Noah stood, expression a mix of fury and fear. “You can’t even use your dominant arm, you idiot. Let’sgo.”
Adam’s mouth curled in defiance, his voice quiet but immovable. “No.”
That single word landed like a gunshot.
He wasn’t bluffing. He never was. Even bleeding, Adam looked like the kind of man who would drag himself across broken glass just to make sure his job was finished.
Noah stared at him, torn between throttling him and kissing him stupid. “You’re the most infuriating man alive.”
Adam’s lips quirked. “And you love me for it.”
“Unfortunately.”
Atticus exhaled hard through his nose. “Christ, you two are exhausting.”
“Adam Mulvaney, get your ass in the war room before I cut you off for a month,” Noah snapped.
Adam smirked. “Like you could go without an orgasm for a month.”
“I’ve got two working hands and a toy chest that would make a hooker blush. Can you say the same, gimpy?” Noah crossed his arms, giving him a look that he hoped shoutedballs in your court.
“Oh my God, fine,” Adam sighed like an exasperated teenager. “I was just kidding. Let’s totally go to the war room. You don’t have to threaten to take away my sexy times.”
“I think I’m gonna be sick,” Atticus deadpanned.
“Please. Nobody who gets bent over Jericho’s desk as often as you do has the right to bitch about anyone’s sex life,” a voice called over comms, one of Jericho’s boys. Nico, maybe Levi.
“You want to come say that to my face, Nico?” Jericho growled.
“I’m just stating facts,” Nico shot back. “You guys fuck like teenagers.”
“And you are definitelynotteenagers,” Arsen added with a snort.
“Pipe down, peanut gallery,” Atticus said. “Or I’m canceling Murder Muppet Christmas.”
A chorus of horrified “no”s poured through the speakers.
They moved back toward the war room at a measured pace, no sprinting, no theatrics; everyone still playing their parts in the operation. Noah leaned on Adam as much as Adam leaned on him. The tourniquet over Adam’s shoulder had done its job for now, but the white bloom on his shirt was a reminder that flesh was still vulnerable, that injuries were real. Noah’s chest clenched around that fact in a way that made him stupidly afraid.
If something truly bad happened to Adam, it wouldn’t just be the headline hurt—the grief, the empty chair—it would be his everyday life collapsing. Their routines. The rough banter. The way Adam tucked his head under Noah’s chin when he was tired. Toxic or not, their love was messy and combustible and threaded through everything, and Noah knew in his bones he didn’t want—no, couldn’t survive—a life without it.
“If you ever die on me, I’ll kill you,” he said without thinking, because jokes were sometimes the only language they had for the things that really scared them.
Adam huffed a laugh—one part incredulous, one part relieved—and kissed the top of Noah’s head. The gesture was so small it nearly broke Noah. “Right back at ya, baby.”
“Good,” Noah said, air catching in the single syllable.
Adam kissed him again, this one softer, steadier. “Yeah. Good.”
They fell into the war room like they were being chased by the devil.
Calliope glanced away from the feed, cracking a grin at Adam. “Started the party as Sherlock, ended it as a life-size voodoo doll.”
“Hardy-har-har,” Adam grumbled, falling into the seat beside Noah’s. “Show me that bitch.”
“She’s with the twins,” Lola said, pointing to a feed.
“Avi and Asa got her already?” Adam asked.
