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“This is Benji,” Davey said. “He’s one of Rowan’s informants. He’s offered us intel in exchange for protection.”

Benji shifted nervously from foot to foot, his eyes darting to each man in the room. Elliot sat at the end of the table doing something on a tablet. He had his glasses on, so he was deep in work mode. Dominic paced the length of the room, radiating restless energy, his need to do something palpable. Meanwhile, Sabin lounged in a nearby chair, one leg thrown over the arm, perfectly relaxed. Too often, he reminded Davey of a big cat, seemingly lazy but always ready to pounce at a moment’s notice.

Sullivan and Brody O’Connell sat at the opposite end of the table from Elliot, a forgotten card game splayed between them. The twins were identical—same dark hair, same intense gray eyes—but the scar slicing down the side of Sullivan’s face set them apart. While Brody was all polished charm, Sullivan had a rough edge that made people think twice before messing with him. But according to Elliot, Sully was a good guy. Loyal, reliable, steady. His twin was a little more reckless and carefree but no less loyal.

And, finally, rounding out the group, there was Liam, leaning against the wall, his arms crossed, his head tilted back, eyes closed. Liam had been born deaf, but had a cochlear implant that he usually turned off in busy environments. Whether or not he had it turned off now was anyone’s guess. Either way, he was about as deadly as men came and could shoot any weapon you put in his hands with almost preternatural accuracy.

Benji swallowed audibly, his fingers tightening around the edge of his hoodie like it was the only thing keeping him grounded. His eyes darted to the table, then to the door, then he turned like he wanted to bolt.

Rowan stepped in front of the door, blocking his path. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“Yeah, I-I don’t know about this, man. I just want to stay alive, all right? I didn’t sign up for some James Bond spy shit.”

Rowan rolled her eyes and spun him around so he was facing the room again. “Relax, Benji. No one’s asking you to play secret agent. You wanted protection…” She motioned to the men. “Meet the best in the business.”

Elliot frowned and took off his glasses, folding them on top of his tablet. “What kind of intel?”

Since Benji didn’t seem inclined to answer, Davey did. He crossed to the fridge and tapped the door to see what they had stocked. “I assume you’ve briefed everyone on the situation?”

“Yeah, someone put a goddamn hit on you,” Brody said, his hand tightening into a fist on the table.

Beside him, Sullivan shook his head in disbelief. “It’s a ballsy move.”

“That’s one word for it.” Davey wanted a beer, but settled for a water. He turned and offered one to Rowan, tossing it to her when she nodded. Then he grabbed one for himself and shut the fridge.

“The contract on Davey came through a brokerage firm,” Rowan explained to the room. “Kryos Solutions. I’ve done work for them before, but I didn’t know until recently Atlas Frost owns Kryos.”

Dominic sat back in his seat and blew out a breath. “Well. Fuck.”

Sullivan frowned. “Isn’t Frost an ally?”

“Wouldn’t go that far,” Davey said. “He’s a… necessary evil.”

Benji let out a humorless laugh. “Yeah, a necessary evil who’s gonna bury us all if we don’t play our cards right.” He glanced at Rowan, then back at Davey. “Look, I got access to some of Frost’s financial records. And I’m talking deep, dark, off-the-books transactions. The kind that’d make even a crooked Fed blush. The kind that gets guys like you killed and guys like me chopped into bitty pieces and thrown into the East River.”

Davey took a long swig of water, his mind racing. “And you think those transactions connect to the contract on me?”

“I’d bet my last bitcoin on it,” Benji said.

Elliot groaned softly and pinched the bridge of his nose like he had a headache. “Frost has been playing both sides for years, but it’s doubtful he put out the hit himself. He’s just the middleman.”

“So who’s pulling his strings?” Brody asked the room.

A beat of silence.

Finally, Benji lifted a shoulder. “Hard to say. Money comes in, and Frost hands it out for all sorts of shady shit. Mercenaries, weapons, tech that’s not even on the market yet. And he has a big chunk of change coming in from a company called Praetorian Holdings.”

