Chapter Seven
Rangi couldn’t remember the last time a helmet had offended him this much.
It wasn’t the gear itself—he’d worn enough of it in his life, trusted it with his bones and blood more times than he could count.
It was what it hid. The man behind the visor.
The voice coming through a filtered speaker instead of a throat he could read, a mouth he could watch, a breath he could feel.
Ahi sat to his left, hands loose on the wheel, driving like the road belonged to him and always had. Smooth. Controlled. Fast when it needed to be, precise when it didn’t. The car ate the distance between them and wherever the hell this compound was, engine humming low and dangerous beneath them.
Alexios sat between them, one shoulder angled slightly forward, his arm still strapped but no longer immobilized. Even injured, he took up space like a blade—contained, deliberate, impossible to ignore.
Rangi’s gaze kept flicking left. To the helmet. To the visor.
To the way it reflected the dashboard lights instead of giving him anything real.
It was irritating as hell.
“You always this mysterious,” Rangi muttered, voice rough from dust and adrenaline and everything they’d just clawed their way out of, “or is this a special occasion?”
The speaker crackled softly before Ahi answered, voice filtered but unmistakably amused.
“Depends,” he said. “You always this impatient?”
Rangi huffed a quiet laugh. “Only when I’ve been shot at, kidnapped, and then rescued by a ghost in a helmet.”
“Fair,” Ahi replied.
Alexios shifted beside him, a subtle movement that still pulled Rangi’s attention immediately. His hand brushed briefly against Rangi’s thigh—grounding, checking, there and gone again.
Rangi leaned into it without thinking, his own hand coming up to rest against Alexios’s side, careful of the injury.
“Talk to me about Alexios,” Ahi said, tone shifting just enough to signal he wasn’t just making conversation anymore. “What’s the damage?”
Rangi opened his mouth.
Alexios cut in. “I can speak for myself.”
Rangi’s mouth twitched. Of course he could.
Ahi made a low sound that might have been approval. “Good. I prefer it that way.”
Alexios angled slightly, voice steady despite the pain threaded through it.
“Two cracked ribs,” he said. “One fracture—clean, not displaced. Left arm took the worst of it. Soft tissue damage, possible hairline fracture at the wrist. I’ll live.”
Rangi snorted. “He’s being modest.”
Alexios didn’t even look at him. “I’m being accurate.”
“You’re bleeding through the bandage.”
“It’s contained.”
“It’s still bleeding.”
Ahi’s shoulders shifted slightly, like he was suppressing a laugh. “You two always like this?”
Rangi didn’t miss a beat. “Yeah.”
Alexios added, calm as ever, “He thinks too much.”
Rangi shot him a look. “And you talk too much.”
“I talk enough,” Alexios replied.
There was a beat.
Then Ahi—quiet, curious, something else threading through it—“Works for you?”
Rangi glanced at Alexios, their eyes meeting for a second that carried years of history in it. Trust. Heat. Something unbreakable.
“Yeah,” Rangi said simply. “It does.”
Silence settled for a moment—not empty, not awkward. Just ... full.
Rangi felt it shift again, that same pull he’d felt earlier. Toward Ahi. Toward the unknown behind the visor. Toward something that felt familiar in a way he couldn’t quite place yet.
Ahi broke it. “How’d they take you?”
Rangi’s jaw tightened.
Just a fraction.
He felt Alexios go still beside him, like a blade being drawn tight.
“Ambush,” Rangi said. “Trackside. Looked like a standard run until it wasn’t.”
“They knew our patterns,” Alexios added. “Timing. Entry points. Exit routes. Everything”
“They’re not just running races,” Rangi went on, voice flattening slightly. “But you know that.”
“I do know that,” Ahi said.
“Drivers are going missing,” Alexios said quietly. “Not all of them come back.”
“And the ones who do?” Ahi asked.
Rangi exhaled slowly, the memory sitting heavy in his chest. “Different.”
A pause. “Scared,” he added.
Ahi’s grip on the wheel tightened just slightly—enough for Rangi to notice.
“Crucible,” Ahi said, the word coming out sharp.
Rangi nodded. “Yeah.”
Ahi didn’t speak for a few seconds.
The car surged forward, engine responding to a pressure that had nothing to do with the road.
“You were in their hands how long?” he asked.
“Not long enough for them to do what they wanted,” Alexios said.
“Long enough,” Rangi muttered.
Rangi shifted, turning slightly toward Ahi, studying the helmet like he could burn through it with sheer will.
“How’d you find us?” he asked.
Ahi didn’t hesitate this time. “Pathfinders.”
Rangi’s brows pulled together. “Bateman called you directly?”
“Yeah.”
Alexios made a quiet sound—something like approval, something like acknowledgment. “Good man. I like him.”
Rangi leaned back slightly, processing that.
“You called them first, though?” Ahi asked.
Rangi huffed. “Had to. Needed someone who could find you.”
