Some of the tension bled out of his mate’s posture.
Conversation drifted in and out, nothing deep, a little gossip, a little work. Zack, for all his heartbreak, still joked about Colton’s appetite, about his tree-trunk arms and murdercat skills. His mate refused to stay sad for long.
Heat outside faded as the sun set. The fan whirred lazily overhead, catching the smell of takeout from somewhere in the building. Zack’s gait evened out, moving freer, but every so often his fingers sought out his wrist, rubbing the bruised skin.
Colton’s gaze never wavered from that spot.
“You should ice that.”
Zack cast him a side-eye. “What’s the point? It’ll fade. They always do.”
Always do. This wasn’t his mate’s first attack.
“Maybe let me kiss it better, then.”
Zack barked a real laugh, head tossed back, lips parted wide. “Jesus, what are you, my grandma? Is that how you woo all the guys? Put on an apron and serve up kisses?”
Banter seemed to be Zack’s shield, but Colton didn’t mind. “Shut up and get over here.”
Instead of fighting, Zack just slid closer, surrendering the wrist. Under Colton’s touch, the skin buzzed warm and alive, thumping softly where the blood had pooled.
Colton pressed his lips gently to the bruise. One kiss, then two.
Surprise flickered in Zack’s eyes, but he said nothing. He just let Colton hold his hand, thumb running over the bones, until the world narrowed to that small circle of comfort.
Chapter Seven
Once Zack was asleep in bed, Colton slipped into the cramped kitchen to call Grayson. Pale paint on the cupboards. Small window over the sink, hazy with smudges. Colton watched the town through the glass, waiting until the headlights from the last car faded down the block before thumbing his phone.
If silence had a weight, it blanketed everything here. Nothing but the buzz of a street lamp outside, distant voices somewhere below, and the faint tick of the cheap clock on the wall. The apartment, cozy enough by daylight, shrank in around him at night, shadows squeezing between stove and cabinets. He braced a hip against the counter, arms crossed. Stalling.
Calling Grayson had always been a simple thing. Not now. Colton didn’t want to drag his team leader into the mess swirling around Zack.
Yet, just standing there, left hand curled around the phone, Colton couldn’t get the fingerprint bruises out of his head. Every time Zack smiled, the memory clipped closer and dug in.
With a sigh, he dialed.
No pause in the ring. Just a gravelly, familiar, “Hey.”
“Checking in,” he said. “You busy?”
Grayson’s answer came with a scrape, like the man had just dropped into a chair. “What’s up? I’ve got a minute before the team links up.”
Out the window, lights blinked from another building, a string of porch bulbs slumped under a fire escape. Distant laughter floated up, joined by the swish of traffic farther away. Colton leaned in, forearm anchored against the edge of the sink.
“Just checking in,” he said. “You hear anything new on that ring outside Cathedral?”
“Yeah. More than I wanted.” Grayson exhaled, the sound low and tired. “Got word today. House on the north side of the tracks. Dogs in the basement. Got intel a fight is soon, but I need a confirmed head count before we move. Humans and animals.”
Colton’s jaw flexed. “You running heavy?”
“Not sure yet. Gotta finish recon first. It’s bigger than last time. Heard they dumped dogs in the ravine last week. Heard one might have made it, but I’m not sure.”
A burst of heat simmered in Colton’s gut. “Any word on the bastard running it?”
“Nothing solid yet. Reese thinks he’s ex-military, being real careful. Only uses burners, never the same crew. You know the drill.” Rustle of paper on the other end. “Want to get the information first, then shut it down. I’ll ping you if we need more muscle.”
A nod Colton didn’t bother voicing. Nobody liked these jobs. Not even Grayson. “Stay safe.”
