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four

She’d crossed a line. Again.

The pounding rhythm of the bus wheels against the cracked highway throbbed in time with Rowan’s growing headache. The lush forests of the Catskills had long since given way to the suburban sprawl of downstate New York as the bus hurtled toward the city. She slumped against the window, staring blankly at the changing scenery.

Her lips still tingled from kissing Davey, the taste of him burned into her memory. Reckless. Stupid. A moment of weakness she couldn’t afford. But God help her, she’d never been able to resist him. That man ignited fires in her that no amount of distance could smother.

Distance. Right.

That had been the whole point of drugging him and leaving him and his dog in the motel room.

Her chest tightened as she thought about the job—the deal that had dragged her into this mess. She’d accepted it with ruthless precision: no emotions, no attachments. Just business. Easy.

Until it wasn’t.

When she failed the first time last summer, the threats against her family had sent her running. She’d promised herself she’d stay away from Davey until she figured out how to fix it. But then Christmas Eve happened, and once again, she’d ended up in his bed, right back where she’d sworn never to be again.

But then Davey had… well, been Davey. Infuriating, loyal, stubborn, sexy Davey Wilde.

Rowan closed her eyes, her pulse quickening as the memories rushed back—the way his intense blue gaze burned into hers, hungry and possessive. The way his strong hands had gripped her waist, pulling her flush against him like he couldn’t get her close enough. How he’d pinned her down, mouth hot and demanding, teeth scraping gently along her throat, his breath ragged against her skin. The way she’d shuddered beneath his touch, coming apart for him, helplessly tangled in the sheets and his arms.

She exhaled sharply, frustration and longing twisting into an aching knot deep in her chest.

Enough.

She sat up straighter, rubbing the gritty exhaustion from her eyes, forcing herself back into the cold reality of the moment. Her focus needed to stay locked on what came next.

Ahead of her, the city loomed, a concrete jungle teeming with possibilities and hidden dangers. Her contact wouldn’t wait forever, and the information he held could change everything.

The bus lurched to a stop in the grimy Port Authority terminal, and Rowan hefted her backpack, slipping silently into the crowd. The cacophony of the city engulfed her— horns blaring, people shouting, the constant hum of energy from the city that never sleeps. Perfect for losing herself, for becoming just another face in the throng.

The seedy bar where she was to meet her contact was tucked away in a less savory part of town, the kind of place where questions weren’t asked, and discretion was guaranteed for the right price.

Rowan pushed open the heavy wooden door, the stench of stale beer and cigarettes curling around her like an unwelcome embrace. The bar was the kind of place where people kept their heads down, their business to themselves—exactly the type of place Benji preferred.

Her gaze swept the room, past the hunched figures nursing their drinks at the bar, past the murmured conversations drifting from shadowy booths. Then she spotted him in the farthest corner, half-hidden in the dim light, hunched over his ever-present laptop bag like a dragon guarding its hoard. His wire-rimmed glasses sat crooked on his nose, and his knee bounced under the table in a telltale nervous rhythm.

She forced a smile as she approached. “Hello, Benji.”

He startled, nearly knocking over his beer. “Jesus. Would it kill you to make a little noise when you walk? You move like a damn ghost.”

She slid into the seat across from him, ignoring his dramatics. “You have what I need?”

Benji licked his lips, his fingers drumming against the sticky tabletop. “Yeah, yeah, I got it. But listen, this is—this is big, all right? Bigger than I thought. And, uh…” He hesitated, shifting in his seat like an over-caffeinated squirrel. “The price went up.”

Rowan leveled him with a flat stare. “Benji.”

“It’s not greed!” he yelped, holding up his hands. “It’s hazard pay! You don’t even know the kind of digital footprints I had to cover, the firewalls I had to dodge, the?—”

She leaned forward, lowering her voice to a dangerous whisper. “Benji, you change the deal on me again, and the only hazard you’ll have to worry about is whether I let you keep those twitchy little fingers.”

Benji swallowed hard, his eyes darting to the knife she’d casually drawn and rested on the table. “Okay, okay, no need to get all stabby,” he muttered, fishing a flash drive from his pocket. “Here. Just, you know, try not to get me murdered with it.”

Rowan reached for the drive?—

Crash.

