Chapter Eighteen
The next morning, the war room smelled like burnt coffee and cold steel, the air thick with the weight of too many sleepless nights.
Maps and manifests littered the table, Sparrow’s latest printouts stacked beside a half-dead laptop. Morning light knifed through the blinds, striping the floor in harsh bars.
Dave stood at the head of the table, hands braced on the scarred wood. Boston lounged in his chair with forced nonchalance, boot tapping a jittery rhythm. Sage sat quieter, green eyes watchful, pen spinning once, twice, between his fingers before he set it down.
Viper stalked the far side of the room, shoulders wound tight, pacing like a caged animal. His glare pinned Titus, who sat calmly amongst the storm, unrestrained. He didn’t need cuffs—half a dozen trained killers in the room could drop him before he drew a full breath.
Titus leaned back in his chair and let a slow, knowing smirk curl his mouth. Sexy, deliberate, a challenge.
Viper’s jaw clenched. He wanted to wipe that smirk from the fucker’s face, preferably with his fist.
“This is bullshit,” Viper snapped, voice sharp as a blade. “He shouldn’t even be here.”
Dave didn’t flinch. “He stays. We need to figure this out.”
The silence that followed was heavy. Viper’s jaw worked, but he didn’t push.
Titus leaned forward, eyes flicking over the scattered plans. His gaze slid to Boston, then Sage. He shook his head once, slowly. “It’s not going to work.”
Boston’s boot stilled, jaw tightening. “Excuse me?”
Titus ignored him, eyes on Dave now. “Like I said last night, Franklin won’t trust them. Too young. He’d see it before they opened their mouths.”
Rip muttered, low but clear enough to carry: “He’s right, you’re too young.”
Boston bristled. “You saying I can’t pull this off?”
“Kid, you even breathe wrong and Franklin will eat you alive.” This time, Titus fired back. Then paused, voice dropping low, eyes cutting to Dave. “He would trust someone your age.”
The words hit like a match dropped in gasoline.
Stone stiffened where he leaned against the wall, arms crossed, eyes hard.
“No,” he said, voice flat, dangerous. “Absolutely not.”
Dave straightened, heat climbing his spine. “Stone—”
“You’re not walking into Franklin’s den.” Stone’s voice carried, edged and certain. “You’re not in the field anymore. That part of your career is over.”
Boston shifted in his chair, muttering under his breath. Sage stilled, eyes flicking between them.
“This isn’t a debate,” Dave said, tone flat. “Franklin won’t deal with them alone. If I don’t go in as a handler or a seller, we lose the only shot we have.”
“This is bullshit, he knows where Franklin is, let’s just go in,” Viper growled, jerking his chin at Titus.
“He’ll see you coming a mile away, he’s got sentries. The warehouse butts up against the water. He’ll be gone before you even get close,” Titus murmured.
Stone stepped closer to Dave, jaw clenched. “Then we find another way. Put someone else in the chair.”
“There isn’t anyone else my age,” Dave snapped back.
Stone’s hands curled into fists. “You think dragging yourself into the line of fire makes you indispensable? It makes you reckless.”
The room went tight.
Viper stopped pacing, eyes narrowing.
“Enough,” Dave cut in sharply. “This isn’t about me. It’s about Franklin.”
Titus gave a short, abrupt nod. “Franklin deals with handlers on a weekly basis.”
Viper folded his arms and stalked to the table. “Handler model makes the most sense.”
“I can go in and try to get him and his devices—I just need a tech to crack them,” Titus said.
Viper’s brow went hard. “What do you mean, try to get him?”
“He’s got as many men as I do. If I go in guns blazing,” Titus said, eyes flat, “I might not come out alive. So, I’m going to have to go in as his superior and try to get him alone.”
“No.” Dave shook his head, palms flat on the table to pin the room. “You’re not going in without us. That’s already decided.”
Titus shrugged, unfazed. “Then I go in as a handler. Franklin only moves at night. That gives us the edge.”
Law tapped the map with a finger, leaning over the fold. “We keep teams on the perimeter. Once you’ve got Franklin in custody, our men cut the sentries and move in.”
Viper grunted in agreement. “That could work.”
Stone’s laugh broke through, humorless and close. “Handler? Or a death wish?”
He pushed back from the table just enough to angle himself toward Titus.
Sparrow cleared his throat, shifting in his chair. “Depends on how you’re looking at it—as his right-hand man, or a boyfriend…”
The last word hit the room like a slap.