Ahi’s head tilted just slightly. “Find me?”
Rangi smirked faintly. “You’re not exactly easy to track.”
“Wasn’t meant to be.”
“That why you wear the helmet?”
A beat.
Then, “Part of it.”
Rangi’s frustration flared again, sharper this time. “Yeah, well, it’s getting old.”
Alexios’s shoulder bumped his lightly. “Patience, lover.”
“I’ve had patience,” Rangi shot back. “I want to see who just pulled us out of hell.”
Ahi didn’t answer that. But something in the car shifted anyway.
Like the moment was coming, whether Rangi liked it or not.
The road curved, climbing slightly, the terrain changing from open stretch to something more controlled. More ... deliberate.
Rangi straightened as the first gate came into view. Reinforced steel barriers, recessed into the ground. Cameras—visible and not. Motion sensors tracking their approach before they were even close enough to register manually.
The car didn’t slow as he approached the barrier. Ahi tapped something on the console. The world around them shifted.
Lights flickered green.
The first barrier slid back with a low, mechanical hum.
“Jesus,” Rangi muttered under his breath.
“Welcome to paranoid,” Ahi said dryly.
“Or prepared,” Alexios added.
“Same thing,” Rangi said.
They rolled through.
Another gate.
Another layer.
This one biometric—Rangi caught the brief scan, the flicker of red across Ahi’s hand before it turned green and the barrier opened.
“Yeah,” Rangi said slowly. “Definitely paranoid.”
“Definitely necessary,” Ahi replied.
The final stretch opened up into a wide, secured yard.
And then Rangi saw it. A massive building, black, and settled into the landscape. It looked like a massive ground-level garage with another level on top.
Steel and concrete and reinforced glass, built low and wide like something that expected impact and planned to survive it. Multiple bays. Internal lighting cast long, sharp shadows across polished floors.
The car rolled in smooth as anything, engine cutting as they pulled into a marked space near the entrance. Rangi exhaled slowly, tension he hadn’t even realized he was holding starting to bleed out of him.
“Not bad,” he said.
Ahi didn’t respond.
Because behind them—two black vans rolled in.
Rangi’s gaze sharpened immediately, instincts kicking in before thought could catch up. Doors opened, and men stepped out.
A unit. And he recognized them. Rangi felt it click.
Felt the shape of it slot into place with a clarity that hit like a punch to the chest.
“Holy—” he breathed.
Beside him, Alexios went very still.
Then a low, almost incredulous sound left him.
“Ah.”
Rangi turned his head slowly.
Back to Ahi, his pulse kicked up again, for an entirely different reason.
“No way,” he muttered.
Ahi reached up, unlatched the helmet, and lifted it off.
And just like that—
Keanu stood there.
Rangi stared at him.
Then barked a laugh that had more edge in it than humor. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Alexios exhaled sharply beside him, something like a laugh threading through it. “Of course it’s him.”
Rangi dragged a hand down his face. “You could’ve led with that.”
Keanu—Ahi—grinned, unapologetic. “Where’s the fun in that?”
Rangi shook his head, still staring at him like he was trying to reconcile two versions of the same man.
“Yeah,” he muttered. “I’m going to be mad about this for at least five minutes.”
Alexios leaned back slightly, voice dry. “You’ll get over it.”
Rangi shot him a look. “You’re not helping.”
Alexios’s mouth curved faintly. “I’m enjoying it.”
Keanu laughed outright at that.
And damn it—Rangi felt something in his chest settle anyway.
Even as he glared. Even as he tried to hold onto the irritation.
Because now—now he knew exactly who he was looking at.
And that was...
A whole different problem.
****
Keanu pushed the door to the garage open and stepped inside. Cooler air brushed over sweat-damp skin, carrying the familiar scent of oil, steel, and something faintly sweet from the tropical night outside. Normally, it grounded him.
Tonight, it didn’t touch the storm building in his chest.
Because they were here.
Rangi. Alexios.
Not ghosts. Not memories dragged up in the quiet hours between missions.
Real. Standing ten feet away. Breathing the same air.
Kael moved before Keanu had fully straightened, his presence cutting through the space with quiet authority. “Med bay.”
The words were automatic. Controlled. The leader speaking, not the man.
Keanu’s answer came just as fast. “No.”
Kael didn’t even slow. “He needs proper—”
“I’ve got proper,” Keanu cut in, stepping forward, something sharp and immovable locking into place beneath his ribs. “The bus is set up. It’s clean, it’s stocked, and it’s private.”
That last word settled differently. He saw Kael clock it, weigh it. Rangi’s gaze flicked to him, dark and assessing, like he was measuring not just the words but the intent behind them.
Alexios said nothing—but he didn’t argue either.
Kael stopped. Turned. Looked at Keanu properly.
A long beat stretched between them.
Then—
“Five minutes,” Kael said. “If I don’t like what I see, we move him.”