The bar door slammed open, cutting through the low hum of conversation. Every muscle in her body tensed as her instincts screamed danger?—

Then she saw the broad silhouette framed in the doorway, shoulders squared, stance radiating controlled fury. He filled the space, his powerful frame accentuated by the dark tactical shirt molded to every hard line of his chest, the sleeves hugging his muscular arms like a second skin. His jaw was tight, eyes blazing a stormy blue, utterly focused on her. The slight limp in his stride only heightened his intensity, a visible reminder that he’d survived worse than anything this bar could throw at him.

He moved forward with a predator’s ease, each deliberate step brimming with lethal potential. Power and determination rippled off him, palpable enough to silence the room around them.

Davey. Fucking. Wilde.

And right now, he looked ready to tear apart anything—or anyone—that stood between him and what he’d come for.

Benji made a strangled noise, snatched the drive back, and shoved it deep into his hoodie pocket. “You brought a tail.”

She glared at Davey. “Not intentionally.”

Benji was already sliding out of the booth. “Uh, well…this seems like a great time for me to, uh, not be here.”

“Benji—”

“Nope. No, no. That guy looks like he eats people who piss him off, and I like my insides… uh, inside.” He shot her a panicked look. “You should really stop making enemies this big, Rowan.”

“Relax. He’s a…” She hesitated, jaw tightening. Friend wasn’t exactly the word she’d use for Davey—not after tying him up and stealing his dog, and definitely not after drugging him. But enemy wasn’t quite right either when they’d blurred so many lines they barely knew where they stood anymore. He was something far more complicated, more dangerous—a mistake she kept making, a lover she couldn’t quit, and the one man who could blow her entire world apart with a single look.

“Friend?” Benji suggested with a hopeful note in his voice.

“Complication,” she finished tightly.

“Well, your complication doesn’t look all that friendly.”

“He’s harmless,” she lied.

Benji didn’t look convinced, but at least he didn’t bolt immediately.

“Look, just sit tight. I’ll handle him.” Rowan rose from the booth, moving quickly to intercept Davey before he completely scared off her lead. She was acutely aware of the room’s sudden attention, the way conversations stilled as heads turned toward them.

“You put a tracker on me?” she hissed as he reached her. It was the only possible way he’d found her so quickly. The sedative she’d slipped him would’ve knocked him out for a few hours, so even if he’d used all of WSW’s vast resources when he woke up, there was no way he could’ve tracked her down this fast without some kind of device.

“You’re surprised I had a contingency plan?” He laughed, but it was not a happy sound. He grabbed her arm, his grip just shy of bruising. “We need to talk. Now.”

“I’m busy,” she shot back, glancing toward Benji. But the weasel was already slinking away.

“Fuck,” she muttered, watching her only lead disappear into the crowd. Panic clawed up her throat, sharp and desperate. She’d been so close, and now it was all slipping through her fingers. Her gaze whipped back to Davey, fury blazing alongside something deeper—fear. Fear for herself, fear for him. “Do you have any idea what you’ve just done?”

His grip on her arm tightened, his expression granite-hard. “What I’ve done? That’s rich coming from you. You drugged me and left me in a goddamn motel room.”

Guilt twisted sharply beneath her ribs. Drugging him hadn’t been personal, hadn’t been about hurting him—but telling him that now would only make this mess worse. “At least I left your dog this time.”

“Yeah, thanks for that. He’s the one who woke me up.”

“Dammit.” Of course it had been Luka. She should’ve known Davey’s dog would never let him stay down long. She cursed herself silently—another miscalculation she couldn’t afford.

“Why’d you do it, Ro?” His voice softened just a fraction, and it cut her deeper than his anger ever could. He was looking for answers, something she could never fully give him.

“I had my reasons.” Reasons she wanted desperately to share, even if just to see that wounded look vanish from his eyes—but she couldn’t. It wasn’t safe. Not for either of them.

“Oh, I’m sure you did.” His voice sharpened again, the brief vulnerability buried beneath bitterness. “Care to share them with the class?”

She swallowed hard, the tension between them crackling like lightning. Too many eyes were watching now, the bar’s other patrons leaning closer, drawn to the drama unfolding between them.

Attention was dangerous.

Attention got people killed.

“Not here.”

