Page 69 of Gravity
Clinton jerked, eyes wide, the pistol still clutched in his grip as a hole bloomed red in the center of his chest. His mouth opened like he meant to speak, but no sound came—only a wet gasp.
Shock froze his face as his knees buckled. He toppled sideways, the weapon clattering from his hand, his body hitting the concrete with a heavy, final thud.
Dave’s breath roared in his ears, the acrid sting of gunpowder burning his throat. Slowly, he turned toward the open cell door.
Stone stood just beyond the threshold, sidearm raised, jaw locked tight. Smoke curled from the barrel. His eyes—those hard, unflinching eyes—were fixed on Clinton’s body, not blinking, not wavering.
Three shadows flanked Stone—Rip on one side, Law on the other, and Black watching the hallway. All three men were silent, waiting.
“What did I tell you about leaving me behind?” Stone growled, voice like gravel as he slid his weapon back into his shoulder holster.
Clinton’s body sprawled in a dark pool, the metallic tang of blood mixing with the sting of gunpowder.
Dave’s hand came up, rubbing hard at the ache in his chest, steadier than his voice.
“You have a real talent for saving my ass.”
Stone didn’t answer—just met his eyes, silent, unflinching.
The moment stretched.
Then in three long strides, Stone closed the distance, fisted a hand in the front of Dave’s suit jacket, and yanked him forward into a crushing grip. The impact knocked the breath out of him—harsh, real, but alive.
For a moment, neither spoke. The world was smoke and blood and the sound of their hearts slamming in sync.
For the first time since the gunshot, Dave’s chest eased.
Just a fraction.
“What do you want us to do with the body?” Rip’s voice cut in, blunt as a hammer.
Dave slowly pulled away from Stone.
Law’s mouth curved into a smirk, easy and sharp. “We could make him disappear. Quick, clean. Not a trace left behind.”
They said it like it was nothing—like taking out the trash. Assassins through and through, born to make problems vanish.
Dave squinted down at Clinton’s body. “As much as I want this fucker gone, this isn’t ours to bury.”
Rip frowned but didn’t argue. Law only rolled his shoulders, the grin still ghosting at his mouth.
Dave pulled his phone, thumb steady despite the ache in his chest—damned stress. He scrolled to a single number and hit call.
It connected on the second ring.
“Mr. President.” Dave kept his tone clipped, professional. “Clinton tried to break containment. He armed himself with a guard’s sidearm. Stone neutralized him.”
Silence pressed on the line. Then came a sigh—heavy, caught somewhere between resignation and relief.
“Are you hurt?”
“No, but it was close,” Dave murmured.
“Then it’s a clean shoot. Thank Stone for me,” the President said. “I’ll have the FBI retrieve the body. Official report will read: attempted escape, justified use of force.”
Dave exhaled once, short. “Thank you.”
“You’ve got bigger prey to hunt,” the President added, voice softening. “Don’t let this slow you down.”
