Chapter Twenty-Six
The diner was loud in the way only New York could manage at one in the morning—plates clattering, coffee pouring, neon humming while traffic slid past outside. They’d taken over a corner booth and then some, two tables shoved together and angled in, half blocking the aisle.
Their weapons were locked in the rental SUV outside—no metal, no heat, just food and eyes on the room.
The waitresses didn’t mind. Smiles followed them down the line, one redhead slowing long enough to clock Memphis before snapping back to work with a grin.
“Y’all military or models?” she asked cheerfully.
“Depends who’s asking,” Memphis said, already elbow-deep in sugar packets like he was preparing to summon something unholy.
That earned a laugh and a shake of the head as she moved on, calling, “I’ll be back for the rest of you, don’t go nowhere.”
“As if we could,” Ocean muttered, perched sideways on the booth with one knee up, curls falling into his eyes. He looked bored. He wasn’t.
Law sat at the junction where booth met chair, broad frame angled just enough that he wasn’t crowding Sage—and just enough that he could see him clearly. Not hunched. Not boxed in. Open. Intentional.
Sage sat beside him on the booth’s long side, turned in his seat so they faced each other at an angle, tablet resting on the table amid abandoned menus and a forest of coffee mugs—close enough to glance down when needed, but not buried in it.
Their knees didn’t touch. Their shoulders didn’t brush. But when Sage glanced up, he caught Law’s gaze dead-on—whiskey-colored, steady, sharp. Law saw the green in return, bright and alert even under fluorescent lights that made everyone else look half-dead.
The waitress came back around, notepad out, pen poised. Orders rolled in—coffee, eggs, whatever was fastest—until she stopped in front of Law.
He didn’t hesitate. Rattled it off like a checklist.
The pen slowed. The notepad filled.
Sage glanced down, then up at Law. “Jesus Christ. Is that everything?”
Law didn’t look away from him. “That’s just breakfast.”
“That’s a challenge,” Sage corrected. “That’s not a breakfast order—that’s a lifestyle choice.”
The waitress blinked at the list. “Honey, if you want a ten-stack, we don’t—”
“Then make it two,” Law said calmly, eyes on Sage. “With the works.”
Sage’s mouth kicked up. “You planning to hibernate or just establish dominance over pancakes?”
“Fuel,” Law said. “We’ve had a night.”
Syx snorted from his chair, leaned back, and watched the front windows like they might sprout teeth. “Understatement of the year.”
Aspen didn’t look up, but his eyes tracked the way the waitress’s pen paused, recalculated. “You’re going to slow the kitchen.”
Law shrugged. “They’ll manage.”
Sage tipped his head, studying him with open amusement. “You realize she’s going to bring that out on three separate plates just to make a point.”
“I respect that,” Law said. “Shows character.”
Memphis finally stopped stirring sugar long enough to glance up. “Hold up. Before we all pretend this is normal—who’s paying?”
That did it.
Ocean twisted around. “Not me. I forgot my wallet on purpose.”
“Same,” Syx said flatly. “Habit.”
Aspen lifted one shoulder. “I pay in information. No one takes it.”
“Shocking,” Memphis muttered.
A shadow slid into the last open space without warning.
Boston dropped into the seat like he’d been there all along, plate already loaded with fries. “I vote Law. He ordered the GDP of a small country.”
Law stared at him. Actually gaped. “What the hell are you doing here?”
Boston shrugged, unfazed, biting into a fry. “Passing by. Passing through. Take your pick.”
“He’s been here long enough to order food,” Ocean pointed out, plucking a fry straight off Boston’s plate.
Boston nodded, chewing. “True. Some observant operatives you guys are.”
Law didn’t laugh. His gaze stayed locked on Boston as the implications stacked—fast and unpleasant.
“Where’s Rip?”
Boston’s mouth twisted. “How should I know?”
Law’s eyes slid past him.
Rip was already coming through the door, timing so perfect it felt intentional. Big. Solid. Unimpressed.
“Not very observant,” Law said mildly.
Boston froze, fry suspended midair, then shot a look over his shoulder.
Rip closed the distance, eyes sweeping the crowded tables before settling on the kid. “You’re not supposed to be here.”
Boston straightened fast, grin snapping back into place. “Yet here I am.”
Law watched it all with the faintest edge of a smile, then flicked his gaze back to Sage as he answered Memphis’s question. “Breakfast is on me.”
“Of course it is.” Sage smiled and leaned back, fingers grazing the tablet on the table but not opening it. His phone buzzed again. Not for the first time. He ignored it.
Their eyes held for a beat longer than necessary—quiet, easy, loaded with something unnamed—before the diner noise rushed back in around them: coffee steaming, plates arriving, the city pressing close.
Small talk resumed around the table. Plates followed—piled high, crowding elbows and menus. The waitress swung back through, took Rip’s order, topped off coffee cups, then disappeared again into the rush.
“Where’s the boss man?” Rip asked, glancing toward the door like he half-expected Viper to walk in on cue.
“With Titus,” Ocean said easily, mouth full, one curl falling into his eyes.
Boston snorted, still tucking fries away like it was a competitive sport. “And they don’t need a referee?”
“Not for this,” Law drawled, spearing the top pancake with his fork and taking a couple of efficient bites.
Rip blinked. “Since when?”
Law lifted one shoulder, swallowed. “Since he got here.”
“No shit,” Rip muttered, a crease cutting across his brow as he stole a few of Boston’s fries. “I figured those two would kill each other.”
“Still might,” Memphis said around coffee and eggs.
Law’s mouth twitched faintly as he speared another pancake. “Yeah. But not tonight.”
“Envious?” Boston teased, kicking Rip lightly under the table.
Rip didn’t look down. “Of what?”
