Chapter Thirty-Four
In the main ranch house, the dining room table looked more like a war council than a place for meals.
Maps and folders cluttered the wood, but no one leaned over them now.
Genesis, both active and former, plus the Young Assassins, filled the chairs spread around the table with the loose exhaustion of men who’d seen the worst and walked out the other side.
Dave stood at the head, palms pressed against the scarred oak.
Stone was at his shoulder, silent, steady as he’d always been.
“As you know, Tatum is dead and a large number of his men were either killed or taken into custody,” Dave said, voice even. “A few of them are cutting deals to give up the locations of trafficking victims. And in the morning, Franklin will be taken into custody by the FBI.”
Relief rippled through the room in different shades.
Azrael exhaled hard, slumping back in his chair with relief. Winter arched a brow but said nothing, eyes flicking toward Boston, who grinned like the weight of the last week had finally eased.
“Hell of a road to get here,” Rip muttered.
“No kidding,” Boston said, rubbing at his jaw. “Remind me not to volunteer for the next one.”
That earned a short laugh around the table, sharp but genuine.
Dave let it roll for a beat before adding, “Titus was at my California estate, but hearing of his brother’s death, he slipped away without a word.”
The humor drained, replaced by a heavier silence.
Viper’s jaw flexed, dark eyes sharp, but he said nothing. The anger and something else were obvious, simmering hot.
Dave didn’t let it linger. “The mole in Titus’s team showed his hand—went after Sparrow’s intel at the estate. Ace and his men put him in the ground before he could breathe twice.”
The weight of that settled across the table.
“Good,” Rip muttered, voice sharp and low.
Boston huffed a short laugh. “Guess that’s one more rat off Titus’s payroll.”
Nods circled the table—brief, wordless agreement.
Silence settled heavily until Sage cut through it, eyes still on the glow of his tablet. “You’re all acting like it’s over,” he said, tone flat, fingers moving across the screen. “It’s not. There are always more sickos out there.”
The words landed hard. Around the table, men shifted, silent nods of agreement passing between them.
“Careful, Sage. Keep talking like that, you’ll start to sound like the rest of us.” Law leaned an elbow on the table, his tone dry, teasing just enough to take the edge off.
Sage looked up, squinting at him, lips pursed. Those blond curls fell into bright green eyes. He didn’t say a word—just stared until the weight of it made Law swallow and glance away.
A ripple of low chuckles broke the tension again.
Dave let the noise settle, then straightened, gaze sweeping the table. These men weren’t just assets or operatives.
They’d come for him with no questions asked.
They were family. They’d bled for each other, and now—finally—the fight that had haunted them was over.
“You did good work,” he said simply.
The words landed heavier than a medal. Heads nodded, shoulders eased. For the first time in a long time, the room felt lighter.
An hour later, his office was quieter than the war room had ever been, though the weight in the air was just as heavy.
The screen on Dave’s desk glowed with the President’s face, sharp in the bluish light.
Video call—no secrets, not this time. Stone stood against the window at his back, arms folded, silent but close enough that Dave could feel his presence.
“I heard what happened,” the President started before he could begin. “Are you okay?”
“I am.”
“That’s good news.”
“Sir,” Dave continued, voice steady. “I want to retire earlier than we discussed.”
The President’s brows lifted. “How much earlier?”
Dave met his gaze through the screen. “How about tomorrow?”
A pause. The President leaned back in his chair, exhaling slowly. “Can you give me a month?”
Dave glanced toward the man at the window.
Stone hadn’t moved, but his eyes caught the light, steady and unyielding. Calm and loving, Stone’s nod gave him a silent answer.
After a brief smile, Dave turned back to the call.
“I can. And there’s something else you should know. A week ago, the doctors diagnosed me with hypertension. I’m on daily meds for it—manageable, but it’s a reminder. My body’s telling me it’s time.”
The President’s expression softened, the steel in his eyes shifting to something closer to concern. “That makes sense. You’ve given enough, Dave.”
Dave inclined his head once. “It’s been an honor, sir.”
“It’s been mine,” the President said.
The line clicked silent, the screen fading dark.
For a long moment, Dave sat in the quiet, the weight of the words hanging between him and Stone.
Retirement wasn’t just a thought anymore. It was real. All the missions, the years, the blood—they’d finally led to this.
And Stone had heard every word.
Dave looked at him—the storm-colored eyes steady and unyielding, the faint tension in his jaw, the silent strength that had carried them both through fire.
Calm. Loving. His anchor in every storm. The sight cut straight through the steel in Dave’s chest, loosening something he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.
He stood and walked into his man’s arms.
The fire in the main house burned low, throwing shadows across the walls.
Most of the crew had scattered—Rip and Boston trading barbs in the kitchen,
Winter and Black outside smoking, Sage buried in cables somewhere. Law and Real were locked in a battle of chess with Azrael nearby. Crow and Rebel were curled up on the couch, reading.
For once, the ranch felt more like home than a command post.
Dave stood near the hearth, the warmth seeping into bones that had carried too many winters. Stone came up beside him, silent as always, and handed him a cup of hot cocoa.
The quiet itself pressed them closer.
“So…” Dave murmured for Stone’s ears only, turning just enough to catch his eyes. “One month.”
Stone nodded, the firelight painting his profile in gold, and the whisper came softly. “Close to Christmas. We should get the teams together.”
Dave’s mouth curved, soft. “We should.”
For a long moment, neither moved, just stood shoulder to shoulder, the glow of the fire wrapping around them. Then Stone’s hand slid over his, rough palm warm and certain. Dave turned fully, searching the storm-colored eyes that had anchored him for years.
“You sure about this?” Dave asked quietly.
Stone’s lips twitched, the closest thing to a smile. “I’ve never been surer of anything. Are you sure?”
Dave leaned in, closing the space between them. The kiss was unhurried, steady, a promise more than a claim. When they broke apart, Stone rested his forehead against his, breath steadying.
“Very sure,” Dave breathed.
They stood like that, arms around each other, gazing into the fire. Some of the team had stopped and gazed at them, but Dave no longer cared. The life he’d once run from, he now embraced.
For once, there was no mission waiting, no orders hanging over them—just the quiet of a house full of men who’d earned their rest.
Plus, the man at his side, and the certainty of a future they’d face together.