Page 117 of Cohesion

“Thank you for your cooperation.” He emptied the magazine, shoved it in his pocket, and dropped the empty gun on the man’s stomach. “Stay down.”

Instinct kicked in, and he ducked the punch the next guy threw at him. He spotted Will and Jericho, each dealing with their own guys. Hunter and Six had hopped the bar and bent the bartenders over it. Bianca rested menacingly across the mahogany surface, her bright, gleaming metal a beacon in the low-lit space.

Quinn wasn’t in the room. Panic shot up Peyton’s spine. Where the fuck had he gone?

Peyton caught the next fist, twisted, and returned the punch with a satisfyingcrunchthat signalled a broken nose. He shifted around the body and took hold of the back of his head, slamming it straight into the bar, near where the bartenders were being detained.

His assailant slumped to the floor. Peyton crouched and searched him, removing two knives, a set of brass knuckles, and a gorgeous handgun that had to be custom. He emptied it as well and put it back. No reason to take a man’s personalised gun like that. He wasn’t acompletemonster.

He sensed someone watching him as he stood and looked up to meet Jericho’s eyes. A light blue that was all kinds of wrong.

“All good?” Jericho asked, looking him up and down. Hints of heat mixed with the concern.

Peyton licked his lips, returning the look. He was hard, and he wanted a piece of what Jericho was offering. Under better circumstances, he’d have taken it. “Sure.” Good was relative, anyway. “Where the fuck is Quinn?”

Will had two men on the floor, one of them quite literally under the heel of his boot, right against the top of his back, keeping him pressed to the floor.

Jericho whipped his head around the room, eyes darkening. “Fuck.” One of the men near him tried to stand, and Jericho flipped him with his foot. “You don’t take directions very well, do you? I don’t know who are, and I don’t care. So putting a bullet in your head isn’t going to make me lose any sleep. Stay fucking still. Do you understand? Nod if you do.” A short, sharp nod. “Will, shoot him if he moves.”

“You got it.”

They were the only ones that knew Will would never do that. He wouldn’t shoot someone in the back or anyone unarmed. He would give every person in the world, regardless of their worthiness, a chance first. Hell, he’d give them ten chances, always ready to find the best in anyone.

Standing like that, with weapon in hand, eyes fierce, hair windswept and tactical gear hugging all the right places? He didn’tlooklike a guy that would give someone a chance. He looked like the tactical officer that led groups of men into difficult situations every day and got everyone out safely.

Jericho gestured at a set of doors, and Peyton nodded in return, falling into step behind him as they pushed through into a narrow hallway.

“Tell me where he is!”

Peyton briefly exchanged a look with Jericho and then took off, heading straight for Quinn’s voice. He wasn’t hard to find; he had his back to them in a small office, with someone shoved uncomfortably against the wall, shoulder digging into framed pictures and a wall safe.

Quinn jammed his forearm against the man’s throat. “Answer me,” he gritted out.

“Help me! This guy’s crazy!”

Peyton would agree, considering the wild look in Quinn’s grey eyes as his gaze flicked to them briefly. He wanted to get on his knees and suck Quinn’s dick.

Jericho kicked out a chair and sank into it, spreading his knees wide and getting comfortable. “We’re just here for the show.”

Peyton wanted to suck his dick too. The adrenaline spiked everything.

The man’s eyes widened. “What the fuck? Who are you people?”

“Answer his question,” Peyton said darkly. “Or this is about to get so much worse for you.”

“I don’t even know what the fuck he’s talking about!”

It was possible that not everyone who worked there had anything to do with whatever the boss dabbled in. Quinn had cornered him for a reason, though. Peyton trusted Quinn’s instincts.

“Why’d you run, then?” Quinn asked, shoving him harder against the wall.

Peyton walked his fingers up the middle of Quinn’s back, hovering at his shoulder. “A clear sign of guilt.”

“A clear sign of kiss my ass.”

Peyton hummed thoughtfully. He switched his gun for the knife at his ankle, flipping it between his fingers. “Wrong answer.” He buried it into the wall, bare inches from the man’s cheek, making him flinch. “Someone by the name of Arthur Mulhall came in here, and he hired some of your more unsavoury friends. Then they did something stupid and kidnapped someone very,veryimportant to us.” He wrapped his fingers around the knife and leaned in closer. “And every minute that we don’t have him is another minute where your world gets so much fucking smaller. So you better start talking.” He pulled the knife out and stepped back, still close enough to Quinn that he could feel his body heat. His dick was throbbing, and he wanted to rub up against Quinn’s back.

Adrenaline and so much more.

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