Page 70 of Cohesion

“Yesterday.”

“So where is he?” Had he just left, or had something more sinister happened?

“He checked in for the final time at 2200 last night, and then first thing at 0600 today. Nothing since. He should have sent Hunter an update an hour ago.” Jericho flicked his wrist and checked his watch. “One hour and thirteen minutes ago, to be precise.”

“And that’s enough for you to get suspicious?” Peyton had been on more than one recon where they weren’t expected to be heard from for days. Dead or alive, they were on their own. If they didn’t check in at the allotted time, it wasn’t cause for concern until a significant amount of time had elapsed.

“We have protocols in place for a reason. He wasn’t part of ours, but Zoe would have given him the rundown. He checked in every time he was supposed to.”

“Until he didn’t.”

“Until he didn’t,” Jericho agreed.

Peyton gathered his hair up and tied it into a ponytail, using the movement to ground himself. What were they going to be walking into? He needed to be ready and in the right mindset.

Jericho tried the gate, and it didn’t budge.

“Electronic,” Peyton said, pointing at the panel almost hidden by foliage over the gate and fence. “How are we getting in?”

“While I admire the attempt at security, one vital mistake has made the whole thing pointless,” Jericho said. He hooked his fingers in the slats on the fence. “The problem with this setup is that you don’t need to open the gate to get in. The fence is easy to climb.” To prove it, he climbed to the top and slung one leg over, straddling it. “It’s basically a ladder surrounding the whole property. You’re just asking for someone to come on in.”

“It’s not breaking and entering if we’ve been invited.”

Jericho grinned down at him. “I love the way you think, baby.” Then he jumped off, disappearing from sight.

Peyton easily scaled the fence after him and vaulted off the top, landing steadily on two feet on the grass.

The ajar front door confirmed Peyton’s bad feeling. No one left their door open like that unless they were bringing groceries inside.

He shared a look with Jericho, who had already pulled his handgun out. Peyton nodded and spread his palm over the door before slowly nudging it all the way open.

Peyton ducked as he went through, the blade flying at him embedding itself in the doorframe.

By the time he straightened, someone was already behind him, another knife at his throat and a hand yanking his head back by his hair. Pain flared across his scalp. He stayed perfectly still, assessing the situation before deciding on a course of action. They hadn’t slit his throat, despite the opportunity to do it, so they wanted something.

“Put the knife down,” Jericho barked out, gun pointed at Peyton’s assailant.

The blade nicked Peyton’s throat, a brief sting like a paper cut just below his Adam’s apple.

Jericho’s lips curled angrily, a muscle in his jaw twitching. “You’ll pay for every mark he has on him,” he promised. “Tenfold. So I suggest you drop the fucking kniferight nowif you don’t want to spend your last hours screaming.”

“Who the hell are you?” the man demanded, hand tightening in Peyton’s hair. If he kept doing that, Peyton was going to shove that hand somewhere unpleasant. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“Drop. The. Knife.”

“Are you the one that went after Riley Sinclair?” Peyton asked, every word brushing his skin against the edge of the blade.

How many people were working for Mulhall? What promises had Mulhall given them? He had no money, only what? A silver tongue?

“I’m not the one answering questions,” the man barked out. “Tell me who you are, who both of you are, or I’ll cut him open right in fucking front of you.”

“It’s not him you have to worry about,” Peyton said. He let the pain in his scalp and the sting in his neck sink deep inside him, absorbing it like a drug. Adrenalin spiked, and everything shifted. Heat, sand, rapid gunfire, blood. It was in his mouth, all over him. Gritty, like there were pieces of sand in it. The sand got in and took forever to come out, washing down the drain even months later. The blood washed away too, but it never came out. It was in his pores, under his skin, drowning him, holding on and never letting him go.

He yanked the wrist that held the knife outward, just enough to give himself room to lift his forearm between them and create distance. He pushed out with his arm and pulled in at the same time with the hand holding the man’s wrist, using the opposing tension to send pain up his arm and force him to let go of the knife. Peyton twisted, jerking his elbow up right into the underside of the asshole’s jaw. Then he turned enough to jam his knee up into his side, right into the soft section of his upper thigh, causing a pained grunt. He wrapped a hand around the man’s neck and yanked him down as he raised his knee, a satisfying crack and a louder cry of pain letting him know he’d definitely broken his nose.

Good.

A swift shove to the inside of his knee with Peyton’s foot, and the man was on his knees. Peyton wrapped an arm around his neck and squeezed, hard. He took hold of his own arm with the other and pulled back, adding force to the strangulation. Fingers gripped at his forearm as the man struggled, but Peyton didn’t let go, even as nails dug in, pain sharp as they made crescent shapes in his skin. He kept his hold until the man’s arms went lax at his sides.

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