Page 87 of Gravity
“He won’t rest until he gets Dave back,” Law assured the young man.
Sage gazed at Viper as if for agreement.
“They’ll always find each other. They’re like…gravity,” Viper said gruffly, his voice tight.
Stone caught the words and started running.
Gravity.
That’s what it was.
No matter the distance or the dust between them, Stone moved the only way he knew how—toward Dave.
“Fuck,” Tatum muttered.
Dave glanced back at the sound—just in time to see dust rising before Tatum shoved him forward.
“Move faster!” Tatum snarled, the barrel digging into his back.
Dave broke into a run, vaulting rocks and sliding down a small ridge into the gully. Tatum stayed right on his heels.
When the ground sloped, Dave dropped into a forward roll—some things you never forget from your military days.
Tatum lost his footing and slammed into him. Dave came up fast, striking his gun hand—hard and precise, enough to numb it.
Tatum cursed as the gun went flying. Dave kicked for his head, missed, and caught his shoulder instead. Didn’t matter—the weapon was gone, buried somewhere in the brush.
While Tatum scrambled after it, Dave bolted up the gully, crested the far side, and cut right toward the taller rock formation he’d spotted earlier.
Tatum found the gun faster than Dave had hoped.
“Son of a bitch!” Tatum shouted, gunfire cracking across the desert.
Curse all you want, motherfucker. You’re not getting another shot at me.
Dave stayed low, running crouched, then slid in behind the rocks.
The moment he was out of sight, he went at the ropes with his teeth until they gave. He didn’t toss them—kept the line coiled in his fist. Might come in handy around Tatum’s neck.
Dave crawled on hands and knees, keeping low behind the shrub until he found another gully a short distance away.
Heart pounding, he dropped into it and went still, drawing deep breaths that burned his lungs.
Not now. He rubbed at his chest and forced himself to stay put, to calm the hell down, even as every instinct screamed to get to his team.
From somewhere above, Tatum’s curses broke the quiet, footsteps tearing through the brush.
When the sounds of Tatum faded, Dave came up in a crouch and moved—low, fast, toward the east.
Toward the dust.
Toward Stone.
The gunshot ripped the air, and every muscle in Stone locked. Cold shot through him, sharper than the desert wind.
He was moving before thought caught up—weapon raised, eyes on the horizon.
Then he saw him.