Elliot straightened and grabbed his tablet. “Praetorian? Why does that sound familiar?”

“Because we’ve run into them before,” Liam said, finally opening his eyes and pushing away from the wall. “They’re mercenaries. They were involved in that clusterfuck in Kyrgyzstan.”

He didn’t have to specify which op. They all already knew exactly which he was talking about: the one that killed Brennan.

Silence settled over the room like a heavy fog. No one moved. No one spoke. Brennan’s absence was a wound that had never fully healed, a scar that still ached when pressed.

Davey exhaled slowly, the sound sharp in the stillness.

Dom shifted on his feet, restless energy vibrating the air around him. The guy hated silence. Usually, he’d crack a joke, flash that easy grin, or do something to shake off the tension. But not this time. Instead, he wore the doleful expression of a dog who didn’t understand why his favorite person wasn’t coming home.

Elliot sat unnaturally still, fingers curled against the edge of his tablet like he wanted to break it in half.

Liam just stood there, arms crossed, expression unreadable. He didn’t move, didn’t speak, but the tension rolling off him said enough. He felt it, same as the rest of them. He just wouldn’t let it show.

Even Sabin, who could joke his way out of anything, just stared at the floor, jaw locked tight.

Brennan should be here.

He’d be pacing, already three steps ahead of the problem, flipping through possibilities in that sharp, calculating way of his. He’d crack some dry remark just to break the tension, maybe nudge Davey’s shoulder and say, “ We’ll handle it.”

But he wasn’t here.

All they had was the hollow space where he should be and the questions about his death that never stopped haunting them.

Davey set his water bottle down on the counter with a thud. “So, what are you saying? That Praetorian put out the hit on me?”

Benji shrugged. “I’m just telling you what I know, man. Frost and Praetorian are in bed together. Praetorian doesn’t like you, and someone wants you dead.” He started pacing, clutching his hoodie like it might somehow shield him from all the wrong choices that had landed him here. “You do the math.”

Elliot finally spoke, his voice level but edged with something sharp. “Then we need to talk to Frost.”

Dom blew out a breath. “Well, that sounds like fun.”

Liam didn’t react, which was reaction enough.

Benji stopped mid-step, blinking. “Are we sure this is the best plan? I mean, Frost is a guy who makes people disappear. And me? I’d rather stay not disappeared.” His gaze darted to the door, then to the laptop sitting on the table.

Davey inhaled slowly, forcing himself to stay measured, controlled, even though the kid’s twitchy anxiety was wearing on his patience. “Don’t do it.” If Benji ran, they’d lose their only tech advantage, and the poor bastard would be dead before sunrise. “We’ll keep you safe. But you need to trust me, Benji.”

Sabin watched the whole exchange with lazy amusement. “ Oui , relax, mon ami. Nobody’s disappearing tonight.”

Benji hesitated. Then exhaled sharply and muttered, “Yeah. Okay.” But his grip on his hoodie didn’t loosen, and he still looked like he’d jump out of his skin at the first unexpected sound.

“All right, let’s get back on track,” Elliot said, drawing everyone’s attention back to the mission briefing. “First things first—we can’t talk to Frost unless we find him.”

“We already know where he’ll be,” Rowan said. “The charity gala at the Plaza Hotel tomorrow night.”

Elliot glanced over at her, a flash of irritation in his eyes. Yeah, he still hadn’t forgiven her for taking the contract. The man could hold grudges like nobody else. “The gala is VIP-only. Security’s tight. Biometric scanning at the doors, plainclothes security inside. Nobody’s getting in without a ticket.”

Sabin grinned, always the fucking showman. “Careful. I’m might take that as a personal challenge.”

“We have tickets,” Davey said before Sabin decided to plan a heist. As all eyes turned to him, he leaned against the counter and crossed his arms over his chest. “I talked to Uncle Reece and he got us two tickets, so Rowan and I are going in as guests.”

Elliot let out a low whistle. “Well, damn. Didn’t expect you to pull the family connection card.”

