Page 137 of Cohesion

This wasn’t like then. Both he and Quinn had grown. And these incredible men they’d chosen were worth trusting. Worth giving both their hearts to.

Sebastian closed his eyes, soaking in their presence and the quiet murmurs of their voices. He liked how cosy the bath was. He was touching every single one of them, and they were all within easy reach. Stuck together, here and in life.

Just how he needed it.

Chapter Twenty

Peyton rolled the shellcasing between his fingers. Back and forth, back and forth. He’d picked it up as they’d left, though he didn’t know why.

Only one shot had been fired. By him. This was what was left of the round that had gone into the back of the guard’s head.

He should feel remorse. In some ways, he did. Not in the right ways. They said that taking a life was hard. It wasn’t. Not for him. It wasafterwardthat haunted him. Knowing how easy it was. He didn’t know the name of the man. All he knew was that he’d tried to shoot Will and had kept Sebastian tied to a chair while he was brutalised like he wasn’t even a person.

Peyton dropped the casing on the bench and slapped his palm over it. He tilted his head down, listening, as a car came down the long driveway. It was still mid-morning, and while everyone had left hours ago, they also weren’t due back for another few. Will was at work as was Jericho, and Quinn and Sebastian had gone into the station.

Sebastian’s face still looked bad—it would take more than twenty-four hours for that damage to heal—and it was only because Quinn’s sisters had left some makeup here, and they’d managed to make him look less like a punching bag, that he’d even agreed to step foot out the door.That’s what phones are for. I don’t need to show my face to do my job.

Peyton huffed a laugh at the memory. Sebastian’s stubbornness and inability to keep his mouth shut were both irritating and sexy as fuck.

Jericho came into the kitchen a few minutes later, where Peyton had set up shop on a stool, and paused in the doorway. He glanced at Peyton’s palm. “You alright?”

“What do you do when you go undercover?” Peyton asked.

Jericho slowly closed the distance between them. “Depends on the job. My last job as Warren, I had a lot of meetings with unsavoury individuals, smoked pot, and dug up secrets—well, tried to—while everyone was sleeping. The one before that? I drank a lot of wine, rubbed shoulders with the upper echelons of certain circles, and stabbed a few people. They deserved it; don’t feel bad for them.”

“I won’t,” Peyton said with a snort. He stared down at his palm. “Do you ever lose yourself?”

Jericho pressed up behind Peyton, wrapped his arms around his shoulders, and dropped his chin on top of Peyton’s head. “No.”

“Never?”

“They aren’t me. I slip into someone else, like an actor on a movie set. When it’s done, I get rid of them. There are parts of me in them but none of them in me. I’ve never done anything that lasted more than a few months. Maybe if they were longer assignments, there might be risk.”

“Have you ever slept with someone on a job?” Peyton asked. He smirked. “Other than this job, of course.”

“No. You four were different from the start.”

Peyton liked the sound of that. “You wanted to fuck us; you didn’t want this.”

“Does it matter? That changed pretty fucking quick. I said yes to moving in. I’ve never lived anywhere without my brother, and I’m almost forty years old. I’m taking this step with all of you because I want it.” He dug his fingers into Peyton’s shoulders. “Peyton, what the fuck is going on? Do you not want this? You need to say something to Quinn now if you’re having second thoughts.”

Peyton lifted his palm, revealing the shell casing. Jericho tensed. “This one’s mine. I only fired one shot.” Right into the back of someone’s head. No hesitation.

“Sometimes you only need one,” Jericho said. He gripped Peyton’s hips and forced him around so they were facing each other. His hair was in a half-up do, the upper half in a topknot and the lower half wavy and draped over his shoulders. He looked like he was getting ready to ride his motorcycle to his club. Peyton needed to get him on his bike one day soon.

“Protecting the innocent means we lose our own, and that’s a choice we made,” Jericho said. “You, me, even Quinn and Will.” He tipped Peyton’s chin up with his hand, his real brown eyes intense. Peyton struggled to keep eye contact, his own turmoil like a storm inside him, demanding that he run and hide. Find somewhere quiet to hate himself. “Peyton, it’s not a choice that you have tokeepmaking. No one would think less of you for that.”

Peyton swallowed hard. He pressed his hand against Jericho’s chest, staring intently right where he’d cut him. He undid Jericho’s shirt, needing to see it. Jericho helped him, and within seconds, the fabric opened, and there it was. Mostly healed. All that was left was a vaguely red strip. In a few days, it would be gone. “You heal fast.”

“Good circulation.”

Peyton ran his finger across it, then his thumb. He’d done that. Because he’d put himself in a situation that had allowed it to happen. Because he kept thinking that time would heal the wounds that were eating him from the inside. That a warm body, andlovefrom the most extraordinary men he’d ever met, would be enough for it to disappear on the wind the same way that splinters eventually pushed themselves out.

He kissed the wound.

It wasn’t enough. That wasn’t anyone’s failing. None of the people that cared about him lacked anything. The problem was so much deeper, and he needed to take different steps.

Heat prickled at the backs of his eyes as he met Jericho’s again. “I quit. I can’t do what you do.”

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