Stone’s gaze snapped to Sparrow, the air clenched. “Who are you again?” he said, low.
Sparrow flipped him the bird and shut his mouth. The gesture hung there, ridiculous.
Silence stretched, brittle.
No one moved.
Stone leaned in toward Dave, voice low but fierce. “We’re not doing this. Not here.”
He turned on his heel, storming out. The door slammed against the frame, leaving the war room frozen, the echo of his words still vibrating in the air.
Stone’s boots hit the hall in hard, clipped strides.
Dave caught up fast, grabbed the edge of the study door as Stone shouldered through it. The wood slammed against the wall, rattling the frame.
This room, just down the hall from the war room, was the opposite in tone—quiet, calming. Massive windows overlooking the gardens, shelves heavy with books, sunlight cutting across scattered papers.
“You don’t pull rank on me in front of the team,” Dave snapped, his voice low but flint-edged.
Stone spun on him, eyes blazing. “Then stop giving me a reason to.”
Dave shut the door behind them, shutting out the world. The silence pressed, heavy and close.
“Franklin won’t talk to kids,” Dave said, jaw tight. “If I don’t go in, we lose our shot.”
“Let Titus get Franklin.”
Dave shook his head. “You trust him?”
“No,” Stone rasped.
“Then I go in.”
“You’re not hearing me.” Stone’s voice cracked with force, not volume.
“You’re not in the field anymore, Dave. You’ve been grinding yourself into the dirt for years.
You think I don’t see it? The headaches.
The way you rub your chest when you think no one’s watching. Look what happened on the beach!”
Dave stiffened. The words landed harder than any blow.
“This isn’t your call.”
“The hell it isn’t.” Stone stepped closer, face inches away, voice dropping to a rough rasp. “It damn well is when you’re all I’ve got.”
Dave’s breath hitched, just once.
“I can handle Franklin.” His voice was quieter now, but sharp, controlled.
Stone shook his head, chest tight. “This isn’t about handling Franklin. It’s about me burying you.”
The words hung between them, raw and jagged.
Stone felt the pull to reach for him, to close the space between them, but his hands stayed locked at his sides.
“Stone…” The edge in Dave’s voice broke—just for a beat. The steel, the command, all of it flickered and fell away.
Stone’s throat worked, but the fury wouldn’t let go. “Don’t you get it? I’d rather lose Franklin than lose you.”
Dave looked away, swallowing hard, then dragged his gaze back. “We don’t have that choice. We can’t risk him getting away. That’s the only reason I’m doing this.”
Stone stared at him, eyes raw, jaw set like granite. He didn’t argue again, but the silence said enough.
Finally, he turned for the door, voice clipped. “Then do what you always do. Carry the weight, break yourself, and leave the rest of us to pick up the pieces.”
The door slammed behind him.
Dave stayed rooted in the silence, chest tight, the fight still clawing through him. For a moment, his shoulders sagged, and he rubbed at his temples.
Then he straightened, pulled the steel back into place, and walked from the room.
The war room was quieter when Dave stepped back in, but the tension clung like smoke.
Boston leaned forward in his chair, restless energy vibrating off him. Sage sat still, sharp eyes flicking up at Dave and then away. Rip scowled at the table, jaw working. Viper stood with arms crossed, expression hard.
Dave shut the door, the sound sharp in the silence. He crossed to the head of the table, planted his hands on the scarred wood, and let his gaze sweep the room.
Titus hadn’t moved. He lounged where he’d been, that same cool calm wrapped around him like armor, the faint curl of a smile still playing at his mouth.
Law stood near the back, broad shoulders braced against the wall, arms crossed. His eyes weren’t on Dave or Titus—they tracked Sage. Quiet, measured, like he was already weighing the young man’s chances.
The door opened again.
Stone stalked back in, jaw set, eyes still burning. He didn’t speak, just moved to stand beside Dave’s desk, arms folded tight across his chest.
He might’ve been pissed as hell, but he wasn’t leaving Dave alone.
Ever.
Dave’s voice cut through the noise, clipped and steady. “Here’s how it stands. Titus doesn’t have enough men to go solo.”
The room went still. Even the hum of the lights seemed to fade.
“Franklin won’t talk to kids—no offense,” Titus added, flicking a glance at Boston and Sage.
“None taken,” Boston said easily.
Dave nodded once. “So, Franklin will deal with me.”
“It’s better if you go in as a seller instead of handler. He’ll expect a transaction,” Titus said.
“That’s settled then. I’ll go as a seller. Boston and Sage run under my cover.”
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.