Chapter Eleven
The day after the battle dawned quieter than Hogan expected.
The teams had the strange calm of a place that had been torn apart by chaos and then stitched back together by sheer will.
Weapons were laid out in neat lines on tables, cloths soaked in oil and solvent as the men cleaned, checked, and restocked.
Ammo was counted, knives sharpened. Bruises were hidden under shirts, but everyone moved a little slower than usual, carrying the weight of last night.
Marsh was in his element, tablet in hand, Blake and Eli’s faces glowing on the screen as he moved from man to man like a field medic turned drill sergeant.
“Ty,” Marsh called, angling the camera so they could see him, “arm out.”
Ty scowled but did as he was told.
Blake’s voice came through the tablet’s speaker. “Gunshot through the bicep, clean pass. Change the dressing twice daily.”
“No lifting more than your toothbrush for seventy-two hours.” Eli said with a smile.
“This isn’t about pushing through pain or proving anything.
It’s about doing this in phases, so the muscle heals right, the nerves wake back up, and you get full use of your arm instead of a lifetime reminder of one bad day. And I’ll know if you cheat.”
Oren leaned over to put his face where Eli could see it. “No worries about that, Eli. Dale and I have him covered, and we’ll tell you if he cheats.”
Ty scowled and mumbled, but Hogan caught the look of pleasure in his eyes. It certainly made a difference when you had someone in your life who cared about you.
Next was Ricky. Marsh snapped his fingers, and Ricky stuck his leg out reluctantly.
“Shrapnel in the meaty part of your calf,” Blake diagnosed. “Keep it clean, keep it wrapped. Don’t run on it until Eli and I clear you.”
Eli nodded. “What he said.”
“It’s a scratch,” Ricky muttered.
Eli shook his head. “That scratch will keep you lame longer if you don’t listen to us.”
“And I’ll maim you if you don’t,” Marsh added almost sweetly. For him, it was practically affectionate.
Niko pulled up his shirt when Marsh turned his glare on him. A graze across his ribs glared red. Blake sighed. “You’ll live. But stop acting like you’re bulletproof, because you’re not.”
Niko blew Blake and Eli a kiss. Marsh, the possessive bastard, actually growled.
Finally, Marsh stopped at Luca. Knife slice on the shoulder, bullet crease across the ribs. Blake sucked his teeth and gave him a lecture that had Luca grinning and saluting with his good arm.
“Copy that, Doc,” Luca teased.
Surge leaned against the table, watching. “Would be handy to have a nurse and a therapist on the books full time.”
Marsh’s head whipped around, eyes narrowing. “He’s mine. Back off.”
Surge raised his hands in surrender. “Didn’t say I wanted to steal him. Just an observation.”
“Observation noted,” Marsh said, stalking off while Eli chuckled warmly from the screen.
Bateman leaned forward on the long wooden table that sat in front of the kitchen, forearms braced.
“The kids and women we pulled out last night are safe. All of their medicals showed varying degrees of abuse,” all the men in the room seemed to growl at the same time, “and the kids are being placed with family or foster care that actually gives a damn. Surge and I stuck around long enough to make sure.” He paused, letting the words settle before continuing.
“They were scared, but tough. Some of the younger kids barely spoke a word until they were given food and blankets. One little boy had a stuffed bear clutched so hard in his fist I thought the seams would tear. He kept telling me we showed up like superheroes. Scrawny little guy with more grit than sense.”
Surge shifted, his expression softer than Hogan had ever seen it.
“There is this one little girl, a local kid, maybe nine. They took her straight off the streets. She wouldn’t let go of my hand until they loaded her into the social worker’s car.
We’re trying to track down her parents, but no luck yet.
She’s staying in a temporary foster placement for now.
” His jaw flexed, the muscle ticking. “I promised her I’d check back, make sure she was okay. She trusted me.”
Ricky leaned forward from where he was on the couch, injured leg stretched out before him. “How about the women? Not all of them would have parents looking for them.”
Bateman nodded, crossed his arms over his chest and sat back. “No, some had no one looking, but we are helping them to find help, therapists who can assist. We are sending a couple back to the Ridge for Eli and the team to help. Ghost flew them out a couple hours ago.”
Niko shot forward, wincing as the wound against his ribs no doubt pulled. “Ghost was here?” There was no missing the mixed emotions in the man’s tone—there was a history there for sure.
“Yep,” Dev answered from where he leaned back in a kitchen chair, hands resting on his belly. “Needed a pilot on short notice, you were injured, and I am going to assume Hogan is going nowhere.”
