Page 74 of Gravity
“Pretty little things,” he murmured. “I like the smaller ones—faster, easier to… train.”
Fucking hell. Stone swallowed. This was what Titus had to deal with? How the fuck had the guy done it for so long?
Heat spiked under Stone’s skin, a drumbeat in his ears. His trigger finger itched, his whole body a fuse ready to blow.
Dave was a statue beside him, cold, controlled, seller mask in place.
Rip moved. Just a fraction, so slight no one else in the room would’ve caught it. His stance widened, shoulders loose, but the menace in his eyes was a blade unsheathed.
Franklin never saw it—too busy licking his lips over Boston—but Stone did. He read it clearly. Rip would kill for the kid. Maybe didn’t even know it yet.
“How old are you, boy?” Franklin leaned in, head cocked as he looked Boston up and down.
Boston’s mouth opened, a smart remark already burning on his tongue. Stone felt it coming—
Rip’s hand clamped down, heavy on Boston’s shoulder. A warning squeeze, hard enough to make the kid’s teeth click shut.
“Sixteen,” Boston lied through his teeth.
Stone’s stomach twisted when Franklin’s eyes lit up. The bile in his throat was sharp as glass. He’d been in war zones that felt cleaner than this room.
Franklin circled them slowly, like a dog sniffing out weakness. His shoes clicked against the tile, sharp against the hum of the lights. His gaze dragged over Sage again, then settled on Boston like a hook sinking into flesh.
“You’ve got fire,” Franklin said, voice pitched low, oily. “I can see it in your eyes. Mouth on you too, I bet. Bet you’d learn quick once it was beaten out of you.”
Boston’s jaw clenched, the words sparking just behind his teeth. Stone felt it before it showed—the tightness in the kid’s shoulders, the twitch at the corner of his mouth. Boston was a fuse begging for a flame.
Rip’s hand was already there. Squeezing harder this time, fingers like a vise on Boston’s shoulder. His head dipped just enough for Stone to catch the whisper that never made it to Franklin’s ears.
“Not. A. Word.”
Boston’s throat worked, eyes narrowing, but he stayed silent.
Franklin chuckled, low and pleased, mistaking restraint for submission. He leaned back on his heels, smug grin slicing across his face.
“That’s what I like. A challenge. Something raw I can mold.”
Stone’s gut turned. He wanted to break the man’s teeth just to wipe the smile off his face.
Rip hadn’t moved otherwise—stance still casual, face blank. But Stone saw the truth in the man’s eyes. Cold. Dark. If Franklin touched Boston, Rip wouldn’t just stop him—he’d gut him. And Franklin would never even see it coming.
Only Stone noticed.
The door at the back opened without warning.
Heavy boots on tile. Slow, deliberate.
Titus stepped through the threshold, and the whole room tilted.
Broad shoulders filled the doorway, a shadow cutting the fluorescent light. His eyes swept the room once, steady as a rifle barrel, before locking on Franklin.
The change was instant. Franklin’s smirk slipped, his spine straightening like a schoolboy caught out.
“Sir,” Franklin said, too quick, too smooth, voice bending to something closer to respect—or fear. “I didn’t know you were coming.”
Stone’s muscles tightened, an instinct he didn’t bother to fight. He shifted half a step closer to Dave, body angling just enough to put himself between the two men.
Dave didn’t react, didn’t even twitch, but Stone knew he felt the shift too.
