Page 17 of Nothing Special X: The Last Stand

Cassidy looked hard at the men again.

“Get to Mr. Vale's property,” he ordered. “Relieve the current detail and start your shifts.”

“Yes, sir.”

They moved out quickly, but he still wasn’t satisfied.

Not even close.

Instead of going back to his office, he made a beeline straight for Wes and Law’s lab.

The converted warehouse sat tucked behind one of the older sound stages near the practical effect’s storerooms. The heavy, reinforced door was shut, and Cassidy banged on it hard enough to sound like the DEA serving a warrant before he barged inside.

“It’s HOS! I’m coming in, and I better not see anything I don’t wanna see.”

The warning wasn’t an unnecessary precaution where Wes and Law were concerned.

Luckily, they were both fully clothed for once.

The pair looked up from a cluttered worktable covered in wires, half-disassembled mechanisms, and scattered papers.

Law grinned first. “What’s up HOS? I was just—”

Both their smiles vanished at the same time when they saw his face.

He stalked toward them without slowing. “Where the hell are the super soldiers you promised me?”

Law lifted both hands in mock surrender while Wes grabbed his phone.

“Their plane landed an hour ago,” Wes muttered while quickly swiping across his screen. “They’ll be here first thing in the morning.”

Law leaned against the table. “Relax, HOS. These guys will be worth the wait and the money.”

Cassidy narrowed his eyes.

They better fuckin’ be.

By the time Cassidy got home, it was after two in the morning.

At least tomorrow would be lighter.

Xander would be home, heavily guarded, and the studio lot would mostly be crew personnel instead of swarming fans, media, and publicity leeches.

All he had to focus on was meeting Wes and Law’s East Coast cowboys.

His house sat tucked high in the Hollywood Hills behind gates and heavy trees, modern but understated compared to the grotesque mansions most executives and actors wasted money on.

He preferred modesty and privacy over spectacle.

The interior was quiet and still with the lights already dimmed, just the way he liked it.

He shrugged off his jacket as he headed into the kitchen, where a covered plate waited inside the refrigerator with a sticky note attached in neat handwriting.

You know what Hercules did between battles? He ate. – Love, Ms. Ramona

A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

He’d been blessed with Ms. Ramona almost eight years now. He paid her well enough that she worked exclusively for him, mostly during the hours he wasn’t home.