“The chaos,” Boston said with a snicker. “Obviously. What were you thinking?”
“Gutter’s crowded,” Ocean cut in.
Boston laughed. “Some people thrive there.”
“Some people get shot,” Rip replied, eyes narrowing as he reached for another fry.
Boston grinned, batting his hand away. “Semantics.”
Syx snorted. “You’re going to be the reason my paperwork doubles.”
“Worth it,” Boston said.
Aspen finally looked up from his waffles. “He’s not wrong.”
Rip exhaled through his nose, gaze never leaving the room—or Boston. “You’re all a problem.”
Law tipped his mug in a silent toast, washing down bacon. “Team effort.”
Sage laughed—soft, unguarded—and the sound caught and held Law’s attention.
The table erupted again—Memphis and Boston sniping, Syx deadpanning something that earned a laugh, Ocean leaning in to add fuel. Noise rose, attention pulled outward. Just enough.
Law didn’t move away. But the moment opened anyway.
Sage’s phone buzzed again on the table. He didn’t reach for it.
Law’s eyes flicked down, then back up. He kept his voice low. “Not going to answer that?”
“Nope.”
“An ex?” Law guessed lightly.
The color drained from Sage’s face—not all at once, just enough that Law saw it. Felt it.
The fear hit him sharp and unwelcome, like a hand closing around his ribs.
Law leaned in a fraction, voice dropping further. “What is it?”
Sage shook his head once, small and controlled. “Nothing important.”
Law held his gaze, searching, then backed off just enough to give him air. He wasn’t buying it, but he wouldn’t press. “Whatever it is,” he said quietly, “you know I’ve got your back.”
Sage swallowed hard, then nodded. “I know.”
The noise at the table swelled again—laughter breaking over them—but the space between Law and Sage stayed charged, alert.
“What are we going to do about him?” Sage asked, angling his chin toward Boston.
Law exhaled once. “There’s no containing him. We’ll let Rip handle it.”
Sage’s mouth curved. “Yeah.” Then it faded. “Have we heard from Vale?”
Law’s brow creased as he tapped the comm in his ear. “Vale, report.”
The diner seemed to hush—not truly silent, but focused. Every one of them wore the same gear. They all heard it.
“Had a few people show up about half an hour ago,” Vale said. “They haven’t come back out. I’m heading inside to check it.” A beat. “I may be off comms for a few minutes.”
“Copy,” Law said.
Outside, New York kept moving—headlights sliding past the windows, night refusing to fully loosen its grip.
The clock over the counter slid past two.
Law checked his phone again—still nothing from Vale.
Not long enough to panic, but long enough to notice. Syrup-streaked empty plates, bacon grease cooled, and coffee rings marked the table as forks were set aside and the last bites disappeared.
“All right,” Law said, his voice cutting clean through the table. Not sharp, but final. A few heads turned, but no one argued.
Boston popped another fry into his mouth like it was a victory lap, and Rip’s gaze flicked to him—warning, already tired.
Law’s eyes settled on the kid and held. “You’re coming back with us.”
Boston blinked mid-chew. “I—”
“No.” Law didn’t raise his voice. Didn’t need to. “You don’t freelance in this city. Not tonight.”
Boston’s grin tried to recover. “I’m not freelancing. I’m…passing by.”
“Passing by to where?” Syx asked, deadpan.
Boston opened his mouth. Nothing came out.
Rip exhaled through his nose, like he’d been expecting this exact stupidity the second Boston walked in. “He’s with me.”
Law shifted his attention to Rip. “That’s what I needed to hear.”
Rip’s jaw ticked once. “He stays in my sight.”
“Good.” Law looked back to Boston. “Phones on. Volume up. You don’t leave the condo for anything—not air, not snacks, not a damn vending machine—unless Rip says so. Clear?”
Boston made a face. “Yes, sir.”
Ocean leaned in, curls falling forward as he chewed. “He’s going to hate that.”
“I’m already hating it,” Boston muttered.
Memphis pushed his plate back. “Welcome to accountability.”
Aspen wiped his hands once, neat and contained. Sage’s tablet stayed on the table, untouched, but his eyes had sharpened again—listening for what wasn’t being said. Law’s gaze flicked to Sage for half a beat before he addressed the table again. “Condo. Rotate showers. Crash hard. Phones on.”
“And Vale?” Sage asked quietly.
Law met his eyes and held them a moment longer than necessary. “He knows the protocol. We give him time.”
Sage nodded once and accepted it.
Law paid the tab, and they moved out together without rush or drama, a unit folding back into the city. The diner’s neon swallowed them whole, the noise cutting off behind glass.
The condo was dark when they arrived, lights coming on in stages as shoes were kicked off by the door and weapons were stowed out of habit. The team filtered down the short hall, bodies peeling off toward their assigned rooms without comment.
Rip paused near the entry, glancing back toward the door. “Why isn’t Viper here with Titus?”
“He is,” Law said. “Just upstairs. Penthouse apartment.”
Boston made a beeline for the couch until Rip pointed at the floor.
“You’re serious,” Boston said.
“Very,” Rip replied.
Boston muttered something obscene and made a nest out of a throw blanket anyway.
Sage paused at the doorway. “Night,” he said quietly.
Law slowed in the hallway as the others disappeared, his gaze catching on Sage. “Night.” His eyes lingered a second longer than necessary before Sage slipped inside and the door clicked shut.
The quiet settled over the condo like a weighted sheet. Law checked his phone again. Still nothing. He set it on the nightstand, screen up, volume maxed. Whatever was coming could wait a few hours longer.
The city hummed beyond the windows. Somewhere, a siren rose and faded. Law lay back, eyes open in the dark, listening and waiting.