“Not a chance,” Hogan agreed from his position from a recliner, Kai tucked against his side.
“Ghost doesn’t live too far away, so he said he’d do it.”
“Wait, what!” Niko hissed in a breath when he shot to his feet. “Fuck! That hurt. Christ. What the hell to you mean he doesn’t live very far away? Last I heard he was living on the mainland, married, and assumed he had 2.2 children by now, with a white picket fence and a dog called Bruno!”
Hogan slow blinked. That was the most he had ever heard the man say, and seemed very specific.
Dev shrugged, dropping his hands and sitting upright. “You know, sometimes, Niko, life just doesn’t take the path you think it should.”
Niko frowned, jaw tightening. “Cut the cryptic crap, Yoda. Tell me where he is, and why the hell he’s here in Hawaii—now.”
The Pathfinders, and those Black Tide members in the room with a clue all winced. You just did not take that tone or volume with the head of Sniper Team Bravo, at least not without bleeding heavily afterwards.
Dev stood up slowly, gaze never falling from Niko’s.
“You had better use the sense God gave you, boy, and never speak to me like that again, if you want to continue to eat solid food for the rest of your life.” The man’s voice had dropped to hell freezing over tone, and the temperature in the room literally dropped.
Surge moved forward, glaring at Niko. “What the fuck, bruddah. I raised you better than that.”
Niko’s face became a wash of color. “Look, I-I’m sorry, sir, I should not have spoken to you like that, and Kael is right, he did raise me, hell all of us, better than that. It was just the shock of hearing that the man I lo—I know is living here.”
Dev crossed his arms. “I get that, which is why you can still breathe through your nose. The short answer, Niko, is that he has a story to tell, but he is the one to tell it. You want those answers, reach out. Simple as that. Now, I’m going to my room to call my Finn, and hear all the gossip of what is happening back home. ”
The room was silent as the man walked across to one of the doors at the far side of the warehouse. When he stepped through it and closed it behind him, the rest of them exhaled.
“Christ, that man is a fucking walking Alpha with a shot of Beserker thrown in,” Oren said as he pretended to slump against the kitchen counter.
“He certainly knows how to hold the attention of everyone in a room,” Kai said with a soft laugh, then he turned back to Surge. “What about the mansion? How the hell are they passing that off to the world?”
Surge gave a short laugh, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “Police are calling it a gang war. Works for us. Keeps the heat off our backs.”
By the time dusk rolled in, the smell of food filled the warehouse.
The kitchen setup was nothing fancy—industrial counters, mismatched pots and pans, and a couple of battered stoves against the far wall—but the way they used it tonight gave the cavernous warehouse a homely feel.
Hogan, Kai, Oren, and Dale commandeered the space, chopping vegetables at the scarred wooden prep table, stirring pots that hissed with steam, and grilling meat on an old cast-iron pan.
The clatter of utensils and the hiss of oil filled the air, mingling with the smell of garlic and spices.
For the first time in days, it smelled like comfort, like family.
They were throwing together choices—a lamb curry, a chicken and pesto pasta, and grilled steaks, chicken, and fish served with salads and homemade bread.
Ty lingered close, and Hogan noted the way both Oren and Dale hovered near him like shadows.
Couldn’t blame them. After last night, no one wanted to risk being apart.
Plates clattered, laughter sparked, and they all sat down at long tables. Surge was the one to break the quiet that fell between bites. “Tell me about the Ridge.”
Bateman glanced at his men, then leaned back. “The Ridge is home. Built it after too many years in the wind. It’s a place for vets, a place to breathe, a place to train and innovate. Doesn’t fix everything, but it gives us a shot.”
Dale nodded. “We’ve got training facilities, family housing, a therapy wing. It’s a place where you can stop running.”
Ricky grinned. “And decent food. Don’t forget that.”
Dev chimed in after, speaking of Cottonwood Farm.
“Bravo’s version of the Ridge. Horses, wide open spaces.
Healing in the dirt under your fingernails.
We’ve also built shooting ranges and partnered with training agencies so our clients can sharpen their skills as snipers and as better law enforcement officers. It works.”
Surge chewed slowly, then said, “Black Tide needs that. We need a home. Not just a garage where we work and crash.”
Luca nodded. “The garage was a place to sleep. It wasn’t a home.”
Surge accepted that with no argument. His gaze traveled around the table. “So, what do we want? What do we build?”