Chapter Twenty-One
The parking lot was hell lit in headlights. Men swarmed from the alleys, Franklin’s muscle pouring out in waves, but it didn’t matter.
Dave’s voice came hard over the comms—authority in every syllable. “The objective is to get Franklin—so killing his men won’t do us a damned bit of good.”
Stone’s jaw tightened. He let a thin, dangerous smile cut across his face. “So, leave them alive and teach them a lesson. Got it,” he growled.
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.”
Stone let the words settle. Ten blocks. In their world, that was practically a cornered rat.
“I thought Titus set this meeting up?” Viper snarled.
Dave’s face didn’t move, but Stone saw the tightness at his jaw, the way his hand flexed once at his side. Too much strain, too many years carrying the weight.
Stone’s chest ached to step in, to steady him, but he kept his focus outward. Not here. Not with eyes on them.
He turned instead to Sage, clapping a hand to the man’s shoulder. “Good work.”
Sage shrugged, trying to play it off, but pride flickered in his eyes.
Stone’s voice cut across the lot, hard and final. “Bag it up. We move.”
Stone slid into the back of the SUV after Dave, the doors slamming shut with a metallic thud that cut off the night. Viper took the driver’s seat without a word. Rip had gone with Boston and Sage in another vehicle, leaving this one quiet.
The convoy pulled out, headlights cutting through the broken streets of Port Hueneme.
For the first time all night, Stone let himself breathe. Not easy, not steady—just enough to know the fight was behind them.
For now.
Beside him, Dave sat rigid, eyes on the dark blur out the window. His silence wasn’t unusual, but there was something off about it tonight. Stone caught the tightness in his jaw, the shallow rise and fall of his chest.
Then Dave’s hand twitched against his thigh, flexing once, twice, before pressing hard into the muscle as if to ground himself.
Stone’s gut clenched.
He knew that look, that edge. He’d seen Dave bleed out before, take hits that would have ended another man—but this was different. No gun, no knife, no enemy he could shoot or strangle. Just something inside him slipping, too quiet, too invisible.
Not here, Stone thought. Not like this.
His irritation with Dave melted away in an instant.
He leaned closer, voice low. “You good?”
“I’m fine.” The reply was too quick, too clipped.
Bullshit. Stone had lived half his life listening for the lies men told when they were bleeding. Dave wasn’t scared—he was fighting his own body. And Stone couldn’t punch, stab, or choke that into submission.
His gaze lingered on the faint sheen of sweat at Dave’s temple, the way his shoulders curled in before he forced them straight. Pretending nothing was wrong. Pretending he didn’t need anyone.
Stone’s fists itched. He’d rather take ten rounds himself, shoulder screaming, ribs breaking, than watch Dave pretend he wasn’t hurting. Because every time he saw it, the same thought ripped through him—what if this time he doesn’t come back?
Up front, Viper’s eyes flicked to the mirror, catching Stone’s. He’d noticed too. No words passed, but the exchange was clear: watch him.
Stone settled back, close enough that his shoulder brushed Dave’s. He didn’t push—Dave would only lock down harder if he did—but he stayed steady, a silent vow in his chest.
Not on my watch.
Outside, Port Hueneme slipped away, the ocean air thinning as they merged onto the Ventura Freeway. Santa Barbara was less than an hour up the coast. Dave’s estate, their stronghold.
Stone let his gaze rest on Dave, memorizing the sharp lines of his face against the passing glow of streetlights. He didn’t say it aloud, not yet—but he’d be damned if he let Dave carry this weight alone.
Not anymore.
Stone curled an arm around Dave and pulled him close, his lips brushing near the man’s temple. His words were too quiet for Viper to hear.
“Did you bring the meds the doctor prescribed? Do we need to stop by a clinic?”
Dave’s jaw flexed. “Forgot. No clinic. Just get me home—the pills are on my dresser.”
Stone tightened his hold, gaze fixed on the dark road ahead.
He didn’t argue.
But the weight of those words burned in his chest.