Gage nods. “Got it. Recon starts tomorrow then. Cruz will meet you at the address you sent earlier.”
Cruz lifts two fingers in a lazy salute. “I’ll bring coffee.”
“Bring competence,” Lola mutters.
Cruz grins wider. “That too.”
I ignore them both and straighten. “We go light tomorrow. No gear yet. We map delivery schedules, foot traffic, shift changes, cameras, utility access.” I glance around the room. “Then we reassess.”
Beckett nods. Lola crosses her arms, still unconvinced but resigned to ride it out.
Gage leans his hip against the back of the sofa. “In-person discussions about the job. Nothing via phone, not even calls.”
His eyes don’t waver from mine. The boy I once knew is buried under the man he’s turned into.
My spine stiffens. The hair on my arms rises, and I study each of their faces, searching for a tell—a twitch, a glance, anything that might reveal what they're hiding. “Is there something we need to know? If you guys have heat on you, then this conversation never happened.”
“It’s our standard practice,” Rafe says.
I nod, but I’m not entirely convinced. Something cold slides down my spine.
Bishop pushes off the wall, crossing his arms as he studies me like he’s trying to peel back my skin and see what’s underneath. “It better be worth it.”
Only that’s not what it feels like he’s saying. What it feels like he’s really saying is:You better be worth it.
And fuck me if that doesn’t hit like a punch to the cheekbone.
I hold his stare, muscles tensing with the effort not to blink or glance away. The air between us crackles with unspokenchallenge, like we're two wolves circling, waiting to see who'll show their throat first.
He finally breaks, turning and walking out. The sharp crack of his boots against the tile punctuates his exit as he stalks through the front door without a backward glance.
Silence hangs for the length of a heartbeat. Then the Calloways start filing out.
Cruz pushes off the wall, an easy grin pulling at his mouth as he steps into my space, close enough that his shoulder brushes mine. “See you tomorrow, partner.”
He dips in, breath warm along the shell of my ear as his lips ghost across the delicate edge of my earlobe. It’s barely a touch, a whisper of contact really, but enough to send a bright, traitorous shiver down my spine.
Cruz’s low chuckle tells me he felt it.
Rafe is next, strolling past with that slow, deliberate swagger of his. He taps the counter beside me with two fingers, an absent-minded rhythm against quartz. “Good plan,” he murmurs.
Two words that land like a warm hand low on my spine.
I catch the flick of Cruz’s gaze and his sharp little smirk before he turns to follow his brothers out.
Lola’s already herding Beckett toward the door. “I’m gonna make sure the Calloways remember how to use a front exit.”
“There’s still one in here,” Beck mutters.
“Just get outside,” Lola hisses, shoving him through the doorway.
The door shuts behind them, and then it’s just me and Gage.
He hasn’t moved. Still leaning against the island, still smelling like cedar and heat and the kind of danger I never outgrew.
When he dips his head toward me, I feel his breath along my jaw.
“I knew you were trouble,” he murmurs.
