Page 56 of Gravity
Stone watched him, the control in his voice leaving no room for argument—just the quiet certainty of a man already moving three steps ahead.
Boston’s eyes lit, too eager by half. “Yes, sir.”
Viper nodded, and Sage only tipped his head once, calm, though his knuckles were white against the pen he still held. Law’s gaze lingered on that tight grip, the small tell only he seemed to notice.
Rip muttered something under his breath, low enough not to challenge outright but sharp enough that Boston’s smirk faded.
Dave ignored it. His tone cut through. “Prep for Port Hueneme. We move tomorrow.”
Silence again, but this time no one argued. Chairs scraped as the men began to rise, the weight of orders settling heavily across their shoulders.
Dave stayed a beat longer, his palms pressed to the table. Stone hadn’t moved from his side, anger still radiating off him.
The mission was set. But the cost of it was already bleeding through.
The next morning, the house was too quiet.
Stone paced the length of the upstairs hall, boots whispering against hardwood, the silence pressing in on him like a weight.
Yesterday’s fight still clung to the walls, raw and unfinished, every word he and Dave had thrown at each other lodged like shrapnel.
He hadn’t slept, and he sure the hell hadn’t gone into Dave’s bedroom.
He valued his head.
Downstairs, the war room was already alive with motion—gear being hauled, Black and Winter barking logistics, Viper’s voice sharp enough to cut. But up here in the deserted hallway, the air was dead, heavy with everything he hadn’t said.
His hands itched for something to do. A weapon to clean, a horse to ride, hell, even a fight to bleed it out of him. Instead, there was nothing but the hollow thud of his own pulse and the echo of his own voice in the room.
Rather lose Franklin than lose you.
He scrubbed a hand through his hair, jaw tight. He hadn’t meant to let it spill like that, raw and unguarded, but it was the truth—and Dave hadn’t listened.
He stopped at the end of the hall, braced a hand against the window frame, and tried to breathe past the pressure in his chest.
He wanted to be in the study, sitting next to Dave, watching the gardens together.
He wanted their normal back. He wanted their quiet conversations. And even though the fury had cooled overnight, it left behind dread.
Cold, heavy, unshakable.
Dave was going to put himself in Franklin’s sights, and Stone couldn’t stop him. Not with words. Not with fists.
His eyes shut, throat tight. The fight wasn’t what gutted him. It was the thought that it might have been the last one they ever had. He couldn’t stop him, but he could damned well be there when Dave went in.
If Dave thought he was standing back on this mission, then he could think again.
By midday, the estate was thick with motion. Viper’s voice rang from the main hall, drilling orders. Out front, engines turned over, weapons loaded, movement constant.
Stone found himself near the front gate when two SUVs rolled up, dust kicking high behind them. The doors opened and out spilled Creed and Kellum, faces sharp with the familiar tension that came before a fight.
Parker and Oliver slid out of the second SUV armed and ready.
“About damn time,” Stone muttered under his breath, though a flicker of relief cut through the dread. Reinforcements meant Dave was shoring up the line.
Creed gave him a crooked grin. “You look like hell, cousin.”
“Feel worse,” Stone shot back, pulling him into a rough clasp before turning to Kellum.
