Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 82187 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 411(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82187 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 411(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
“Who…in the hell…?” Wes murmured.
Ruxs chuckled into his glass.
The Adonis sauntered over and kissed Free and Tech on the lips before he winked at the rest of the table, then locked eyes with Syn and walked straight into his arms.
Syn pulled him close, not giving a damn who was watching.
Law nudged Wes. “Why does he look so familiar?”
Before either of them could guess aloud, Ruxs grinned, “you might recognize him from your phones while you were jerking off.”
Wes choked on his drink.
“Don’t stare too hard,” Tech said. “Or hug him too long.”
“Or touch his hair,” Ro added. “And if you value your life, never mention his videos, or Syn’ll knock your ass into next week.”
“That’s fuckin’ Furious Styles,” Wes croaked. “Syn’s boyfriend is the Furious, the same Furi who was on Illustra’s porn site.”
Free nodded. “Yep. But now he owns the most successful bike shop in the city.”
Law let out a wheezing breath. “Holy shit. You guys are too damn much.”
The night carried on with bottomless nachos, game challenges, and rounds of liquor-laced stories.
Law behaved as if he was in his element, even sharing some of their own wild stories—like Wes escaping a fireball by jumping three stories into a pool. And the time when he was concussed after falling off a stage after Wes started the ignition thirty seconds early.
That story was complete bullshit, but Wes wasn’t in the mood to joke around. None of this shit was funny to him.
By the time midnight neared, most of the team was beginning to call it a night.
Finally.
God was almost out the door when he yelled over his shoulder, “ballistics training, six sharp. Show up hungover, and I’ll make you regret it.”
Day and Hart followed him.
Syn and Furi left arm-in-arm. Ro, Michaels, and Free offered sloppy fist bumps on their way out. Steele nodded, his cigar still smoldering as he vanished into the dark with Tech in his shadow.
Wes went straight for the restroom, his pulse hammering like a warning alarm.
After several minutes of deep breaths, he splashed cold water on his face and stared into the mirror as if he was expecting his smarter self to give him a way out of this mess.
This wasn’t his crowd. These were elite officers who had near-death war stories that ended in laughter and toasted with Tequila. They were comfortable with blood, bullets, and anarchy.
He wasn’t.
Wes stepped out into the dim hallway, and Law was there, leaning against the wall.
“What?”
Law cocked his head to the side. “You okay?”
Wes tried to brush past him, but Law blocked his path.
“You were pretty quiet tonight,” he said.
“I was just lost in thought.”
“Thinking of what?”
“That we’re pretending,” Wes said flatly. “Pretending we belong in that group. Like we can do any of the shit they do.”
Law exhaled. “How ’bout we just let them do what they do? And we do what we do.”
“You make it sound so goddamn easy.”
Law backed him gently against the wall.
“No, it won’t be easy.”
Wes looked up, surprised by the honesty. No cocky retort. No smug grin.
“But I kinda trust these guys.”
Wes’s breath hitched as Law pressed in closer.
“We can do this,” Law whispered, voice low and raw. “But if things go south, I swear…I won’t leave you again.”
Law cupped his jaw and brought their mouths together in a kiss with no push behind it. Soft, quiet, and patient. The kind of kiss that said stay and reiterated I’m here.
He sighed into Law’s mouth, clinging to his shoulders as if testing their stability.
When they pulled apart, Wes pressed his nose into Law’s dark beard, taking comfort in the warmth and it’s scent of smoke and the same Ralph Lauren cologne he’d worn since college.
“Dammit,” he muttered. “You’re gonna owe me so damn big.”
Law grinned. “I’ll give you any-fuckin’-thing you want. Anytime you want it.”
Lawson (Law) Sheppard
Law didn’t knock on Wes’s front door. He walked inside the empty house and headed straight for the basement like he used to do every day as a teenager.
It had the same look and feel from fifteen years ago. Low ceiling, peeling paint, wires and gadgets strung across the floor and tables. And it always smelled like scorched foil.
It wasn’t the gleaming, state-of-the-art studio hangars they were used to, but this was where it’d all begun…and where he and Wes could still conjure magic from nothing.
Wes was exactly where Law expected him to be, hunched over a table, backlit by the glow of a soot-dusted flat-screen TV playing an old action film on mute.
Wes didn’t even glance up when he came in.
“You’re late,” he muttered around the pencil in his mouth.
Law held up a greasy brown bag and the sweating vanilla cream soda.
“Only because I had to wait for them to double-fry your wings. And this…” Law shook the drink in front of Wes’s face. “I waited impatiently for them to change the syrup.”