thirty-six

The gunfire had stopped.

In its wake, only silence.

Rowan.

He couldn’t raise her on the radio.

Or Weston.

Or Sabin.

Davey’s boots slammed against the cold concrete as he hit the tunnel at the bottom of the service stairwell. He wanted to run, wanted to scream Rowan’s name, but he forced himself to bite his tongue and fall in line behind Dom, who was WSW’s best at close-quarters combat. Cade was right behind him, methodical, sharp-eyed, ready for anything. Sullivan—silent, locked-down, and unreadable—brought up the rear, moving with a deadly efficiency.

Dom turned a corner and hesitated, lowering his weapon. Just for a second. And that alone made Davey’s stomach lurch. Because if Dom, who could find a silver lining in the middle of a firefight, was shaken, it was bad.

Davey followed, every step a painful eternity until he rounded the corner. Adrenaline buzzed in his veins, but it wasn’t enough to drown out the sheer, visceral panic clawing at his throat.

The tunnel was a war zone.

Davey didn’t care about the black-clad bodies on the ground. He didn’t care about the blood smeared across the concrete. His gaze locked on Weston, who was on his knees, barely staying upright, and Sabin, sprawled on the ground beside him.

Sabin’s face was a mess of bruises and blood, one eye swollen shut, his usually easy-going smirk nowhere to be found. Weston was in only slightly better shape, swaying on his feet, blood pouring from a deep gash on his forehead. He was trying—and failing—to keep Sabin from slipping into unconsciousness.

But Rowan?—

Rowan wasn’t here.

His brain refused to process it. She had to be here. She had to be close. Maybe—maybe she was just out of sight. Maybe?—

His stomach bottomed out, the walls pressing in, the air thinning. He turned in a slow circle, looking, searching—like if he just looked hard enough, she’d be there.

“Where is she?”

Weston’s eyes struggled to focus. “The... the shadows,” he mumbled. “They came out of nowhere.” He swayed, and Cade’s hand shot out to keep him upright.

Davey’s breath was sharp and uneven, his heart hammering against his ribs. He yanked his radio off his vest. “Daphne, where’s Rowan?”

A crackle, then her voice, sharp and focused. “Still tracking. No signal yet. Backup en route. Elliot and Tessa left Liam and Bridger at the hospital— ETA eight minutes. Rest of the team, thirteen to fifteen.”

Davey swallowed down the panic and turned back to Weston. “What the hell happened?”

“He doesn’t need an interrogation right now.” Cade’s jaw ticked as he took in the full extent of his little brother’s injuries. Blood matted Weston’s dark hair, trickling down his temple and staining the collar of his tactical gear. His skin was ashen, eyes glassy.

“West,” Cade said, his voice low and urgent. “Sit down.”

That unfocused gaze went to the ground. “But Sabin…”

“We’ll help him now.”

“I got him,” Dom said, shouldering his rifle and kneeling beside Sabin. He pulled the compact First Aid kit off his vest. His hands moved quickly, efficiently, as he assessed Sabin’s injuries and tried to staunch the bleeding from the worst of his head wounds. “He’s okay, West. It looks bad, but his pulse is steady, and he’s a stubborn bastard. He’ll live.”

Apparently satisfied, Weston collapsed back on his butt and exhaled a ragged breath. Tears streaked from his eyes, leaving rivulets through the blood on his face. He probably didn’t even realize he was crying. The guy was deep in shock.

Davey crouched in front of him and made his voice as gentle as possible despite the fear and rage crashing through his system with the adrenaline. “Hey, West. What happened?”

Weston blinked slowly like he didn’t understand the question. “They… they weren’t there. And then they were. Like ghosts. Like— No, not ghosts. He was… is… was… a—” He cut off, squeezing his temple like he could press the memory into place. “Fuck. My head.”

Davey clenched his jaw. “West. Focus. Who took Rowan?”

“A shadow. But not… He was real. Solid. Like he stepped out of thin air. Moved like... like nothing I’ve ever seen. But I felt like I had seen him somewhere before. Like I knew—” He winced and touched the gash at his temple, hissing in pain. But his eyes cleared. “We didn’t stand a chance. They had some kind of cloaking tech. We didn’t see them coming.”

“Waiting for us,” Sabin muttered, voice hoarse. They all whipped toward him as he tried to push to his hands and feet. “Knew we were coming back. Had to be watching.”

Dom put a hand on his back, keeping him still. “Stay down, buddy. You took a hell of a beating.”

“ Oui , okay, if you insist.” He sank back to the ground with a groan. “I’ll just lay here and get some beauty sleep, yeah?”

