Stone didn’t stay to listen. He was already moving, boots pounding out the back door, down the path toward the beach.
The sun hung low, surf rolling red, sand soft underfoot.
Two sets of tracks pressed into the tide line: one broad, deliberate. Dave’s. The other neat, even. Clinton’s.
Stone’s jaw clenched. He bent, fingers brushing the print. Fresh.
He followed fast, Rip and Winter trailing, Boston a silent shadow. Law had gone around the house, checking in with guards.
Stone barely heard any of it. His whole body locked into rhythm, senses narrowing to the hunt.
The wind carried voices, faint under the crash of surf.
Stone’s heart kicked hard. He pushed faster, every step a vow.
Predator mode locked in.
I will find him.
The pressure in Dave’s chest surged, a familiar burn crawling down his arm.
Fuck. Not now. Not here.
“I need to go back.” His voice was rough.
A firm hand clamped his arm. “Over here, just sit for a minute,” Clinton urged, steering him toward the bluffs.
Maybe that would help.
Dave lowered himself to the sand, jaw clenched.
“Call Stone for me.”
Clinton crouched close, too close. “We don’t need Stone. I can help. You don’t have to fight everything, Dave. Not with me.”
Dave forced his voice through the pain. “Don’t.”
“You carry too much alone,” Clinton pressed. His hands lingered. “You need someone who puts you first. I’d do anything for you.”
Dave shoved weakly at his shoulder. “You think this is loyalty? You don’t know me. Back off.”
Clinton’s jaw worked. “I know you better than any of them. They’ll let you break. I won’t.”
His hand lifted, reaching toward Dave’s face.
And then Stone’s shadow cut across the alcove. Relief hit harder than the pain.
Clinton was gone in a blink—Stone yanked him off Dave and hurled him across the sand like he was a twig.
The man hit hard, skidding out of reach.
Stone’s eyes burned after Clinton, voice like gravel and steel. “You’re a fucking dead man.”
Then he turned, the rage gone from his hands as they slid under Dave’s knees and shoulders, lifting him like he weighed nothing.
Of all the times to be in Stone’s arms, Dave thought grimly, and I can’t do shit about it.
The surf blurred, the pain clawing, but Stone’s heartbeat thundered steady where his head rested against Stone’s chest.
