Page 77 of Gravity
“Mike—it’s Dave. I need you here.” Dave rattled off an address, and Stone heard the immediacy in Mike’s reply before the line closed; no negotiation, no questions—their teams had shown up for the mayor’s office too many times to count.
Outside, Genesis and YA finished the final sweeps, efficient and precise.
Rip and Boston moved like a practiced pair—clearing pockets, stripping weapons, identifying any electronic that could breathe a trail.
Sage worked with the quiet of a man who killed for a living, answering to no one but the mission. He moved alongside Azrael, Rebel, and Freedom, keeping Micah, the newest member of YA, close. Beck and another young assassin brought up the rear.
Stone felt the area lock down around containment, for now.
Outside, a black SUV eased in along with two cruisers and one prisoner transportation bus.
Mayor Mike Davis stepped out of the SUV—familiar in a suit that had seen worse. He didn’t ask questions when he headed their way, but his hand was out.
“They’re yours. No press.” Dave reached out, grip firm on Mike’s hand.
“As expected. It’s nice to see you again.” Mike nodded and jerked his head at his men.
Officers moved, jumping to obey. They took the perps into custody like routine.
Dave glanced at Stone; no words were needed.
It was time to move. Mike sent a cruiser to clear the way.
By the time Genesis and YA rental vehicles reached the landing strip, the helicopter was already warming up.
Sirens faded and lights shrank as the police escort peeled off. The team climbed into the Chinook—Franklin and Titus were placed at opposite ends once inside.
Dave sank down next to him, and Stone had to flex his hand to keep from yanking him closer.
This shit was almost over.
But they still had to get their hands on Tatum—And they just might succeed with Franklin in their custody.
For now, the trail stayed alive.
The great room of the ranch still smelled like mahogany smoke and dust, but tonight it carried gunpowder too—tracked in on boots and jackets, clinging to every man who had walked out of the warehouse alive.
Thankfully, that had been all of them, with only a few minor injuries. Rebel had twisted an ankle, and Azrael had a piece of metal graze his arm.
They’d gotten lucky…but then, with a group of trained assassins, Stone had expected no less.
Real gave him a nod in passing on his way out of the front room. Probably looking for Azrael.
Stone leaned against the edge of the long table, arms folded, watching as Rip and Winter hauled Franklin out the door to the reinforced bunkers where they conducted interrogations.
Titus followed under guard, face unreadable, wrists cinched in front. The door shut quietly behind them, and for the first time since the meeting had blown up, the air eased.
“I don’t think Franklin is going to give Titus shit,” Viper muttered.
“He might give up something useful if he thinks Titus is a prisoner like him,” Law argued.
“Doubt it.” Viper stalked to the bar that sat against one wall and poured a drink.
“Walt Beckman is missing,” Law said from his spot at the bar.
“Call back over there and see if he is one of the deceased,” Viper ordered.
“If he is, don’t tell Titus,” Winter said.
