Page 59 of Nothing Special X: The Last Stand

Furi shook his head. Damn.

Detective Ronowski was a poster boy of charm, sexiness, and damn good genetics.

He had on a tight blue button-up shirt, low-riding jeans, and spotless Jordans. But it was those damn electric-blue eyes that the shirt made look even brighter.

His mouth had always been ridiculous. Lips that were sinful, and they teased him mercilessly for it, but Ro took it all in stride, because he knew how sexy he was.

His friend spotted him and crossed the bar with that loose, confident stride.

“Hey, gorgeous,” Ro said as he pulled him in for a hug that was comforting and long like he’d needed.

Ro gave him a chaste kiss, his mouth warm and supple against his.

“Goddamn those lips,” Furi chuckled.

Ro laughed. “I missed you, too.”

Furi nodded, swallowing around the sudden knot in his throat. “I have missed you. Thanks for coming.”

“For you? Anytime.” Ro slid into the chair across from him while Furi lifted two fingers toward the waitress. “Not to mention you sounded like you were standing on a ledge.”

Furi dropped back into his chair and ran a hand over his hair.

Ro’s smile faded. “Fuckin’ hell.” He leaned forward, forearms on the table. “So what have you done, brother?”

Furi scoffed before he could stop himself.

Of course.

Of course Ro assumed whatever happened had to be something he did.

Because Syn was selfless and kind and would never hurt anyone he cared for, respected, or called a brother.

He was a great man. An honorable man. Even when he was being an overprotective, stubborn, growly son of a bitch, he did it from a place of love and loyalty so deep it made Furi ache.

Everyone knew that.

Which only made this worse.

Ro studied him in a way that made him squirm. He was God’s lead interrogation specialist—he could get the hardest criminals to confess—and Furi felt as if Ro had already pinned him.

Before he could answer, the door opened again and Michaels walked in with Hart beside him.

Michaels— the task force’s sniper, and tactical marksman—seemed unfairly relaxed, tanned and rested in a way that was almost confusing. As if he was living his best life being suspended from his job.

Hart, on the other hand, was his usual intimidating self. So much so that Furi almost regretted including him.

God’s SWAT captain filled out his black utility gear from his wide shoulders to his size thirteen boots. He had a bald head and a long beard brushing his chest. His gold badge was clipped to his waist, along with two service weapons—one on his hip and the other strapped around his right thigh. The permanent don’t-fuck-with-me expression sat on his face as if it too were a part of the uniform.

If he wore that same expression in bed, then Free was one lucky man.

Hart’s eyes swept the bar before his glare landed on Furi.

“Styles,” he greeted.

“Hey guys. Thanks for coming.” Furi stood and accepted Michaels’s hug, then Hart’s rough clap on the shoulder.

When they sat, the waitress came over with more beers. Furi thanked her, waited until she left, then realized now the spotlight was on him.