Will reaches into his back pocket and hands me a crumpled slip of paper. I smooth it out. Nothing but an address and time.
“He said you’d know what it meant,” Will says. “Said you’d be smart enough to show up.”
I stare at the paper, memorizing the information. One of his warehouses I’m familiar with. I fold it once and slide it into my back pocket.
Footsteps shuffle in the hallway behind me. I hear the creak of the floorboard outside the office.
“I’ll go with you,” JT calls out, voice low and rough.
I don’t turn. “No.”
“I’m fine.”
“Not even fucking close to fine,” I snap, turning on the heel of my boot to face him.
JT’s leaning on the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest, chin raised in quiet rebellion against the pain visibly blooming across his features. The swelling’s gone down, but his eyes are still swollen and bruised, and there’s a long, healing cut along his jaw that already looks like it needs to be rebandaged.
He’s not limping, but he’s stiff. And pissed.
He stares me down, teeth clenched, that fire burning just behind his gaze. He wants to move. To fight. To feel useful. I know that feeling too damn well.
“You’re just beginning to heal,” I say, quieter but firm. “And if this goes sideways, I’m not putting you in the middle of it.”
JT’s jaw ticks. He looks at the floor, then back at me. “Man, I hate this shit.”
I nod. “Yeah. Me too.”
Will steps out from behind me.
“Then I’ll go,” he says.
I shake my head immediately. “Not happening.”
“Hex—”
“No.” I grab his shoulder to draw his attention to my words. “You’ve stayed clean where Stauder’s concerned. You think that’s luck? He hasn’t touched you because you’re not on his radar. Let’s not change that.”
Will crosses his arms, feet braced shoulder-width apart. “You’re not walking into this alone.”
I narrow my eyes. “You don’t think I can handle him?”
Will huffs one short, dry laugh. “I know you can. Doesn’t mean you should have to. And he definitely won’t be alone.”
I stare at him for a beat, rolling my neck to relieve some of the tension I’m having a hard time releasing. “You don’t get it. If he gets even a scent of what you’re capable of, he’ll find a way to use you.”
“You don’t get to protect me from choices I’ve already made. I live this life.” His voice doesn’t rise, doesn’t shake. “We stand together. That’s always been the deal.”
I study him. He’s not built as big as me, but that never mattered when we were younger, barefoot in dirt lots, fists flying, blood on our lips. He preferred precision. I preferred brute force.
That hasn’t changed.
He’s the kind of man who folds his shirts with crisp corners, keeps his shoes spotless, and straightens crooked frames on other people’s walls. Every detail of him is curated, controlled.
To anyone else, Will is the pretty boy. Too put-together. Too calculated. But that’s the trick. That’s what makes him lethal. He’s wiry and fast, sharp as a blade and just as deadly on impact.
A polished shell hiding something far less civilized.
But he’d rather handle the aftermath. Clean the blood, stack the bodies, and return order like it was never broken.
