All Chapters of THE WILD CAT: Chapter 21 - Chapter 30

Riley stood in the center of the hall, every eye locked on her as Armani’s smirk slowly curved into place.“You will be one of the new Wildcats assigned to this mission.”The words barely settled before murmurs rippled through the room—low, uneasy, dangerous. Chairs shifted. Breath hitched. Theo rolled his eyes, already irritated.“Silence.”Armani’s voice cracked like a gunshot.The hall fell dead quiet.Lucas stepped forward, jaw tight. “The newbie hasn’t had any formal training yet.”Armani let out a short scoff, his gaze never leaving Riley. “We all watched her take down Ex Number One Hundred and earn that spot. She didn’t survive that fight by luck. She’s trained.”“But she doesn’t know how things work here,” Lucas pressed. “She doesn’t even know what this mission is about.”Eyes flicked between them, tension coiling thick in the air. Riley swallowed hard.Great. Lucas is really about to ruin this for me.“That,” Armani snapped, finally turning to Lucas with a razor-sharp glare,

Armani’s POVI was at the shooting range when it happened.The smell of gunpowder filled the air. The sound of bullets hitting the target echoed in the large room. I fired again. And again. Perfect aim.Then the doors burst open.Two guards rushed in. They did not even look at me. They went straight to Theo and whispered something in his ear.I kept shooting.But I saw it.Theo’s eyes widened.Something was wrong.He walked toward me slowly. His face was serious.“The mission was a trap,” he said.I sighed and pulled the trigger again. The bullet hit the center.“What about the girls?” I asked calmly.“The building exploded,” he said. “They were still inside.”My finger froze on the trigger.The silence was loud.I slowly lowered the gun.“Explain.”“The warehouse was fake. It was set up to lure them. They triggered an explosion. The whole place burned.”Burned.For a second, Riley’s face flashed in my mind.Was she gone?No.She would not die like that.She was not weak.My jaw tight

Months had passed since the nightmare. Riley had almost convinced herself the shadows no longer hunted her. She had rebuilt something resembling a life—small, quiet, ordinary—pouring coffee instead of fighting for her freedom. The triplets felt like a bad dream she’d finally outrun.Until today.She burst through the back door of the little coffee shop, breathless, hair still mussed from sleep.“You’re late, Ri,” Lina said without looking up, already holding out the black apron like a disappointed mother.“I know—I overslept. Sorry.” Riley snatched the apron, tying it with shaking fingers. She forced a smile. “Won’t happen again.”Lina snorted, wiping down the counter. “You need a new alarm. Or maybe a cattle prod.”Riley managed a weak laugh and slipped behind the register, tying on her name tag like armor.The morning rush blurred past—cappuccinos, lattes, hurried thank-yous—until her eyes snagged on him.A man sat alone in the far corner booth. Black baseball cap pulled low. Black

The heavy oak door slammed shut behind Armani with a finality that echoed through the stone walls of the old estate. The lock clicked—twice, the deadbolt and then the chain—and Riley was alone in the room that had once been her prison, now dressed up like a gilded cage. Velvet drapes the color of dried blood. A four-poster bed that looked too large for one person. A single lamp burning low on the nightstand, throwing long shadows across the Persian rug.She stood in the center of the floor, still wearing the torn coffee-shop apron over her jeans, arms wrapped tight around her middle as if she could hold herself together that way. Her breathing came shallow and fast. She could still smell gunpowder on her skin, could still hear the wet scream of the woman Armani had shot in the leg.The door opened again less than five minutes later.Armani stepped inside without knocking. He had shed the black coat; now he wore only a dark button-down, sleeves rolled to the elbows, the top two buttons

The next morning came too soon, cruel and bright through the narrow window slits. Riley woke to a body that felt like it had been run over—every muscle screaming, thighs burning, core tender in a way that made her cheeks heat with fresh shame. She swung her legs over the edge of the bed and stood. Pain lanced up her left leg immediately; she bit her lip to keep from crying out and limped toward the attached bathroom.
The shower was scalding, the kind that turned skin pink and steam thick enough to hide in. She stood under the spray until the water ran cold, scrubbing at the marks Armani had left—fingerprints on her hips, bite marks on her neck and shoulder—like she could erase last night if she tried hard enough. She couldn’t. The ache between her legs was proof enough.
When she stepped out, towel wrapped tight around her, she found new clothes laid across the foot of the bed. Black training leggings, a fitted cropped tank in dark gray, fresh sports bra, socks, and running shoes. All