Chapter Two #2
Cold slammed into the cabin. Wind tore at gear and clothing, turning the interior into controlled chaos.
Kael was already there, clipped in, eyes on Ethan.
Ethan gave a single nod.
One by one, Black Tide stepped into nothing.
They didn’t hesitate. They didn’t look back. Bodies vanished cleanly into the dark, swallowed by night and altitude, the jet growing lighter and more responsive with every exit.
Ethan held the plane steady through it all, compensating for each shift in weight, each violent surge of air.
When the last man was gone, Tane moved fast.
He slammed the hatch closed and sealed it, the roar cutting off abruptly, replaced by the muted thrum of engines and the hiss of oxygen.
He rolled the aircraft and punched the throttle.
The jet leapt.
Tane braced himself against the bulkhead, eyes on the readouts. “You’re gonna want to warn me before you do whatever the hell that is.”
Ethan didn’t answer, as both men strapped themselves into seats.
Acceleration slammed Victor and Tane back against their chairs as Ethan pitched them into a sharp, aggressive climb—too steep, too fast, the kind of maneuver that made air traffic controllers swear, and pilots stare in disbelief.
“What the fuck, Rhodes!” Tane barked, fingers digging into the seat's armrests. “You trying to rip the wings off?”
Victor let out a sharp laugh that was half curse, half admiration. “Jesus Christ—look at that angle.”
“Eyes are now on us,” Ethan said calmly, already adjusting. “Every eye.”
The aircraft cut through controlled airspace like it didn’t belong to the rules governing it, climbing hard and clean before leveling abruptly. The maneuver was deliberate, showy, impossible to ignore.
Exactly what he needed.
He throttled back just enough to avoid a stall, then dove—fast and precise—bringing them screaming back toward the runway from an angle no sane pilot would choose.
Tane swore again. “I swear to God, I’m never flying with you again.”
Victor snorted. “Hell, I'll fly with you any time.”
Ethan ignored them, hands steady, eyes locked on the strip ahead. He flared late, braked hard, and brought the jet to a brutal, perfect stop in the darkest stretch of tarmac beside the runway—right where their own parked aircraft sat waiting, shadowed and forgotten.
Silence slammed into the cabin.
Then chaos.
Doors on the far side of the airfield burst open. Men spilled out, weapons already drawn, moving fast and aggressive. An SUV roared up, brakes screaming as it skidded to a stop nearby. Another vehicle followed, disgorging more bodies, more guns.
“Contact,” Victor said quietly, already raising his weapon.
“Multiple,” Tane added. “They’re not subtle.”
“Good,” Ethan said.
He unstrapped and stood. Strode for the exit.
“Ethan—” Tane started.
“Stay with me,” Victor said sharply. “Get down.”
Ethan didn’t listen.
He opened the door, Victor and Tane flanking him, weapons in hand. The humid night rushed in, thick with fuel and heat. He descended the stairs slowly, deliberately, boots hitting the tarmac with measured confidence as he walked forward into a fan of raised weapons.
“Easy,” he called out. “Nobody needs to make this messier than it already is.”
The men froze, startled by the audacity of it.
“Who the hell are you?” one of them demanded, rifle trained center mass.
Victor and Tane flanked Ethan silently, guns up, eyes cold. Neither spoke. They didn’t need to.
“I’m the one you noticed,” Ethan said. “The one who made you nervous.”
Movement flickered in his peripheral vision.
Victor saw it too.
Across the tarmac, shadows peeled away from the other jet. A man went down silently, Victor catching the flash of a blade at a throat, the body lowered without a sound. More shadows followed—controlled, lethal.
Black Tide was already inside.
“Stand down,” Ethan said mildly. “This doesn’t end well for you otherwise.”
The men hesitated. One of them laughed, sharp and humorless. “You think you can take us?”
Ethan met his gaze. “No. I don’t need to, and I think you already lost.”
Footsteps approached from behind the men.
Niko emerged from the darkness. All six foot one, muscles in all the right places.
As he stepped into the light, Ethan saw new tribal tattoos running up his neck that matched those he knew to be on his shoulders and biceps, and despite the fact he couldn’t see them, he knew Niko’s blue eyes would be blazing with anger.
He was limping slightly but otherwise looked fine, but he carried a weapon with practiced ease. His eyes were blazing, fury barely leashed, expression carved into something sharp and dangerous.
Relief hit Ethan so hard it almost staggered him.
Then amusement followed close behind.
Niko looked pissed.
The man with the rifle glanced back, confused. “Who is that?”
Ethan didn’t look away from him. “Someone you should’ve never fucked off. And believe me, you have.”
Another man stepped forward. “Who are you?”
Ethan’s voice dropped. “They call me Pyre.”
Recognition rippled through the group.
A smile crept across one man’s face. “We’d be happy to take you instead.”
Before Ethan could answer, Niko stepped up beside him and pressed the barrel of his gun to the man’s head.
“No,” Niko said calmly. “You don’t get to take what’s mine.”
The shot was deafening.
Bodies dropped almost simultaneously, Victor and Tane moving in perfect sync, clearing threats with ruthless efficiency. Within seconds, the only men left standing were Black Tide.
Smoke curled into the night.
Ethan let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.
Niko turned toward him, eyes still blazing. “You’re late.”
Ethan smiled faintly. “Traffic.”