Chapter Six
Wilder
I end the call and set the phone down on the desk like it might go off.
For a long moment, I don’t move. My pulse is still going hard, my jaw aching, the taste of the old life thick in my mouth. Talking to Cruz means going back to a version of myself I buried years ago—the cold one, the one who knew exactly what he was capable of and made sure the other man heard it.
But it’s done.
The terms are simple. He stays away from me, from Wilder House, from Millie. In return, the files I’ve kept all these years stay where they are. He didn’t like it. He didn’t have to. He knows what I have, and he knows I’ll use it.
I drag a hand down my face. Relief and adrenaline war in my chest, neither one winning.
Millie’s upstairs. I made her call out of the diner two days running—couldn’t stand the thought of her out on those streets while this hung over us, not until I knew she was safe. She didn’t argue the way I expected. Maybe she saw it on my face.
I take the stairs two at a time.
She’s at the dining table when I come in, bent over her beads, that little crease between her brows. She looks up the second the door opens, and whatever she sees in my face makes her set the work down.
“Wilder?”
“It’s handled.” My voice comes out rougher than I mean it to. “They won’t come near you again. Either of us. It’s over.”
She’s out of the chair and across the room before I finish. I catch her against my chest, one hand splayed across her back, and only when she’s there—solid, warm, mine—does the last of the tension finally bleed out of me.
“You did all that,” she says into my shirt. “For me.”
“For us.” I press my mouth to the top of her head. “I told you. I’m not letting anything happen to you.”
She tips her head back to look at me, eyes shining. “Thank you. For not letting me go.”
Something in my chest cracks open. I don’t have the words for it yet. So I just hold her tighter.
***
I see her before she sees me.
My baby girl…
She’s inside the diner, moving between tables with that focused little crease between her brows, the one that shows up when she’s completely engrossed in a task.
The late shift crowd is thinning out, the yellow glow from the overhead lights soft and warm through the glass.
Outside, the evening air carries the last heat of the day, but it’s already cooling, the city settling into night.
I lean against a nearby light pole and watch her for a minute longer than necessary.
A few weeks ago, I didn’t do things like this. I didn’t wait for anyone. I didn’t look forward to small moments. My life was limited to work and routine, leeching tightly onto control…until she came around. Now I find myself counting down the hours until I see her again.
The bell above the diner door jingles as someone leaves, and Millie glances up automatically. Her eyes find me through the glass.
Her whole face lights up. That expression still hits me like a punch to the chest every time. She waves excitedly, smiling widely at me.
God, she’s gorgeous.
She says something to the older woman behind the counter before grabbing her backpack. A minute later, she pushes through the door, and the cool air carries her scent toward me…soap, vanilla, and something that is just Millie.
“Hi,” she says, breathless, like she ran a mile even though the door is only a few steps away.
“Hi, baby girl.”
Her smile widens bigger at the nickname, her cheeks turning pink, just like they always do. She acts like it doesn’t affect her, but I feel the way her fingers curl into the front of my shirt when she steps close.
“Did you wait long?”
“Not long enough to be a problem.”
She smiles at that, soft and shy, and I take her bag automatically, slinging it over my shoulder before threading our fingers together. The contact grounds me. Always does.
We start walking.
It’s been a few days since the call with Cruz. For now, the truce holds—he stays away from us, and the files stay locked away.
But it’s not peace. It’s a truce built on threats and dark history, and I know better than to trust it completely. The Serpents don’t just disappear. They wait. They regroup. They strike when you least expect it.
Still, for now, the constant tightness in my chest has eased.
For now, she’s safe.
Millie swings our joined hands slightly as we walk, her steps light even after a long shift.
“How was your day?” I ask.
“Busy. One of the cooks called in sick, so everything was chaotic. But I didn’t drop any plates today, so I’m calling it a win.”
I huff a quiet laugh. “You’ve never dropped a plate.”
“I almost did last week.”
“Almost doesn’t count.”
She bumps her shoulder into mine. “You’re biased.”
“Yeah,” I say simply. “I am.”
She looks up at me, surprised by the bluntness, and something warm moves through my chest at the way her eyes soften.
Things between us have settled into something steady. Comfortable. We have a rhythm now. She works. I run Wilder House. We eat together. Sleep together. Talk about nothing and everything.
She cooks most nights now.
The first time she tried, she was nervous, hovering around the kitchen like she expected me to judge her. Now she hums while she works, barefoot on the tile, experimenting with spices and recipes she finds online.
She’s good at it. More than good.
Watching her discover things she enjoys—cooking, her job, even small things like picking out groceries—has become one of my favorite parts of the day. She’s coming into herself. Growing more confident. Laughing more.
And I love it.
I love her.
The realization has been creeping up on me for days.
I haven’t said the words yet. I don’t know how.
They feel too big. Too fragile. Like saying them out loud might break whatever we have.
But I feel them every time she smiles at me.
Every time she curls against me at night.
Every time she trusts me even without saying a word.
She chatters beside me about one of the other waitresses who’s trying to set her up on a double date with her boyfriend’s friend. She tells the story dramatically, complete with impressions, and I listen, even as something sharp twists in my chest.
“You told her no,” I say.
“Of course I did,” she replies quickly. Then, in a softer tone, “I told her I’m not interested in anyone else.”
The tension drains out of me so suddenly it almost makes me dizzy.
I squeeze her hand.
Good.