“Wasn’t my first choice,” Davey admitted. “But it’s the safest. No fake IDs, no biometrics to worry about. Just two legit invitations.”

Dominic groaned. “So, you two get to wine and dine with New York’s elite while we do the grunt work?”

Davey rolled his eyes. “Yeah, because babysitting Rowan in a room full of potential enemies sounds like a damn vacation.”

Rowan shot him a glare. “Oh, please. If anything, I’ll be keeping you out of trouble.”

He scoffed. “Do I really need to remind you which of us was stabbed recently?”

She smiled in a way that looked sweet but was all venom underneath. “Keep it up, and I’ll give you a hole to match.”

“Yikes,” someone—probably Dom—muttered, but Davey didn’t look away from Rowan to see who it was.

Her hazel eyes flashed with defiance, daring him to push back. And damn if a part of him didn’t want to rise to that challenge, to see just how far they could take this clash of wills.

He took a step closer, invading her personal space. Rowan didn’t back down, tilting her chin up to maintain eye contact. His fingers itched to reach out and touch her, to take a fistful of her long dark hair and pull her flush against him.

Mine , something primal whispered.

She’d used his soap in the shower earlier, and the scent of it on her skin short-circuited all higher logic. It was a stupid thing to fixate on—she’d needed a damn shower, it wasn’t a claim—but fuck if his body cared about the distinction. He suddenly wanted every man in this room to know she was his. He wanted to close his mouth over hers and stake his claim.

Sabin gave a low whistle. “You two gonna kiss or kill each other?”

“Undetermined,” Rowan said, still glaring up at him with heat in her eyes.

“ Mais , either way, I’m here for it. All this sexual tension. It’s better than porn.”

“Jesus,” Elliot muttered and pressed his fingertips to his eyelids like he was trying to rid himself of a mental image.

Dom smacked the back of Sabin’s head. “I never want my brother and porn to be in the same thought bubble ever again. Just… no.”

Shit. He needed to get control. He forced himself to step back before he did something reckless. “All right, people. Let’s focus up.”

“You’re the one losing focus, mon ami, and gettin’ the rest of us all hot and bothered.”

Elliot pushed up from his seat. “Cavalier, I swear to fucking God?—”

“Y’all prudes.” Sabin shrugged but levered up out of his chair to get out of Elliot’s reach. He crossed to Rowan and tilted his head, giving her a slow, considering once-over that had every caveman instinct in Davey roaring. In a heartbeat, without even consciously making the decision to move, he was between them, shoving a hand against Sabin’s chest.

“Touch her, and I’ll break your fucking fingers.”

Sabin held up his hands in mock surrender, but his eyes danced with amusement. “Easy. I was just going to offer my expertise on formal wear. Our little warrior princess could use a lil’ polish, non ?”

Rowan blinked. “Excuse me?”

Sabin arched a brow, giving her a slow, considering once-over. “You ain’t exactly Met Gala-ready in that jacket and them combat boots.”

Rowan narrowed her eyes. “I’m sorry, are you critiquing my wardrobe?”

Davey sighed. “Jesus Christ, Sabin?—”

Sabin ignored him, tilting his head like he was appraising a painting in a gallery. “Ain’t nothin’ personal, bébé . Black tie means black tie. Unless you got a designer gown stuffed in that duffel, you’re gonna stick out like a gator at a garden party.”

Rowan groaned. “I don’t have a damn dress, all right? Been a little busy dodging assassination attempts.”

Sabin grinned like she’d walked straight into a trap. “Lucky for you, I know just the person who can fix that.”

He let the words hang just long enough to make them all look at him.

Then, with a smirk and a lazy tip of an imaginary hat: “ Ma p’tite s?ur , Vivianna.”

Davey frowned. “Your sister?”

Rowan crossed her arms. “The fashion designer?”

“The very one,” Sabin said smoothly. “And lucky for you, she owes me a favor.”

Davey narrowed his eyes. “Why do I get the feeling that favor stems from something illegal?”

Sabin pressed a hand to his chest, looking deeply offended. “Davey, mon ami , you wound me. I am merely a man with excellent connections and impeccable taste.”

