Page 48 of The Outlaw's Savage Revenge

I case the street. Three weeks gone, and everything’s exactly as I left it—a picture-perfect suburban dream. Neat rows of houses, gleaming windows, and family cars dotting driveways. The kind of place where people wave at each other while watering hydrangeas or talk about kids’ soccer practice over backyard fences.

But underneath the charm, Pond Street is a crime black hole. My brother-in-law’s paranoia about Sophie’s safety, combined with my need for secure supply lines has turned this block into a no-go zone for troublemakers. One wrong move here, and perps have a habit of vanishing without a trace.

The CCTV camera above Gertrude Willoughby’s porch blinks blue—memory full again. Gertrude is phenomenal with animals, but technology? Not so much. Too bad my guard dog can’t handle that for her.

“Hello? Earth to Cade.” Luna’s voice drips with sarcasm. “I hate to interrupt your glowering contest with the neighbors, but some of us are still waiting on the grand tour.”

I glance at Luna, taking in her torn, soiled clothes and the defiant tilt of her chin. On the surface, she’s the type who should blend seamlessly into this suburban facade, yet it’s almost comical imagining her playing house here.

“Come on, let’s go in.”

I turn and stalk toward the house, staunching the sudden insane urge to grab her hand.

Leave her the fuck alone Cade. Let her decide to follow you. Or not.

As soon as we step inside, the scent of Sophie’s lavender candles hits—a reminder of normalcy in my decidedly abnormal life.

The living room is a study in coziness—throw pillows, neatly arranged magazines, mood lamps. I’ve kept Sophie’s decor untouched for two years, a small indulgence in nostalgia for the only home I allow myself.

I glance at Luna as she takes in the room with a raised brow, and I mentally start counting down the seconds until she says something snarky.

“Interesting place, Cade.” Her dimples peek temptingly as she smirks. “I know you’re not the scented candles and potpourri type, so I’ll assume it’s your girlfriend’s place. Though I didn’t peg you’d go for the Martha Stewart type.”

“Not my girlfriend’s.”

“Ah. Wife then? Ex-wife?” Her eyes dance with mischief. “Let me guess—one who thinks you work in finance?”

“Nope.”

“Oh, wait—”

Her smile widens. “Your friend’s wife? No . . . your enemy’s wife. One whose neck you’d love to wrap that rosary around.”

A warmth blooms in my chest at her guess. “You’re in the ballpark.”

The smile drops off her face as she asks, “About which part?”

I point to my rosary, and she visibly shivers, an involuntary reaction that looks suspiciously like excitement.

You fucking wish.Just because she hasn’t run screaming doesn’t mean she can handle your brand of dark.

I huff out an amused breath, then abruptly turn and head for the kitchen, where I keep the burner phone for Sophie.

“You’re excused!” Luna calls after me.

“Ah, quelle politesse!”The French rolls off her tongue, and damn if my lips don’t quirk up again.

She’s got a mouth on her. Sophie used to hold the crown for the snarkiest tongue, but this woman? Different league entirely.

The back door opens to a sun-drenched lawn. I punch in Sophie’s number, scanning the area on autopilot. Each ring ratchets up the tension.

“Hey, Sparrow,” I greet her by her childhood nickname.

“Well, well. Look who decided to come up for air.” Sophie’s voice crackles with familiar sass. “Was starting to think you’d gone native wherever you’ve been hiding these past two months.”

She has no idea I’ve been in Chicago, right under her nose. But ignorance keeps her safe in our world.

“Let me guess,” she continues, “you’re craving a home-cooked meal and a glaring contest with Nico?”

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