Chapter Twelve
The next day, they arrived a little late, but from the slow way people were moving, they were all feeling the effects of yesterday’s battle.
Kai noticed that the tension of battle had shifted into planning—the kind of planning that meant that they were done waiting for this DEA agent to fuck up, they were taking the fight to him.
Kai felt the weight of that heavy in his chest. They weren’t done. Not even close. If he had been able to find the fucker years ago, they wouldn’t be in this mess.
Hogan squeezed the hand he was holding, and Kai looked up at him. “It’s fucking bullshit thinking this is on you.” God save him from psychic military alphas.
“If I had managed to—”
“Fuck, no,” Hogan stopped, turned so that they were face to face, and reached up to cup his face in his hands.
“Cut that shit out right now. You start thinking like that, you’ve already handed the bastard the win and you walk into the next round half-dead in your head, and we don’t fight half-dead. Not us.”
Kai sighed and leaned in to press his forehead against Hogan’s love. “You’re right.”
He felt Hogan smile against him. “Yes, I am. Always. We should probably just record you saying that and then play it every day just to save your voice.”
Kai barked a laugh. “Whatever.” They shared a quick kiss, then continued into the room.
A few minutes after they arrived, Tane walked in from the side room. The group went quiet. He looked as fresh as if he’d just had a nap, not like he’d been wringing every last scrap of intel out of a Bratya foot soldier.
He walked over to the kitchen counter and leaned against it, casual as hell. “Well, he wasn’t much for conversation, but he gave me enough before he ... lost interest.”
Dev arched a brow. “Translation?”
Tane’s grin was sharp. “He died. Happens when you don’t pace yourself.”
Hogan asked. “What did you get?”
Tane lifted a notepad he’d scrawled on. “One of the Bratya heads has been setting up shop in Newark, New Jersey. Name’s Viktor Sokolov.
He’s running distribution. Drugs, weapons, anything that needs moving stateside.
Port access makes it easy, and apparently he’s been buying loyalty along the docks for months. ”
Marsh cursed under his breath. “Makes sense. Container traffic there’s impossible to track.”
Surge’s expression hardened. “Distribution is the artery. Cut that, the rest of the body suffers.”
Oren crossed his arms. “And the guy that gave you all this?”
Tane smirked. “Like I said. He lost interest. Think of it as a ... natural consequence of bad manners.”
The group digested that in silence, each of them knowing it wasn’t the end—it was just the next lead.
Bateman was leaning over the table, maps spread, fingers drumming like he could force answers out of paper.
“Thank you for handling that, Tane. We need a way to flush this dirty DEA bastard out. I’m sick of waiting for him to fuck up.
Let’s hit him head-on and take the fight straight to the bastard. ”
Surge crossed his arms, expression carved from stone.
“Although I am all on board with that, this guy’s slippery.
Always two steps ahead, always slipping the net.
Kai spent the last two years buried inside the DEA curtain, hunting, digging, bleeding for it—and never caught so much as a shadow to chase. ”
Bateman exhaled, slow and deliberate. “I know someone in the DEA. An old client. He is someone that I have worked with and for before. If anyone can lure our mole into the open, it’s him.”
Dev arched a brow, suspicion lacing his tone. “You sure we can trust this contact?”
“About as much as we trust anyone in this business,” Bateman said dryly. “He’s ambitious, which works in our favor, and always looking for the next rung up the ladder. We dangle the right carrot, he’ll bite.”
Kai leaned forward, skeptical. “What kind of carrot?”
Bateman’s mouth twisted into a half-smile.
“The usual. Power. Influence. A chance to pull one over on someone bigger than him. There’s a Hawaiian official, Daniel Kaimi—Secretary of Defense Procurement for the Pacific region.
He sits on a board that hands out lucrative military contracts.
The kind of contracts that build empires.
Word is he’s been selling influence under the table—contracts whispered to go to the highest bidder.
We dangle proof of a shady deal, make it look like Kaimi’s about to hand out a billion-dollar contract to a rival group, and our guy won’t be able to resist the chance to burn him.
Especially tonight, with Kaimi scheduled to be at that beachfront fundraiser.
The timing makes it irresistible bait, even if it’s a lie. ”
Hogan frowned, jaw tight. “And when he shows?”
“Then we sting him,” Surge said, voice hard. “Fast. Clean. End it. For him and any other unfortunate asshole who comes with him”
Kai’s gut twisted. It sounded easy, but he knew, hell, they all knew, life never was.
They prepped—loading weapons, packing armor, double-checking magazines.
