Page 66 of Gravity
“You staying back for real this time?” Winter lifted one brow at him.
Stone’s hands curled around the rifle, knuckles white. He met Winter’s eyes.
“No.” The word hit the air like a brick. “If it goes sideways, I’m not staying in the shadows,” Stone said, tone quiet but deadly certain. “I already talked with Dave.”
Winter studied him for a long beat, then nodded once, slowly. “Good.”
Stone leaned back, the ache in his shoulder slight, the ache in his chest worse. Dave had commanded armies, he could make his own decisions. It didn’t mean that he had to like it, though.
He looked at the rifles, the order, the gleam of steel in the racks. Dave’s hand was all over this room, in every perfectline and locked case, and it made the thought of something happening in Vegas feel even sharper.
His phone buzzed with an incoming text message from Dave.
“Come to my study. Bring Winter.”
Stone rose from the bench, slid the rifle into the rack, and jerked his chin toward the door.
“Let’s move.”
Rip fell in at his side, Winter and Boston behind, their boots heavy on the stairs. Each step carried them out of the chill of steel and into the heat of command.
Stone’s vow burned steadily in his chest: if the op turned bloody, he wouldn’t be watching from the shadows.
That vow had a face now; it wasn’t abstract. It was Dave’s hand in his, Dave’s breath at his ear—the stupid, perfect things that made him refuse to be sidelined.
Not this time.
Rip and Boston peeled off toward the war room, already trading quick barbs.
Stone headed for the study with Winter at his side. Inside, Dave was there with Viper and Law—and Titus sat in one of the two chairs facing the desk.
Titus was fingering a fat lip—Viper stood over Titus, ready to pound him into mulch.
“What did I miss?” Stone asked, shutting the door.
“This fucker denying that he set us up,” Viper snapped.
“I didn’t set you up. I will call Franklin and see what the fuck is going on,” Titus said flatly.
“Put it on speaker.” Dave dropped the phone they’d taken off Titus onto the desk.
Titus pressed the speaker and made the call.
“Titus,” Franklin’s voice came over the line, smug.
“You fucked up a meeting with a buyer and turned it into a shit show. We’re done.” Titus poked at the red dot on the phone and ended the call.
“What the fuck!” Viper snarled, grabbing Titus by the shirt collar.
“Viper,” Dave snapped, and Viper immediately released his grip, stepping back.
Dave held Titus’s gaze, and Stone could almost feel the silent war between the two powerful men.
Stone’s jaw flexed. He recognized that look—calm and cold—the same one that had softened only hours ago on the balcony. Whatever Dave decided now, it was tempered by something private between them, something that made Stone want to stand in front of every bullet.
Titus’s phone rang, the buzz filling the charged silence.
Franklin’s name flashed on the screen.
