Page 18 of Danger Close
“Nope,” Bateman said easily.“It’s me giving a shit.I’ve watched my men fall apart from worse, and I’ve watched them hold it in ‘til it shattered them from the inside.You’re not the hookup type.Not with men.Not with anyone.I believe that you gave Ezra something.Something special.”
“I didn’t expect—” Ricky started, then shook his head.“Doesn’t matter.”
Bateman tilted his head.“Love, E.”
Ricky inhaled sharply, jaw clenched.“It’s just a sign-off.”
“No,” Bateman said softly.“It’s not.”He let that hang for a moment.“You gave him something of yourself, and knowing you, Ricky, you gave him more than you ever expected or knew you had.And that asshole didn’t treat it or you as he should have.And just so that you know, I will be kicking his ass for leaving you like that.”
Ricky laughed—dry, sharp-edged.“Get in line.”
Bateman smiled faintly.“I’m getting better at this whole team-building shit.Dev’s rubbing off on me.But if you tell him I said that I will shoot you”
Ricky leaned back, staring at the ceiling.“If you start making us do trust falls or feeling circles, I’m out.”
Bateman stood, clapped a hand to Ricky’s shoulder once, and moved toward the cockpit.“Just know that you don’t fall alone,” he said over his shoulder.“We’ve got your six.Always have.Always will.”
Ricky watched him go, the words still warm in his chest.
Then he looked down at the message again.
This time, when he read it, it didn’t sting.
It just mattered.
Chapter Four
Tirana wasn’t a citythat slept—it simmered.Even under the gray press of dawn, the place pulsed with life in a way that felt ...off.Like everything moved two beats behind real time.Neon signs still glowed from bars long closed.Traffic lights blinked over empty intersections.Stray dogs barked somewhere in the distance, sharp against the constant hiss of tires over damp asphalt.
The safehouse Kai had directed them to was tucked above a shuttered tobacco shop that had clearly seen better decades.The awning hung half-torn, letters faded to ghost script.A rusting security gate guarded the front door—not locked, just stuck, like it knew better than to welcome visitors.
The interior was no better.Stale air, plaster walls with peeling paint, one light fixture flickering like it owed someone money.The stairs creaked like warning shots.Ricky clocked six vantage points, three entry breaches, and zero fire escapes on the way up.Standard eastern bloc paranoia chic.Kai had sent through images of the hotel Ezra had been staying at, and it was the same, run down, crumbling façade.
He wasn’t worried.Not about the place.
But even he noticed how Marsh moved through it—methodical, like every shadow might cough up a ghost.
