Page 115 of Cohesion

“My solo technique is perfect, fuck you very much.”

Will checked his weapon over and then double-checked his laces. There would be no tripping today. His knee started up again, but he didn’t try and stop it. His heightened energy level needed somewhere to go.

“So, what’s up with this guy? Your guy. Sebastian.” Cain spread his knees and lifted one arm across the entire backseat. “He accident prone, or what?”

“What?”

“I’m just saying. Like, someone shot at him in a coffee shop, smashed his head into a car, assaulted him in his own home, and now he’s been kidnapped. Does he have a magic dick?”

“You think about other people’s dicks way too much for a straight guy,” Roy muttered.

“Why would someone try and hurt him if he had a magic dick?” Will asked, confused. That sounded like something thatwould get himfans, not psychos. Psycho fans? His brother Harry had some of those.

“You tell me, man.”

“Oh my god, shut up,” Roy said.

“I know you’ve thought about my dick, Massey.”

“The only one who thinks about your dick is you.” Roy turned the corner a little too fast, and Will jolted unexpectedly, the butt of his rifle hitting the side window. “Careful.”

“Why don’tyoube careful?” Cain asked. “Who taught you how to drive?”

“Your mum.”

Cain flipped him off. Will tried to conjure a smile, but he couldn’t. Nerves were eating him alive. This op was personal, his heart was on the line, and he couldn’t sink into the job and let his muscle memory guide him. Not like he normally could.

Sebastian had to be okay because how could he not be? Will wasn’t naïve; he knew bad things happened. He was up to his neck in it most days. The good guys didn’t always win.

This time they would. It would be different, odds be damned. At the end of today, he wanted Sebastian on the couch between them all, shoving his cold feet under Peyton’s legs and stealing the crunchiest hot chips in the bowl. Will didn’t give just anyone the crunchiest chips.

They turned the corner onto the street of their destination. It was a party district: clubs, an X-rated shop, and what looked like a strip club. According to Hunter and Six, the place they wanted—the Nebula—was open twenty-four seven, unlike everything else around it. A quiet business bar during the day, and a lively haven of sin at night.

Will spotted the other two SUVs parked on the curb across the road from the bar. Everyone was standing beside the SUVs except… Jericho. Where was he?

They all stood out like sore thumbs; if anyone looked too hard at them, they would know something was going on.

The consensus at HQ had been that the clientele wouldn’t shoot first, not when the owner was cautious enough to have never been caught doing so much as jaywalking. Part of Will wondered if getting his attention was the point of making as much noise as possible.

Roy whistled low as they got out. “Pretty fancy for a bar. Your brother needs to take some tips. Who wants to tell him?”

“Not it,” Will said straightaway. No one would survive that encounter.

“No fuckin’ way, man,” Cain said. “He gives me free beer. If he stops, I’ll have to pay for it.”

“What a shame,” Roy said with fake sincerity.

Jericho pushed out the front doors of the bar and then jogged back across the road to them.

“Looks like someone nutted early,” Cain said. “No one told him to wait for us?”

“Doubt he would have listened,” Will said. He kept one hand on his rifle and slid the other around Peyton’s elbow, rubbing his thumb over the skin soothingly. “What’s the plan?”

Jericho ran a hand through his hair and pulled it up into a haphazard bun. Half of it flopped free the instant he let it go. “Half a dozen guys in there, two bartenders. It’s a nice quiet morning.”

“Alright. We go in, get what we need, and get out,” Peyton said. “Seb’s been gone too long already.”

Jericho nodded sharply. “Everyone ready?”

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