Chapter Four #2
He saw it clearly on the feed—the split-second pause at the threshold, Niko’s eyes snapping to the lock on the door, the immediate flare of irritation when he realized it hadn’t been forced.
That it was unlocked.
Ethan felt a flicker of grim satisfaction. You noticed, he thought. Good.
The second team appeared right on schedule, coming in from the south. Professionals again. Too confident. Too late.
Ethan split his screens, tracking both fights at once.
Tane and Victor hit the southern group hard and fast, funneling them exactly where Ethan’s terrain modeling said they would. Drew and Kael closed from angles that left no escape. It was textbook Black Tide—and terrifyingly effective.
The southern engagement collapsed almost as quickly as it began, bodies dropping out of frame one by one until only stillness remained on that feed.
Ethan barely registered it. Because Niko breached the house. Ethan felt it like a physical thing.
He watched Niko pause just inside the door, shoulders tight, eyes sweeping.
He saw the confusion next.
Niko moving through the space like a man trying to reconcile memory with reality. Taking in the concrete floors, the steel beams, the sterile perfection.
The look on his face twisted something in Ethan’s chest.
“Yeah,” Ethan muttered under his breath. “I know.”
Because this place wasn’t home. It was a stage. Ethan had never even slept here. Not once. The house existed for one reason only—to be found by his father.
A decoy dressed up as permanence.
His real life—his real home—was three hours south, tucked into terrain no one would think to search, shielded by distance, anonymity, and layers of misdirection that had nothing to do with architecture magazines.
And Poppy was nowhere near this place.
He would never have put her here. Never risked her for convenience or ego. This house was a magnet for violence by design.
Time compressed.
The teams converged fast.
Ethan watched the last of the attackers drop outside, the property momentarily still. Black Tide regrouped inside the house, weapons up, adrenaline humming.
Then his alerts flared red.
A third wave.
Larger. Heavier. Coming in from the east.
“Of course,” he murmured. “You boys really don’t know when to quit.”
Ethan’s gaze flicked between feeds again, calculating angles, distances, and arrival times. The third wave wasn’t probing. It was committing.
This was the part where staying became suicide.
He rose from the chair and keyed the release.
The safe room door slid open soundlessly, and Ethan stepped into the hall, boots quiet against concrete. He took the stairs two at a time, heartbeat steady despite the fact that every gun in the house was about to turn on him.
They were waiting at the bottom.
Niko front and center. Tane, Victor, Kael, and Drew flanking. Weapons trained.
Ethan lifted both hands slowly.
“Relax,” he said calmly. “If I wanted you dead, you wouldn’t be standing.”
No one lowered their gun.
“There are more coming,” Ethan continued. “East side. Heavier kit. You’ve got maybe ninety seconds before they’re inside the perimeter.”
Kael’s jaw tightened. “Then we make a stand.”
Ethan shook his head once. “Or we leave.”
He turned, pressed his palm to a seamless section of wall, and stepped back as it split open.
A stairwell descended into light.
Not rough. Not improvised. Concrete walls, embedded lighting, visible airflow vents, humming softly. Professional. Permanent.
Niko stared at it.
Ethan said. “Runs two klicks to a hardened exit and armored transport.”
"Bro," Keanu said in a voice that rang with awe. "I think he might actually be Batman."
Ethan looked at him over his shoulder as he went down the stairs. "No, I'm more like Tony Stark. Now, let’s get out of here. I really don't feel up to a big fight right now."
No one argued. Not because they trusted him, he was sure, but because the math was undeniable.
They moved.
The tunnel swallowed them quickly, the door sealing behind with a muted thud. The air was cool, clean. Footsteps echoed softly as they moved at a controlled jog.
“Jesus,” Tane muttered. “I think we should have one of these.”
“Same,” Keanu agreed. “We should totally put a bar in ours.”
Ethan almost smiled.
They slowed near a massive steel door embedded in the tunnel wall. Ethan stepped through it, pushed a button so that it slid closed behind them, then pulled the tablet from his pocket and tapped a sequence.
The ground shuddered.
A low concussion rolled through the tunnel, followed by another. And another.
"Fuck," Kael said, "did you just blow that sweet ass tunnel?"
Ethan nodded. The men all shared a look, then stared at him.
Not knowing what to say or do in that situation, he simply turned and followed the tunnel out.
They reached the exit and slowed, the tunnel opening out into a reinforced observation bay cut into the hillside.
A wide blast window looked back toward the property.
They had just enough time to turn before it happened.
The house erupted into fire and debris, the blast lifting the roof and walls in a violent bloom that tore through the trees and sent another shockwave racing outward.
Drew whistled low. “That’s one way to redecorate.”
Niko didn’t look at the destruction. He looked at Ethan.
“You didn’t live there,” he said flatly.
Ethan met his gaze. “No. I did not.”
A beat passed.
“I fucking knew it,” Niko muttered.
Silence settled, thick and charged.
Then Niko asked, “What now?”
Ethan turned toward the waiting vehicles, expression unreadable.
“Now,” he said, “I’ll take you to my home and my office, and we can talk.”