Page 61 of Gravity
The perps were not trained for this kind of fight.
Genesis was.
Stone’s brass knuckles cracked bone with every swing, blood slick across his fist. Another man dropped, teeth scattering on the pavement. The pistol cracked, and another one stumbled, running for a vehicle.
Law was at his side, blade flashing silver as he cut a path through the pack. Winter’s rifle barked sharp and steady, dropping targets with unerring precision. Black plowed forward like a wrecking ball, fists and elbows turning men to rubble.
Viper and Rip surged in from the warehouse, heavy hitters at last, their presence shifting the tide. Rip folded a man’s arm until it snapped, then spun him into another attacker. Viper’s strikes were surgical, efficient—every hit meant to end a fight, not prolong it.
The cameras were off.
No more red eyes watching from the rafters. No cameras outside that they could see—unseen ones may be nearby. Sage would take care of any video feeds if needed.
Stone caught the motion of Boston in the corner of his eye—too fast, too reckless.
The young assassin bolted forward, fists high, a wildcat about to bare its claws.
Rip was faster.
He yanked Boston back against him, locked him tight in a crushing grip. Boston bucked and snarled, but Rip bent low, voice a growl.
“Franklin’s men are watching. You can’t show your skills.”
Boston stilled.
Stone saw the war in his eyes—rage, pride, the urge to prove himself—but slowly, reluctantly, the boy gave in. Rip’s hold stayed ironclad until the fight bled out of him.
It didn’t matter anyway.
The line was breaking. Franklin’s men scattered, fear cutting deeper than any blade. Engines roared, boots pounded, and then they were gone—what was left of them disappearing into the night.
Three lay behind, groaning in the dirt.
Stone moved in with the others, breath ragged, knuckles bloody.
Genesis worked wordlessly, efficiently. Stone shoved one man over with his boot until the guy stumbled up and ran.
Viper snapped another up and shoved him while Black and Law chased off others, Winter covered the perimeter.
Stone straightened, chest heaving, scanning the wreckage of the lot. Smoke curled from a crumpled SUV, the stench of fuel and blood heavy in the air. Franklin’s muscle was broken, but the bastard himself was nowhere in sight.
Not yet.
What the fuck had tonight been about?
Stone stalked over to the Genesis vehicle.
Sage crouched in the open end of the other SUV, cords trailing into a small device balanced on his lap. His curls fell into his face as he worked, green eyes sharp with concentration. For once, the young man looked completely at home, like the chaos around him was just background noise.
Stone moved closer, wary but watching. “Talk to me.”
Sage didn’t look up. His fingers flew across the keyboard, screen light flickering against his face. “Franklin may have muscle, but he lacks technical savvy. This was almost too easy to trace.”
He tapped one last key, then swiveled the screen toward them. Lines of data pulsed across the map, narrowing into a grid.
Dave stepped in beside Stone, voice clipped. “How close?”
Sage grinned—quick, sharp, more wolf than boy. “He’s not as invisible as he thinks. He’s in Nevada, of all places. I can’t pin the exact location, but I got him in a ten-block radius just outside of Las Vegas.”