We turn the corner onto the street leading to Wilder House.
“I found a new recipe online,” Millie says, smiling up at me excitedly. “I can’t wait to try it out when we get home.”
Home.
That word still feels new. Strange. Almost impossible…
But when Millie is beside me, it fits. I glance at her, excitement stirring low in my chest. She has no idea about the surprise waiting upstairs.
I ordered a jewelry kit, and it arrived earlier this afternoon, now hidden in the spare room.
It’s much better than the one she has. Professional.
I made sure to choose one that contains every tool and supply she could ever need.
I can already picture her face when she sees it. The thought makes something inside me expand, warm and unfamiliar.
I glance down at our joint hands. We look like any other couple, walking home after work. Sharing pieces of our day. Planning dinner. Existing in a world that isn’t built on violence or survival.
Some people might call it boring.
To me, it feels like a miracle.
Because this kind of normal…this steady, settled life…is something I never believed I would have. Millie has filled my world with more warmth and light than I ever thought I deserved.
Wilder House comes into view, but something isn’t right. Millie is still talking beside me, her fingers warm in my hand, clearly oblivious to the unwelcome visitors in front of our home.
There are two police cruisers parked in the driveway and two uniformed officers, standing near the entrance. Their posture is stiff, their expressions set grimly in a way that indicates this isn’t a friendly visit.
Every muscle in my body tightens. Instinct takes over before my thoughts can catch up. I step in front of Millie, shifting her behind me, my hand sliding back to keep hold of hers…the same way I used to move in a different life.
The officers exchange a look, clearly not pleased.
“Wilder Tate?” one of them asks.
My jaw locks. “Yeah.”
The other glances toward Millie, trying to see around me. “And this is Millie Winters?”
I don’t answer. I don’t move. “What do you want?”
“We’re here to conduct a welfare check,” the first officer says, voice clipped. “We received a report that Miss Winters has been missing and may be being held against her will.”
For a second, I don’t understand the words.
Then the implication hits me. A surge of anger hits so fast it nearly blacks out my vision. My grip tightens on Millie’s hand.
Missing.
Held against her will.
The urge to laugh is almost as strong as the urge to break something. Millie squeezes my fingers, as if to remind me of her presence.
“Wilder,” she murmurs softly. Her voice cuts through the rage. I force myself to breathe.
She steps out from behind me before I can stop her.
“I’m not missing,” she tells them firmly. “And I’m definitely not being held anywhere. I live here. I work. I’m fine.”
The officers study her carefully.
“Ma’am, we still need to follow procedure,” the second one says. “We’ll need both of you to come to the station and make formal statements to clear this up.”
My stomach drops.
Police station.
The words echo in my head, dragging memories with them. Cold metal. Handcuffs. Concrete walls.
I shake my head. “This is bullshit. She just told you—”
“Wilder,” Millie says again, firmer this time.
Her hand slides up my arm, her touch steady and warm. She looks up at me, eyes calm even though I can feel the tension in her.
“It’s okay,” she says quietly. “Let’s just do it so it’s over.”
I hate this.
I hate everything about this. But I nod once and allow them to separate us. The moment they try to lead Millie toward a different car, something wild and ugly rises in my chest.
“No.” The word comes out loud and rough. “She rides with me.”
“I’m sorry, sir, that’s not how this works.”
Millie turns, stepping close again. She cups my face, forcing me to look at her. “It’s okay,” she repeats softly. “I’ll see you there.”
Her calmness steadies me just enough. I let her go. Just barely.
The back of the police car is smaller than I remember. But I’m bigger now. My shoulders feel too broad, my lungs too tight. The door slams, sealing me in, and the sound echoes in my head like a gunshot.
For a moment, I’m not here… I’m seventeen again. Angry. Alone. Betrayed. Watching the world close in on me as the Serpents—my family—pinned everything on me.
My hands curl into fists.
Is this Cruz?
Did he do this?
If he did, he just made the biggest mistake of his life.
The car starts moving. Every second stretches too long. Every turn makes my skin crawl.
I focus on one thing.
Millie.
Her face when she smiled at me earlier. The way she fits perfectly against my side. The way she trusts me. I won’t lose this.
I’d give my life not to.
At the station, they lead me through hallways that smell like disinfectant and old fear. I keep my head down, my body tense, every instinct screaming to fight.
They put me in an interview room with a metal table and two chairs, and a blinking camera hanging in the corner.
The door shuts. Minutes pass. It feels like an eternity.
Finally, two detectives come in. They ask questions. Generic questions.
How did you meet her?
Why is she living with you?
Is there a romantic relationship?
Did you isolate her from family or friends?
Each one digs deeper, twisting the situation into something ugly and unrecognizable.
I answer. Calm at first, clinging to my last bit of control. But a storm is building in my heart, my frustration growing.
“You expect us to believe this just happened?” one of them says.
I snap.
“I love her,” I bark. The words tear out of me before I can stop them. “You think I’d hurt her? She is the best thing in my life. Her happiness matters more than anything. I would die before I let anything happen to her.”
The room goes silent. The door opens, and I turn to see Millie standing at the entrance, her big brown eyes wide with shock and something else—something softer.
For a moment, the world narrows to just her.
But before I can move, before I can say anything, a hand grips my shoulder.
“Mr. Tate, we’re not finished.”
They escort me out, pulling me away from her. I glance back once. She’s still watching me as the door closes between us.
I never wanted her to see me like this…