Page 186 of The Outlaw's Savage Revenge

Last few months?“Excuse me?”

Sheglances toward Papa, something conflicted crossing her face. “He should’ve killed your father three months ago. I’d gathered all the intel—routines, blueprints, family . . . it was all planned. Except Cade kept canceling.”

“Why?”

She shrugs. “Said he needed more time to 'process' the hit. He wanted more info about Romano’s family. Meaning you. He wanted to know what you liked to wear, eat, what you did in school, blood type . . .

She looks skyward—as if still annoyed by the memory. “Such utterly irrelevant details. I’ve never seen him so . . . fixated on someone who wasn’t a mark. Of course, I kept the most interesting bits to myself.”

I don’t need to ask what she knows. Or care beyond the warmth spreading in my chest. “Cade had been watching me?”

Kat lets out a derisive snort. “Like I said, self-destructing. When I heard you showed up in Enigma . . . I knew he’d never be able to resist taking you. The real problem was what happened after.”

She exhales, her voice softening. “Something broke in him. He suddenly couldn’t do it anymore. Couldn’t compartmentalize or detach. It was beautiful and heartbreaking and I didn’t have the heart to tell Scar.”

“Why did you not want Scar to know?”

“Because he would’ve stopped it. If Scar knew just how obsessed Cade was, he would’ve gotten rid of you. It’s what he does.”

“You mean, kill me?”

She starts packing up. “You have to understand—Scar’s brain worked differently. Give Cade two problems, he’d get rid of the bigger one and let the other one die naturally. Give Scar the same,and he’d clear both problems and the person who created them.”

Kat’s voice drops even lower. “But I never imagined Scar would . . .” She breaks off. “I still can’t understand why he’d try to kill the only person he’s ever loved.”

I can.

The truth hits me square in the chest.

I goaded him. Fanned his obsession into a flame. I pushed him until he saw red. I told him to face me like a man. I showed him he could never, ever have Cade.

He hated me, and yet he couldn’t touch me. Not without going through Cade—which was what he did.

Kat turns to go, then pauses. “Cade knows where to find me—if he survives. Tell him I’ll always be his asset.”

Hell no, you’re not, Nurse Ratched. Not if I have anything to say about it,

I flash her a weak smile, and then, she’s wheeling the cart away, blending perfectly with the backdrop.

The hours creep by. Six . . . seven . . . Tensions escalate until it becomes a palpable thing in the room.

Everyone’s still here—even Papa hasn’t left to handle something “urgent,” which speaks volumes about how serious he is about impressing Nico.

Kat left hours ago, but her words surround me like a shroud. The thought that Cade had been fixated on me long before we met—should feel invasive. Instead, it fills me with a strange warmth. Something about me had reached past his brutal walls.

Sophie returns from another coffee run and replaces the third cold, untouched cup in my hand with a hot one while I stare at the OR doors, willing them to open.

Phoenix stands with a cluster of Druids, his face tight with worry. He’s having to step out every five minutes for a smoke.

Nico paces near the windows, phone pressed to his ear, voice too low to hear. He’s shed his suit, and I notice his rolled-back sleeve is stained with blood.When did that happen?

Dante is back in the corner, holding Addy, his pregnant wife. His cheek rests on her head, his eyes closed, while her face is buried in his chest. They appear to be standing still until I notice the rhythmic motion under his jacket. I realize with surprise that Addy is rubbing his back as if keeping him from unraveling. This huge, ruthless mobster is being held by his wife.

I look around the room, overwhelmed by just how important Cade is to all these people. He’s not just a leader, son, and brother; he’s the glue that holds this unlikely alliance together. He’s a man who’s given everything for others, never asking for anything in return except maybe a small slice of happiness.

The thought brings a fresh sheen of tears.

Eight hours in, the room cracks.

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