Dom huffed out a laugh. “You need it. That pretty face isn’t so pretty right now, but you need to stay awake until we can get you professional help.”

“My ma always says no help for me,” Sabin muttered, his eyes fluttering closed.

Cade scoffed. “Jesus. The man’s half-conscious and still cracking jokes.”

Davey ignored them, his focus still on Weston. His chest burned. He couldn’t seem to draw a full breath. “Who was it? West, you see where they took her? Any clue at all?”

Weston wiped blood from his mouth. “I don’t know. I thought—” He stopped and a flicker of confusion crossed his face. Then, he winced hard, squeezing his eyes shut. “Ah, fuck. My head’s splitting.”

“I’m sure it is. It looks like someone tried to cleave it open,” Cade said, his usually gruff voice gentle like he was soothing his daughter rather than his badass younger brother. “Lucky for you, you have a notoriously hard head.”

“Yeah, lucky. The bastard was big. And fucking strong. He could’ve killed me easily.”Weston’s breath hitched. His fingers clenched the fabric of his bloodstained pants. For half a second, it looked like he might break completely.

Then Cade’s grip tightened reassuringly on his shoulder and he exhaled. Blinked hard and looked at Davey. When he spoke, his voice was whisper. “I’m so sorry we couldn’t stop them from taking her.”

Davey’s world tilted on its axis.

Jesus. Rowan was gone.

Someone had taken her.

The walls felt like they were closing in, his pulse a hammer, his breath coming sharp and uneven. He had to move. Had to do something. But there was no one left to hit. No one to shoot. No one to punish.

“Fuck!” He spun away, his body coiled so tight he could snap. His fists ached to smash something—anything—but he restrained himself. The only thing that mattered was getting her back in one piece and that would be much harder to do with a broken hand.

“It’s Praetorian,” Sullivan said, breaking his icy silence, and nudged one of the dead men with the toe of his boot. “Brody—” His voice cracked. He cleared his throat and continued, “Liam said he was in contact with someone. It had to be a Praetorian team.”

Davey’s stomach turned to stone. His hands curled into fists. The thought tried to unmoor him—but he couldn’t afford that. Not now. He locked it down, forced the rage into something cold. Something sharp. Something lethal.

She was gone. Someone had taken her.

And whoever it was, they were about to learn exactly what it meant to steal from a Wilde.

“We’re going after them.” His voice was steel, cold and sharp and absolute. “We’re bringing her back, and we’re burning them to the ground.”

“No.” Cade’s voice cut through the tunnel, firm and controlled. “Think, Davey. You can’t go after Praetorian without proof.”

Davey turned on him, rage thrumming under his skin. “Rowan is gone. She could be?—”

He couldn’t say it. Couldn’t even think it.

Silence stretched between them, thick with tension. His breath came hard and fast, his body vibrating with the need to act, to do something. But Cade wasn’t wrong.

That didn’t make it any easier to accept.

Daphne’s voice suddenly came back, sharp and urgent. “Davey.”

He pressed his earpiece. “Go. Did you find her?”

“No, but Sully’s right. It’s Praetorian, and they just sent a message.”

Ice slid down his spine. “What do they want?”

Daphne hesitated. Then, carefully, “You.”

His pulse didn’t spike. It did the opposite—it slowed. His breathing evened out, his muscles coiled tight. A predator locking onto its prey.

“They want you to meet them at The Echelon.”

Cade grabbed his arm, his fingers digging in. “If you charge into The Eschelon and start a war, we’ll have every major power player in the world hunting us down. You want to get her back?” His voice dropped low. “You need to do this their way.”

Davey’s teeth ground together. “And what’s that?”

Cade’s jaw tightened. “Negotiate.”

Negotiate.

The word slammed against the walls of his skull, jagged and impossible. He flinched like Cade had just put a knife in his gut.

“I’m not negotiating with the fuckers who stole her.”

“And if you go in hot, they’ll kill her before you even get close.”

The tunnel seemed to shrink around him.

Fuck.

Cade was right.

They wanted him.

They wanted a war.

They had Rowan.

And they thought they had control.

His nails dug into his palms. One more second, and he might’ve shattered. But he exhaled instead, forcing the rage into something he could use. “I’m going.”

Cade swore.

Silence from Daphne. Then, carefully, “You sure about that?”

Davey’s hand curled into a fist, his knuckles aching. “I’m sure.”

Because if Praetorian wanted to play games, they were about to find out just how badly they’d underestimated him.

If they wanted him?

They were getting him.

And they’d regret it.