Chapter Twenty-Nine
The ranch was still at this hour, the kind of quiet that came only after midnight. The lights over the kitchen sink cast a soft glow across the counters, catching the swirl of steam rising from the dishwasher and the faint scuff of bare feet on wood.
Dave stood at the island, pajama shirt half-buttoned, spoon in hand, and a carton of mint chocolate chip open on the counter. The first few bites were cold enough to sting his teeth, but he didn’t mind. After everything, this moment felt earned.
He didn’t hear Stone come in—just felt the change in the air before a body brushed his back.
Bare feet scuffed behind him, measured and familiar. Stone’s arms slid around his waist, chin resting on Dave’s shoulder. The warmth of him pressed close, the scent of soap cutting through the late-night chill.
Dave smiled. Last night flickered through his mind—how he’d taken control, how they’d burned up the sheets until neither of them had anything left to prove.
“Careful,” he murmured. “Start sneaking up on me like that, I’ll forget I’m supposed to be in charge.”
“Yeah? Maybe it’s my turn.” Stone’s mouth curved against his ear.
“Keep talking and I’ll remind you how that ends.” Dave huffed a laugh, set the spoon down, and leaned back just enough to feel him—solid, warm, steady.
“Promise?” Stone drawled.
Dave turned his head, then caught his smirk in the reflection of the window glass.
Stone’s chuckle rumbled low, satisfied, his arms tightening around him. The hardwood creaked as he shifted closer, the scent of sleep and soap and mint drifting between them.
For a while, neither spoke. The clock ticked softly, the desert wind sighed against the glass, and somewhere beyond the dark pastures a coyote called out—just one, then silence again.
Dave spooned another bite of ice cream, offered it over his shoulder without looking.
Stone took it straight from the spoon, then his lips brushed his knuckles.
Dave’s mouth tugged into a smile.
Las Vegas
Three hundred and seventy miles away, sirens wailed sharp and endless, drilling cut into Titus’s skull.
He groaned, dragging a hand up, but restraints caught at his arms.
“Boss?” Walt’s voice rasped from somewhere close, dry and hoarse.
“Yeah,” Titus forced out. His throat was raw, every word scraped. “Just—give me a minute.”
“A minute! You were lying in the fucking desert for eight fucking hours! I can’t believe I found you.” Walt sounded broken.
Something plastic was suddenly pressed over his mouth. He clawed at it until another set of hands pinned him down.
The EMT leaned in, gentle but firm. “Calm down, Mr. Quinn. You’ve suffered a severe blow to the head.”
“You’re in an ambulance, almost to the hospital,” Walt said, breath harsh.
Blood dripped down Walt’s cheek from a gash, and another EMT was trying to place butterfly bandages against the open wound to try and stem some of the flow.
Titus fell back.
Air mask. Restraints. Sirens.
Why the fuck were his pants and shirt missing? And his chest felt on fire.
“Why…does my chest hurt?” He could barely get the words out through the pain and the mask muffling sound.
“You were shot, good thing you’re wearing a vest,” the EMT said gently.
Titus blinked through the haze, and the truth slammed into him like another blow.
That son of a bitch Tatum had tried to kill him. That motherfucker.
Ah shit.
Tatum had taken his place. He knew it in his gut.
He tried to shove upright again, but the gurney straps and hard hands held him flat. Pain lanced through his skull, lights swimming above.
He had to get word to Viper. To Dave. To Stone.
They thought they had him safe back at the ranch.
They didn’t.
They were walking straight into a trap.
The world tilted, faces blurring, and Titus’s vision slid back into the dark.
Sometime before dawn, Dave slapped at the side table searching for his phone after it buzzed from a text.
En route. Should be there in a few hours.
“Who’s that?” Stone’s voice was growling and gravelly from sleep.
“Will, he’ll be here soon.” Dave shifted to sit on the side of the mattress.
“Where are you going?” Stone complained sleepily.
“Paperwork,” Dave whispered, leaned over, and nuzzled Stone’s neck. “I’ll be in the office downstairs.”
“Make coffee and I’ll join you.”
“Go back to sleep, you’ve got another hour at least.”
Stone didn’t argue, and Dave smiled.
Twenty minutes later found him showered, dressed in boots, jeans, and a heavy wool shirt before he made his way downstairs into the kitchen.
Cookie was already there and had started the coffee in the early hours of the morning.
Ranch life. Cookie had come from a cattle ranch down in west Texas and couldn’t seem to shake the habit of early to rise.
“Mornin’,” Dave said, taking the cup of coffee Cookie handed him.
“Mornin’, Boss,” Cookie said and handed him the heavy cream. “You’re up early as usual.”
“Can’t sleep much longer. Guess it comes with age,” Dave smirked and sipped at his creamy coffee.
“That it does,” Cookie grunted in agreement.
He dreaded the thought of his office and the mounds of paperwork he needed to file on what went down in Vegas.
Making his way out onto the front porch, he settled into one of the chairs that sat on the wide wraparound porch.
Nevada’s sunrise was still a few hours away. The air bit cold, and the only sounds were the soft rustling of horses snorting into their feed. The soldiers and assassins rotated caring for the horses they kept on the ranch.
Taking a sip of his hot coffee, Dave’s gaze landed on the interrogation building that came equipped with a few holding cells they used for questioning suspects.
They’d caught Franklin.
It was amazing that they’d all walked away unharmed for the most part.
He wondered how Titus was doing with getting information out of Franklin. He felt bad for Titus being caged up with the guy. That sick fuck was no prize, that was for sure.
It was a shitty job, but one only Titus could pull off.
Thankfully, they’d managed to get Franklin’s smartphone, and Sage had cracked it open late last night. He would go through all of the information today and hopefully find Tatum’s whereabouts in the info.
Shoving up from his seat, Dave made his way across the yard and into the building.
With a nod to the guard at the door, he walked farther down the hallway to the cells.
“Sir.” The guard farther in snapped to attention.
Dave stopped in front of the two side-by-side cells and gestured to the one that held Titus.
“Bring him.”
The guard snapped to, unlocked the cell door, and pulled Titus out by the arm.
Dave returned to the doorway and stepped outside. He walked over to one of the corrals and leaned his arms on the fence, cradling his coffee.
Titus stood silently nearby.
“You can go,” Dave told the guard.
“Sir?”
“It’s okay,” Dave assured the guard, and after a moment of hesitation, the soldier left them, returning to his duties inside the building.
The sun was starting to rise over the horizon.