Page 33 of Wild Devil

“Day, I don’t want you to panic or anything, but… You might want to get here. Now.”

“What the fuck is going on? Is it Frey?”

“It could be,” he says, cutting to the chase. “They moved her from the church?—”

“What? Why the fuck didn’t you tell me?”

“I had Kane tail them just to keep an eye on her. They took her to some fucking mansion outside the city. It’s two hours away.”

“Fuck. At least you know where she is,” I say, but then it strikes me that Damien wouldn’t call merely to tell me that. “What else?”

“Kane spotted not just Heywood, but several other cars headed in that direction. They seem to be planning something tonight.”

Like a fucking wedding.

My entire body goes numb before I lurch upright. I should have never let them go without me. I should be there with her, not here playing spot the difference.

“I’m going?—”

“I’ll drive you,” Lex says, scrambling to his feet after me. He didn’t even hear the full conversation but he’s ready to go. “You’re coming with,” he tells the reporter.

“It’s not like I had any plans tonight, anyway,” the man says shakily. “Besides, I’m pretty sure we’re about to be ambushed. I take it those guys aren’t friends of yours?” His gaze is on the window showing a view of the street. At least six men are marching toward the café. The patch on their black vests gives them away without an introduction—Saints.

“Silas always did have perfect fucking timing,” I hiss, curling my hands into fists. Sensing movement near my side, I look at Lex. “You ready?”

“Always,” he says. Without breaking a sweat, he pulls a pistol from his jacket and aims it toward the doorway. Panicked, the waitress and the only other patrons in the café scream and duck beneath their tables. Unbothered, Lex flashes a grin in my direction. “You?”

“You bet your ass I am.”

No one’s going to stand in between me and Frey.

No one.

“On the count of three,” Lex says. “You cover me, and I’ll get us clear.”

The reporter scrambles back, clutching his computer bag to his chest. “I guess I’ll just stand back here and try not to get shot.”

“Deal,” I tell him. “Two.” Like Lex, I withdraw my weapon and finger the trigger.

“Three,” Lex says.

And all hell breaks loose.

Lex fires three warning shots through the front window of the café, shattering the glass and sending a panic through the nearby witnesses. Then he darts toward the back of the café, dragging the reporter by the cuff of his sleeve.

I step back, keeping my eyes on the advancing Saints. They’ve ducked behind a row of parked cars, but they haven’t opened fire. Yet.

That’s the worrying part. I’m not the one they give a damn about keeping intact, either. As one of the men pokes his head from around his cover, he spies me and aims.

I barely have enough time to lunge out of his range, in the direction of Lex. The close call proves one very important factor—they’re not here for me. The reporter is their target.

And they want him alive.

“Daze, let’s go,” Lex calls out, and I follow his voice through a side door and out into an alley behind the café, on the opposite end of the street.

There isn’t time to parse over what the hell just happened. But even as my ears still ring from the gunfire, I’m smiling as we take off on foot.

For once, I feel like I have not one but two aces up my sleeve.

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