“Yes, here.” He stepped even closer, the heat of his body practically searing hers through the thin shield of her clothing. “You’re out of time, Rowan. Whatever game you’re playing, it ends now. I’m taking you home to your father. Let him deal with you.”

Panic spiked again, bitter and icy in her chest. The idea of facing her father, admitting all she’d done, all the ways she’d failed, was unbearable—but worse was the thought of Davey caught in the crossfire. She met his gaze, and her breath hitched painfully. The anger there she could handle. But the hurt—the raw, aching hurt lingering beneath it—shredded her from the inside out. She had done this to him, had pulled him into her tangled web of half-truths and desperate gambles. He didn’t deserve this, any of it.

“Walk away, Davey.” Her voice cracked, betraying the weakness she tried so hard to hide. “Please. Before you get hurt.”

Before I get you hurt. Before I have to watch the light drain from your eyes because of me.

But she knew he wouldn’t listen. He never had.

A storm gathered in those beautiful blue eyes, dark and dangerous. “Not a fucking chance.”

Dammit. Why did the man have to be so stubborn?

She opened her mouth to retort, but the words died on her lips as she caught movement in her peripheral vision. A hulking figure had just entered the bar, his hand reaching inside his jacket in a way that set off alarm bells in her mind.

“We need to move. Now.”

He must have sensed the shift in her demeanor because his grip on her arm loosened slightly. “What is it?”

“Trouble,” she hissed, already maneuvering them toward the back of the bar. “Big, angry-looking trouble with a gun.”

Davey’s eyes widened as he glanced over his shoulder just as two more goons filed in. “Shit. Friends of yours?”

“Not exactly.”

This was bad.

Very bad.

She’d hoped to have more time before they caught up with her.

“How about we find an exit?”

The hulking man’s eyes locked on them, and his face twisted into a snarl. He pulled a gun from under his coat.

“Down!” Rowan yelled, shoving Davey to the floor as gunshots erupted.

Chaos exploded in the bar. Patrons screamed and dove for cover. Glass shattered as bullets tore through bottles behind the bar.

Rowan army crawled toward a nearby table. Davey was right behind her. He flipped the table over to use as a shield, then grabbed his gun from its holster, checking his ammo situation before thumbing off the safety.

“Care to fill me in yet?”

“Answer’s still no.” She checked her weapon and then assessed their options. The back exit was blocked by one of the goons, and the front door was a death trap. She cursed under her breath.

“Christ, Ro. What have you gotten yourself into?”

Before she could answer, the table splintered above them. She rolled, coming up in a crouch with her weapon drawn. She fired two quick shots, satisfaction flaring as one of the goons went down, clutching his shoulder.

“Less talking, more shooting.”

Davey complied, his aim as deadly accurate as ever. “I can do both. Any brilliant ideas on how to get out of here?”

“Working on it.” She scanned the bar, her gaze landing on the picture window in front. It wasn’t bulletproof. A bullet had already cracked through the glass, and it wouldn’t take much to break the rest out.

“There,” she said, nodding toward it. “We can make it if we time it right.”

Davey looked at the window and then back at her like she was crazy.

“You got another plan, hot shot?”

He exhaled in a rush. “No. On three?”

She nodded, tensing her muscles, readying to spring to her feet and run. “One... two...”

Before she could say “three,” Davey surged up, firing off several rapid shots. One attacker went down with a cry of pain, but more flooded in.

God. They were like rats streaming out of a sewer during a flood—relentless, impossible to contain. Her pulse spiked, adrenaline surging as the reality of how screwed they were sank in.

“Go!” Davey shouted.

He didn’t have to tell her twice.

Rowan sprinted for the window, crashing through it shoulder-first. Glass exploded around her, glittering like deadly confetti, slicing into her skin as she fell. Her backpack absorbed most of the impact, but pain still rippled sharply through her shoulder and ribs, stealing her breath. She forced herself to roll with it, gritting her teeth as she landed in a crouch on the sidewalk.

Her muscles screamed, but there was no time to register the hurt. She spun around, gun raised, finger hovering on the trigger, pulse roaring in her ears. She braced herself, scanning wildly for Davey, heart in her throat.

He burst through the shattered window a heartbeat later, landing heavily, his leg nearly buckling beneath him.

