Page 59 of Gravity
Leaving Stone behind.
“Fuck…” The word slipped out before he could bite it back.
Boston glanced sideways, a sharp flicker of curiosity, but he was smart enough not to ask. He faced front again.
Dave turned his thoughts back to business. He didn’t trust Franklin. Not the ground they were meeting on, not the promise of neutral terms. The whole setup stank of ambush.
Viper sat beside him, arms folded, the constant coil of a man who’d rather be back in the war room than in a suit. Dave didn’t blame the guy—his choice to keep Stone out of this part had put Viper in this position.
Across from them, Rip took up half the bench, broad frame angled to watch both windows at once. He hadn’t said a wordsince they pulled out of the estate, didn’t need to. His silence was the same as a promise—if shit broke loose, he’d end it fast.
Boston had claimed the passenger seat up front, boots tapping restlessly against the floorboard. Every few seconds, he leaned forward, craning for a better look at the road, then flopped back like patience burned holes through his skin.
“This is me relaxed,” Boston muttered when Viper’s glare flicked his way. But his knee kept bouncing.
Sage was the opposite. Quiet in the back beside Dave, curls shadowing green eyes that tracked everything—the mirrors, the speedometer, the way Dave’s hand flexed once on his knee. A pen spun between Sage’s fingers until he caught himself and stilled it. No wasted words, no wasted motion. Just watching. Always watching.
Dave spoke low, voice flat as gunmetal. “No one moves until I give the word. Franklin so much as sneezes wrong, we walk and regroup. If he’s setting a table, we’ll see what’s on it before we flip it over.”
Boston twisted in his seat, dark eyes gleaming with a grin that wasn’t humor. “And if he already flipped it?”
Dave didn’t blink. “Then we burn the table.”
The Port Hueneme warehouses loomed closer, hulks of concrete and glass rising against a sky bleeding rust and gold. Shadows stretched long across the road, reaching toward them like grasping hands.
Every instinct told Dave this was a mistake. But instincts didn’t change a damn thing.
They had to take Franklin to get Tatum. That was the goal.
But it felt wrong—not having Stone at his side.
Dave swallowed, rubbing at the burning ache in his chest. Leaving Stone behind had been stupid. Why had he done it? A knot of feelings twisted tight in his gut—ugly things he didn’t want to name.
The convoy rolled into the warehouse yard, engines idling low, headlights cutting through dust that hung in the air like smoke. The building loomed over them, all corrugated metal and broken glass, a husk that had seen better decades.
The whole fucking thing stank. The building looked…unused.
Dave stepped out first, Viper and Rip flanking him.
Boston and Sage slid out but kept to the rear, where they belonged.
The interior was cavernous and stripped bare. Concrete echoed each footfall, the air thick with rust and stale oil. At the center of the space sat a battered metal table, out of place in the emptiness. A single phone rested on top, screen dark.
“Cute,” Viper muttered, scanning the rafters.
Dave followed his gaze. Cameras, tucked high in the steel bones of the roof, their tiny red eyes winking down. And in the corners—shadows that weren’t shadows at all. Men. Franklin’s men. Weapons slung casually, like they thought they could play soldier in front of killers.
The phone buzzed.
Dave walked forward, boots striking sharp echoes. He picked up the receiver. “Yeah.”
Static crackled before a voice slid through, smooth and smug. “You brought some muscle, I see.”
Dave let his eyes track the cameras again. “I never travel light.”
Franklin chuckled on the line. “Good. I like to know the measure of a man. And his men.”
Outside, tires screeched. A shout went up. Franklin’s people were circling the convoy, pressing close, gauging the perimeter. Inside, one of the watchers shifted too near Boston, a grin sharp on his face. Boston tensed, shoulders flaring, but Viper’s glare cut him down before he moved.
