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Reese snorts. “Bullshit.”
“You did. You came back alive.” I palm his head as I soothe Dutch’s groans. “Now we’ve got Wyvern House in our corner. We’ll find her.”
I say it like I believe.
I have to believe.
“Fuck it. Where’s Finn?” Reese staggers from his seat. “He always wanted to teach me how to skin a guy. Feels like the right fucking time to embrace the goddamn darkness.”
“Bedroom.” I nod to the back of the jet.
Reese steadies as he walks down the aisle. When he knocks, I glimpse through the door crack before Finn flashes to block what’s behind.
Atlas—the stone-cold commander who made us run seven miles of suicide sprints for skipping class to call Dany on her birthday—cradles his mate in his lap, whispering gentle reassurances.
Lilah nuzzles his throat.
The sight stabs sharper than Finn’s bladed snarl.
When we find Marisol.
When she’s ready to come into my arms, not just willing, but eager to take everything I want to give.
I’ll take care of her.
Just like that.
“When?” Bishop jumps from his seat. “No. No. Don’t move. Hold on.” He covers the phone. “There’s movement at the hospital. Kairo’s there with Jericho. Someone spotted Triad soldiers smuggling in a blonde.”
My heart kicks, then crashes.
The timing’s wrong unless the SAS has gammas who can teleport.
But it’s a lead.
And Kairo’s been dealing with the feds.
We can claw something out of him.
A contact.
A location.
Maybe his fucking liver. “We’ll head to the city.”
“We infiltrating?” Reese dashes back to us.
Finn follows, tempted by the promise of murder. “Why infiltrate when we can firebomb the fucker?”
“Get Atlas.” I hurry to grab Hunter. “Let’s plan our attack.”
I lick my teeth.
It’s time to settle business with my father.
When we bring Marisol home, there’ll be no more threats.
Then my tomcat can finally sheathe her claws.