“I didn’t say three yet,” she snapped, fear bleeding into frustration. She grabbed his hand and hauled him upright.

“You were taking too damn long.” He winced as he put weight on his bad leg, but it didn’t slow him down. His grip tightened on her hand as they shoved through the startled pedestrians. Furious shouts echoed behind them, footsteps closing in.

Too close.

Way too fucking close.

“This way.” He yanked her down a narrow alley that stunk of garbage.

Rowan’s heart pounded relentlessly. How had she let it get this far? How had she dragged Davey into something she should’ve handled alone? Guilt, sharp and nauseating, coiled through her as they burst from the alley onto another crowded street.

She’d lost control of the situation.

And now Davey was in the crosshairs. Right where she hadn’t wanted him to be.

He flagged down a cab, practically shoving her inside before sliding in after her and slamming the door shut.

“550 West 34th Street,” he said to the driver like they hadn’t just run for their lives.

The cab pulled smoothly from the curb just as their pursuers burst into view, their angry faces receding into the distance. Rowan twisted in her seat, watching them vanish, heart still racing wildly.

“You okay?” Davey asked, not so subtly scanning her for injuries.

“I’m fine.” She winced as she plucked a shard of glass from her arm. “You?”

“Still breathing.” He shifted his bad leg as if testing it and hissed out a breath. “What the fuck was that?”

She slumped into the seat, her adrenaline fading into bone-deep exhaustion. Her entire plan—carefully crafted, meticulously arranged—had blown apart like a grenade in her face. “That’s why I told you to walk away.”

“Not a chance in hell.” Davey’s eyes darkened, and his voice had gone dangerously soft. “You’re in deep shit, Ro. Way deeper than I thought. It’s time to come clean.”

Only then did she register the address he’d give the driver. 550 West 34th was the location of Summit One, the sleek, asymmetrical glass and steel skyscraper that housed Wilde Security Worldwide.

No.

Oh, hell, no.

If he got her to Summit One, she’d be trapped under the watchful eyes of WSW, with no chance to slip away unnoticed. Panic surged through her veins like liquid fire, and she reached for the door.

Davey’s fingers wrapped around her wrist. “Relax,” he murmured. “You’re safe now.”

Safe.

If only that were true.

She shifted slightly in her seat, her gaze darting to the cab driver. The man was oblivious, humming along to a tinny pop song on the radio. She needed a distraction—something to give her a chance to bolt. Her hand crept toward the strap of her backpack.

Davey’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t even think about it.”

“Think about what?” she asked, aiming for casual innocence.

“Whatever reckless stunt you’re planning. I can see the wheels turning in that devious mind of yours.”

“You’re paranoid, Wilde. I’m just sitting here being perfectly good.”

He scoffed, dark amusement flickering briefly. “Bullshit. You’ve never been a ‘good girl’ a day in your life.”

The words triggered memories she’d buried deep—the heat of last summer at his parents’ Fourth of July barbecue, when he’d held her trapped between his body and the wall of the shed, impaled on his cock, as he told her to be a good girl and not make a sound…

His gaze dropped briefly to her lips, then lower still, tracing the shape of her body with undisguised hunger, his grip on her wrist tightening. His thumb brushed over her pulse as if remembering the feel of her heartbeat beneath his mouth and the desperate way she’d gasped his name.

Yeah. He was definitely thinking about it, too.

Which was exactly the distraction she needed.

With a sudden lurch, Rowan slammed herself against the door, all her weight behind it. It flew open, the cab swerving violently as she tumbled gracelessly onto the pavement. Pain shot through her shoulder, but adrenaline overrode everything. She pushed herself to her feet, running on pure instinct and fear.

“Rowan! Dammit, stop!”

She didn’t dare look back, didn’t dare slow down. The crowded sidewalk swallowed her as she ducked between pedestrians, fear driving her forward. Her heart twisted with guilt and regret, but the need to keep him safe outweighed everything else.

She turned sharply, disappearing into a subway station. The press of bodies swallowed her, offering the anonymity she desperately needed. By the time Davey reached the entrance, she was already lost in the rush-hour chaos, but she suddenly knew two things with startingly clarity:

Every step she took away from Davey only made him more determined to capture her.

And she was running out of places to hide.