ASHTON
I’m confused as f**k.
Nic exhales slowly beside me, the glow of his cigarette flickering against his sharp jawline. Shirtless. Relaxed. Looking like he’s got all the time in the world—like he isn’t about to say something that shatters it.
Nic taps ash off his cigarette, voice slow. Unbothered. “The Black Market’s shifting.”
I take a slow pull from my beer, let the cold bite at my throat, roll my shoulders against the night air. The guys and I decided we needed one f*****g night to breathe. One night to pretend everything isn’t falling apart.
Inside, someone laughs—loud, unbothered. Bottles clink, metal scrapes against metal as Blaze flips something on the grill. The smell of charred meat clings to the air. Someone’s arguing about seasoning.
Probably Colt.
Someone else—probab