The cars parked outside were ordinary enough to pass for locals, but under the paint they were steel-plated, engines tuned for speed and survival.
It was like walking into a casino, pockets full of chips you knew you might not walk out with.
By the time they rolled toward the part of town where affluence met poverty, the sun was bleeding into the horizon, smearing the sky red. The streets narrowed, filled with shuttered shops and rusting fences. Kai’s pulse ticked higher the deeper they went.
He sat beside Hogan, hands restless against his thighs. He knew this neighborhood. The same stretch of cracked asphalt where Hogan had dragged him out of hell months ago. Fate’s idea of a joke. The plan was simple. Get into position before 9:00. Wait. Watch. Strike.
Marsh’s voice crackled in his ear, steady despite the tension. “All units, check in.”
“East flank, good,” Dev reported. Ty’s voice echoed over the line, Oren muttering something about keeping Ty’s ass from bleeding out again.
“South side,” Surge added. His team was already moving, shadows on the breeze.
“Recon van online,” Luca said, smug. “Best seat in the house. AC’s cranking.”
“Easy to talk big from the air-conditioned van, Luca. Out here we’re sweating bullets and there might be a little jealousy involved,” Marsh cut in, dry as ever.
“And because I brought snacks,” Luca added, crunching loudly into the comms. “Jealousy’s a sin, brother.”
Hogan rolled his eyes, fingers flexing against his rifle, but Kai caught the tug of a smile. That was Hogan all over—made of iron, but with cracks he let Kai see.
The clock struck 9:00. Headlights cut across the lot. An SUV rolled in, black windows gleaming under the floodlamps. Kai’s muscles tensed, every instinct screaming.
“Target acquired,” Luka confirmed. “All teams, move.”
They moved, ghosts from shadow, rifles raised, precision honed by years of war. Kai’s boots hit gravel, heart pounding. He tracked the SUV’s doors, waiting for the moment. Then—
Floodlights blazed to life, searingly bright. The area of the parking lot they stood in turned into a stage, every shadow stripped away. What sounded like dozens of men shouted at them to drop their weapons and from all directions.
“Well, shit,” Dev muttered. “This is awkward.”
“Motherfucker,” Luca growled. “We got no fucking heat signatures, nothing that warned me they were there.”
“Switch to image intensifying night vision,” Marsh growled, “It will use the light spill light, we need to know how many and where they are.”
“Copy that,” Luca answered, and there was no missing the tension in his voice. “I count twenty surrounding you, behind the four fucking spotlights they turned on, groups of five. Back far enough that you won’t see them. Fuck, I’m coming in, even the odds.
“Hold your line,” Marsh barked, though his voice was tighter than usual. “We need your eyes.”
“Don’t fucking move, Niko,” Surge ordered over their comms, and despite cursing at the world, Kai knew his brother did as he was told.
But no one dropped their weapons—Bratya pointing weapons into the lit area, and the Pathfinders and Black Tide, aiming beyond, they didn’t have specific targets, but if everyone started shooting, it would be ugly, and both sides would take significant loses.
Not yet. The air was razor wire, stretched taut. One wrong move and it would snap.
Footsteps cut through the tension. A man stepped out of the SUV, uniform crisp, posture practiced. Bateman’s face twisted, shock bleeding into rage.
“Son of a bitch,” Bateman hissed. “That’s my contact.”
The man smiled faintly and lifted his hand, circling his finer in the air. A signal. Antonov emerged from the opposite side, smug as a wolf, a Bratya thug dragging a half-conscious man behind him. Blood soaked his thigh, face pale and slack.
Bateman’s voice cut easily and unconcerned through the air. “Thanks, Agent Carter, it looks like you’ve brought us a present. I’m sorry we didn’t bring you and your Bratya pals anything.”
Dev smirked. “We’re impolite assholes like that.”
“You are outgunned, Bateman,” Carter said smugly. “Better put your weapons down.”
Bateman’s rifle did not waver. “Won’t matter much to you, Carter, because you’ll be the first motherfucker I drop.”
The DEA agent’s voice was smooth, practiced. “We want Kai. You hand him over, and the rest of you will have a chance at least.”
Kai felt the weight of every eye land on him. Cold crept up his spine. Hogan shifted closer, his entire body a wall. “Not. Fucking. Happening,” Hogan growled.
Antonov nodded once. The henchman’s knife punched into the hostage’s other thigh. The man screamed, raw and jagged, head snapping back.
Niko’s voice broke out, harsh and furious. “Ethan?” His rifle rose, teeth bared.