Page 58 of Gravity
Stone’s hand curled against the table. Dave was going in himself—he hated it.
Titus’s voice slid in, deep, controlled. “You’ll need muscle at your back when you walk into that sale.”
Dave hesitated, a muscle ticked in his jaw. “Viper and Rip with me. Stone and Ace—you’ll take overwatch.”
Stone froze.
The words hit harder than any fist.
Not him. Not the man who’d bled beside Dave through battles in back alleys, who’d stood between him and death more times than he could even remember?
Passed over, like his vow and his fury meant nothing.
Hurt flared sharp in his chest, burning under the anger until it twisted into something colder.
Betrayal. He kept his face stone, but inside it was a knife sliding deeper, reminding him just how wide the distance between them had grown.
Dave tried to catch his eyes, but Stone refused to glance that way.
He wasn’t sure what he’d do if he did. So he stood there. The rest of the meeting sounded like muffled noise.
By dusk, the estate shifted into a different rhythm.
The training yards cleared, engines growled to life in the motor pool, and men loaded rifles and checked gear with the efficient silence of professionals.
Headlights cut pale beams through the dust as the convoy rolled toward the gates. Dave moved among them like command incarnate—shoulders squared, jaw hard, voice clipped as he gave the final orders. Viper at his flank, Rip close behind, Boston and Sage already climbing into the SUV that would sell the lie.
Stone stood in the shadows by the front entrance, chest tight, fury and dread tangled in a knot that stole his breath.
He’d been cast to the sidelines. Overwatch. Out of reach when Dave put himself in Franklin’s jaws.
The first SUV pulled away, tires crunching on the driveway. Then the second, headlights swinging wide as the convoy turned down the road.
Stone’s hands curled into fists. His pulse thundered in his ears.
“Fuck this.”
He strode to the nearest SUV, yanked the driver’s door open, and slid behind the wheel.
Law was there in a blink, passenger door slamming shut as he dropped into the seat. Black and Winter climbed into the back without a word, their faces set.
Stone fired the engine, asphalt burning under the tires. The convoy’s taillights burned red in the distance, bleeding into the dark.
He jammed the accelerator.
And chased Dave into the night.
The road cut through the sprawl of Port Hueneme’s industrial blocks, a straight shot into the night. Engines growled in tight formation, black SUVs ghosting down cracked asphalt.
Dave rode in the middle row of the lead vehicle, spine rigid, eyes fixed on the horizon.
He should never have left Stone behind.
Regret clawed at him, sharp and unrelenting, but his convoy was too far gone to turn back now.
In all his years, he had never regretted a single decision.
Except this one.
