And what was Brycedoinghere? He’d come for Tom, but why? His brain told him it was simply guilt that they’d put Tom in this position, but his wolf believed otherwise, unbidden and unwelcome. His wolf wanted nothing more than to nuzzle into Bryce’s neck and reacquaint himself with his scent.
Tom shoved him back down again. There’d come a reckoning before much longer—he couldn’t keep treating his wolf this way. For now, he leaned against the wall next to Bryce, far enough away that no part of them touched. “Anything from Matt?” he asked.
It took Bryce a moment to unpeel his hand from the only safety he’d found so many hundreds of feet in the air. And when Tom saw the way his hand shook, he took hold of Bryce’s wrist and gently pressed his hand back to the security of the wall.
“I’ve got it,” he said softly and slid his hand into the front pocket of Bryce’s jeans to withdraw the phone. It should’ve felt awkward. It didn’t. And somehow that made it worse.
There were no messages.
“Should I call him?” he asked Bryce.
“It’s probably best not to interrupt, just in case he’s in full flow to the Council,” Bryce said after a moment’s thought. “Let’s give him a bit longer.”
He slipped the phone back into Bryce’s pocket, slower this time, almost afraid to break whatever spell kept them still and side by side. He longed to ask why Bryce was here with him, but he knew—whatever the answer, it would undo him.
And right now, he needed all his attention concentrated on that small door. Because if it opened, no part of him—not his heart, nor his wolf—could afford to be distracted.
BRYCE
They weren’t safe. Not really.
The door they’d come through was unlocked. There was no backup, no escape, and no real way to defend themselves on a ledge no wider than a kitchen counter. All they had was a view, a hell of a drop, and each other.
Bryce kept his back to the stone. Wind clawed at his hair, and the height made his stomach churn, but his focus stayed on Tom. Watching the way he stayed loose and ready, alert.
Bryce wanted to say something—anything—to make up for the things he’d said, the things he hadn’t. But what apology could possibly cover tearing someone apart?
“Has Matt—” Tom started, then stopped. He spun so fast Bryce’s gut seized.
The door was inching open. Slowly. Quietly. Like someone hoping they wouldn’t be seen until it was too late.
Shit.
Tom moved instantly. Bryce mirrored him, sliding sideways along the wall to clear space. He pressed back, the stone digging into his spine, and watched Tom flatten himself beside the door, body coiled and ready.
Jax stepped through cautiously, gun raised, and Tom struck from the side. He grabbed Jax’s forearm with both hands, yanked it sideways, and swept low with his leg, hooking behind Jax’s knee.
Jax twisted as he fell, dragging Tom down with him, and they hit the stone hard. The gun jerked with a muzzle flash, small and bright.
For a frozen, horrified second, Bryce thought Tom was hit. But Tom surged up, slammed Jax’s wrist into the parapet, and the gun spun out of his grip and over the edge.
Jax fought with brutal precision—fast, ruthless, every move intended to maim. There was no room to intervenewithout risking Tom, so all Bryce could do was watch, fists clenched helplessly at his sides.
Tom twisted hard when Jax jabbed rigid fingers at his eyes, but it left him exposed. Jax bucked up viciously and threw him, fast and brutal, into the balustrade.
The stone groaned, and Bryce’s heart stopped.
He saw it all in horrible clarity—the way the parapet cracked, the way Tom hit and slumped, the moment the decorative rail gave way and tumbled into the void.
But the columns held. Somehow, they held.
Teeth bared in a snarl, Bryce tore forward. Jax staggered up, blood on his mouth and fury in his eyes. And then he stumbled again—Tom’s hand was locked around his ankle.
He flailed, arms windmilling as Tom yanked his ankle out from under him. Just the broken balustrade between him and the abyss beyond. Bryce could have shoved him and ended it all. Just one push was all it would have taken.
But he didn’t. He couldn’t commit cold-blooded murder.
Instead, he caught Jax’s arm and shoved him down, slamming his head into the nearest column. Jax collapsed, still and limp, and Bryce wondered if maybe he’d killed him after all. He found he didn’t really care.
