Page 110 of Cohesion

“I’ll call Moira and let her know,” Hunter said, “so that she can be on alert. I could call him and—”

“No,” Jericho said. “Fuckno. If anyone is calling that asshole, it’ll be me. And no one needs to call him. We take as many as guns as we can carry and storm the bar. Someone in there will have some information.”

“You know him,” Quinn said flatly. “Personally.”

“We’ve had dealings,” Hunter said stiffly.

Six opened the doors of the dark-brown dining buffet, revealing a set of drawers with a keypad on the inside of the door. Whatever code he pressed in opened the bottom drawer, revealing four handguns nestled inside and a good three dozenmagazines. He took one look and opened two more drawers. “Gonna need more.”

“We may not have to shoot anyone,” Hunter pointed out, rubbing his forehead tiredly. “We can go in there and ask a few questions first.”

“That they’ll take offence to. Then I’ll take offence, which will cause Jericho to take offence. It’s the domino effect, boss. And it means we need weapons. We go in armed to the teeth.” Six pulled out two handguns, clipped magazines into them, and handed them to Hunter. “Or we don’t go.”

“Alright,” Hunter agreed. It was clearly as obvious to him as the rest of them that arguing with Six was pointless.

“If he tries to take the damage out of my hide, he’s getting a close, personal visit from Bianca. She’ll like it; he won’t.”

“He won’t do that,” Hunter said.

“No, he’ll take it out on yours,” Jericho said, scowling. “I don’t like this. You should stay behind.”

“I second that,” Six said.

“Gather your things, and let’s go,” Hunter said instead of answering either of them.

Six picked his sword up from where it rested on the table, snug in its leather sheath. He held it from the middle, balancing either side of it. “What are we waiting for?”

Peyton was missing something. They were talking in riddles. Part of him wanted to ask what the fuck they were on about, and the other part didn’t give a fuck, because every second they spent here was a second that Sebastian was with those sick bastards.

Unacceptable. They’d been waiting around for too long already.

“I’m calling my team,” Will said suddenly, phone already in his hand. It was ringing before any of them could say a word to stop him.

“No official channels, Will,” Jericho said. “It can’t be in the books, or we’ll all have questions that we can’t answer. Hunter and I will be fine. But you? Quinn? No. You can’t risk your careers for this, not when you don’t have to.”

“I know,” Will said simply.

The ringing stopped, and then a gruff voice that Peyton recognised as Will’s team sniper, Roy, answered, “Hey, kid, what’s up?”

Funny that he still called Will that when not only was Will his boss, he was only about seven or eight years younger than Roy. Nor did he look like a kid in any way. Hell, he’d hit six feet by the age of thirteen.

“I need you, Cain, and Diego geared up in tac that doesn’t have TOU splashed across the back. Grab something for me too. Leave Peanut Butter and Jelly behind to answer any weird questions and cover our tracks. Don’t get a BearCat, and don’t sign out your weapons when you grab them. Cain will know what to do. I’ll text you the address for my location; I want you here ASAP.”

“You got it, boss,” Roy said, clicking off immediately.

“Is that legal?” Quinn asked, raising a brow.

“No. Don’t tell my mum.”

Peyton snorted. As if his mum would care what her angel did. He could kill someone in front of her, and she’d just ask what he wanted for dinner, and if he needed a change of clothes and a shower. Even Theresa didn’t dote on her boys the way Will’s mum did.

“Seb would never forgive himself if you sacrificed your career for this,” Quinn said. “Let us handle it here.”

Will grinned. “We’re professionals, Q. We won’t get caught; don’t worry about it.”

“Well,” Jericho said, taking the weapon that Six handed him. He slipped it into the shoulder holster he was already wearing. “We better make sure that we’re ready to go when they get here.”

Sebastian tasted blood again,the metallic tang covering his tongue. The scent of it was cloying, and he was suddenly glad he’d never thought to go into medicine. Not a fan.

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