Page 224 of Wild Card

“What happened to fucking stepping back?”Dad lashes out.

“We’re going in as intelligence. Robbie’s working on a team for recovery,” I calmly reply, keeping a blank face.

He glares at me, doubt and suspicion scoring into my skin.

Major and Ace stand at my side, taking similar glares from their fathers.

“Do I need to remind you that things have changed since your renegade days?” Jim’s voice is strained, barely disguising his anger.

“No reminder necessary, Dad,” Major grouses.

“And you, Achilles? Maverick isn’t even a month old. You want to risk this?” Pete asks cautiously.

Ace growls, “There is no risk here. My son will always have me.”

Pete goes pale, the remark like a physical strike.

All of us feel the pain of the blow Ace delivered to the father who neglected him for years in favor of a bottle.

“Son, that was a cheap shot,” Rich intervenes, knowing more than anyone about the history between Pete and Ace.

Ace blows out a breath. “My family is the most important thing in the fucking world.”

“We’ve all gone through hell to get here. Do you think we’d ever jeopardize any of that?” Major asks diplomatically.

“What about Ford? You gonna read him in on this?” Doug looks through all of us.

“Shit no. We do this right, it’s over before he returns from his honeymoon,” I respond.

Doug nods his approval. “Boy will be pissed you kept it from him.”

“He’ll get over it.”

“And the women?” Dad counters.

“Just like everything else, this info stays tight. We plan to tell them tomorrow morning what they need to know.”

At this, I’m done with the conversation. “Headed to bed.” I jut my chin to the group and walk around to my entrance to avoid running into anyone still awake in the house.

Wolf’s head pops up and his tail thumps twice before he curls back into a ball on his bed.

Willow steps out of the bathroom, her grin growing. “One good thing about your testosterone-filled meeting, I saved my dress.”

The heaviness of the last few minutes disappears at the triumph in her expression.

“It will never see the light of day again.” I bend to kiss her, squeezing her ass. “Meet you in bed.”

I strip off the custom-made tux, tossing it into the hamper Willow dubbed as ‘dry clean only’. Next to it sits another basket for our ‘everyday items’.

My life is about order, but I’ve never separated my shit before she moved in.

Her clothes are organized in sections, her shoes, handbags, and accessories all lining the shelves.

Her replenished Lulu collection—bras, tanks, shorts, pants, jackets—all methodically arranged in colored clusters.

More evidence of her touch is spread throughout.

Cosmetics, lotions, and perfumes are arranged on the vanity.

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