“Yeah, how did you get those connections?”

He waved his hand. “A story for another day.”

“Uh-huh.”

He gave an exaggerated sigh. “Why do y’all always assume the worst of me?” A beat. Then he grinned. “Wait, don’t answer that. But Vivi is all legitimate and above board…” Another beat. Another quicksilver grin. “Now.”

Rowan folded her arms. “You think your sister will help me on such short notice?”

Sabin’s expression turned downright indulgent. “Oh, cher, she lives for this kind of thing. Dressing a woman with your—” he waved a hand vaguely in her direction “—particular aesthetic? She’ll consider it a challenge.”

Rowan’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “That sounded an awful lot like an insult.”

Sabin didn’t bother denying it. He just tilted his head, eyes gleaming with mischief. “That’s ‘cause it was, bébé .”

A choked sound came from Dominic’s direction. “Vivianna?”

Davey glanced over at his brother, who had suddenly gone tense.

“Coming here?” Dom asked, his voice carefully neutral.

Sabin’s smirk turned wicked. “Ahhh,” he drawled, eyes lighting with amusement. “So you do remember my sister.”

Dominic’s jaw tightened.

Brody, sensing something, leaned forward with a shit-eating grin. “Wait. Are we glossing over something juicy here?”

Sullivan elbowed him. “Not our business.”

“ Oui , let’s not get distracted.” Sabin stretched, looking far too pleased with himself. “We got a mission to run, yeah?”

Dominic muttered something under his breath and scrubbed a hand over his face, but his ears? Red as hell. It was gone in an instant—the muttered curse, the tension in his jaw—but Davey clocked it.

Vivi.

Fucking hell.

Of all the people Sabin could pull into this mess, it had to be her ?

Davey didn’t know what happened between the two of them since he’d still been with the SEALs and was gone more often than not, but he knew it had ended messily. Messy enough that Dom avoided even hearing her name. Messy enough that Vivi had looked right through him the last time they’d crossed paths.

But Sabin was right. Rowan did need a dress, and Vivi was the most discreet option.

“All right,” he said, bringing the focus back. “We have a plan. Rowan gets a dress. We go in as guests. We’ll sneak Sabin, Dom, and Liam in as catering staff.”

“What about us?” Brody gestured between himself and Sullivan.

Davey considered. “Brody, work the crowd as they come into the lobby and hotel bar. Find an excuse to get near Frost’s people and listen.”

Brody smirked. “So, be my usual charming self?”

“Yeah,” Elliot said dryly. “Just this time, don’t flirt your way into a gunfight.”

Brody sighed. “One time.”

Davey turned to Sullivan. “You’re security. Quiet, armed, and watching our backs.”

Sullivan nodded once. “Got it.”

“And Elliot will run point from here and make sure our guest”—he pinned Benji with a cold stare—“doesn’t do anything stupid.”

Elliot exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face before picking up his glasses. “Babysitting duty. Fantastic.” He slid his glasses on and shot Benji a flat look. “Anything else you’d like me to do? Fold his laundry? Tuck him in?”

Benji shrank under their combined stares, his fingers tightening around his hoodie. He looked like he wanted to disappear, shoulders curling inward like that might somehow make him less of a target. His gaze darted toward the door again.

Davey had seen plenty of fear before—men in combat, civilians in warzones, people with a price on their heads. Benji wasn’t a fighter. He was just a guy who knew too much, standing in a room full of people he didn’t trust.

And that made him a liability. But it also made him Davey’s responsibility. If someone wanted Benji dead, they’d have to work a hell of a lot harder for it because nobody was putting the kid in the ground on his watch.

Davey turned to Sabin. “Call your sister.”

Sabin pulled out his phone with a theatrical flourish. As he dialed and raised the phone to his ear, he eyed Dominic. “Oh, Vivi’s gonna love this.”

Dominic cursed under his breath.

Davey scrubbed a hand down his face. This mission was already giving him a migraine—and he had a feeling it was only getting worse from here on out.