Chapter Fourteen
The bottle of Okolehao sat between them, half-empty already, the harsh sweetness of Hawaiian moonshine burning its way down Surge’s throat.
It was the kind of drink that either changed your world or ended it, depending on how many glasses you had the guts to lift.
Around him, the warehouse had gone quiet.
The others had either turned in, licking wounds and exhaustion, or headed into town in search of a little nightlife before their flight back to Wyoming.
But Surge had asked Bateman and Dev to stay.
He didn’t need the noise of a bar. He needed this table, this bottle, and these two men who understood the crossroads on which he stood.
At first, the talk stayed sharp and easy.
The Bratya. The other heads of Kavaci who still needed to fall.
They agreed the victory tonight was only the beginning.
Surge leaned forward, pouring another round, his voice flat.
“Leave it to me and mine. Black Tide will hunt the other four heads of the Bratya. We’ll do the wet work.
We always do. If we need you, I’ll reach out. Until then—keep your families safe.”
A look passed between Dev and Bateman, one of those silent conversations that carried more than words. Dev tipped his glass toward Surge. “That why you asked us to sit down? Or you got more than blood and bullets on your mind?”
Surge gave a slow smile. They weren’t wrong. “Maybe.”
Bateman grunted, leaning back, eyes hard.
“A couple of years ago, after a similar fucked up moment of death and destruction at Cottonwood Farm, Dev and I had a talk like this. And it was from that talk that we decided what we wanted the Ridge to be. Not just a base, not just a bunker. A home. Something that outlives us.”
Dev nodded. “A place to heal, to train, to build something bigger than just the next mission. Still about the code, still about keeping our edge—but giving the ones who come after us a chance to breathe. That’s what both our teams have built. You’re thinking the same, aren’t you?”
Surge stared into the glass, the reflection of the string lights above wobbling in the liquid.
“Here in Hawai’i. This is home. We own this land all the way up by the waterfall and beyond.
The largest native land block owners on the island.
We can build it here. Not just another garage.
Not just a cover. A place with permanence.
Safety. Legacy. I want that for my brothers. ”
Dev’s voice was quiet, intent. “What do you want for them, exactly?”
Surge lifted his gaze, steady. “A home. A place no one can burn down. Protection. A tether. Somewhere they can bring their scars, their victories, and know it matters.”
Bateman raised a brow. “And love?”
For a moment, silence settled. Surge thought of Niko’s face when Ghost was taken, the fire in his eyes. He thought of what that meant, of how quickly it had surfaced. “Yeah,” he admitted. “I’d want that for them. Someone or some people who makes them fight harder to come home.”
Dev frowned. “But not you?”
Surge shook his head, the answer already carved into him. “Not me. I met mine. My one and only. My love of a lifetime. Forty-eight hours was all we got together, then he was killed in action. I never even got him back. And I’ll never want anyone else.”
Bateman studied him, frowning. “So, what—you’re celibate for life?”
Surge grimaced but didn’t flinch. “Yeah. Six years now. Haven’t been with anyone since. That won’t change. But for my brothers? I’ll build them something they can anchor to. And I’ll make damn sure it lasts.”
The three men drank in silence for a while, the burn of Okolehao a reminder that they were still alive. Then Bateman set his glass down with a thump. “Bring them to the Ridge sometime. I’ll introduce you to Blake. He’ll like you. Probably want to adopt all of you, too.”
Dev smirked. “Same with Finn. He’s a handful. But he’s my handful. And you’ll see what it means to have someone at your side.”
They went around the circle for a while, trading small stories about their men.
Bateman talked about Blake’s sharp tongue and how it kept him honest. Dev laughed, recalling Finn’s endless energy and the way he softened every edge Dev thought he had left.
Surge listened, letting their words wash over him, filing away lessons about love he’d never get to live himself but wanted desperately for his brothers to have.
The laughter was real, the kind that loosened shoulders after too many battles.
For a moment, they weren’t leaders or killers—they were just men drinking and remembering why they still fought.
Surge nodded, grateful even if he’d never admit it out loud. “I’ll keep in touch. Black Tide will always be there when you call.”
Later, after they turned in, Surge carried the almost-empty bottle up to the roof.
The night was warm, stars scattered across the sky.
The air smelled faintly of plumeria, the waterfall rumbling in the distance.
Niko was already there, crouched near the edge, the glow of a cigarette faint.
He took the bottle from Surge without a word and finished it.
“Ghost?” Surge asked quietly.
Niko exhaled smoke, eyes on the horizon. “He’s going to be fine physically. He will take time to heal. They’re going to take him at the Ridge. Once he is okay to travel, Hogan will come back for him, and they’ll rehab him there. Ethan is a tough bastard. Always was.”
Surge hesitated, then pressed. “How’d you know him?”
Niko’s jaw tightened. “Flight school. A couple missions after. I thought we had something, or at least were starting something. But I was a last hurrah. Next morning, he was married to a girl he’d known since childhood. That was that.”
Surge’s chest ached at the words, his own ghosts clawing at the edges.
He remembered his own forty-eight hours—short, blazing, unforgettable.
The way his lover’s hand had felt against his chest, the way his voice had sounded in the dark.
Gone before Surge even had the chance to believe it was real.
He didn’t push further with Niko. He just sat with him under the stars, letting the night stretch long, the two of them bound by ghosts that still had teeth.
They talked about the future then, quietly, almost reluctantly. Niko admitted he wanted more than endless missions, more than just another kill order. “I want to know I can go home one day,” he said, voice barely more than smoke. “Somewhere we’re not just ghosts ourselves.”
Surge looked out over the bush, at the land they already owned. “Then we’ll build it. Right here. For you, for all of us. A place that outlasts the blood and the fire.”
He made himself a promise then, sharp and unshakable.
He would build it. A place for Black Tide to thrive, to call home.
A place for his brothers and the ones they loved.
Training ranges, a rebuilt garage, a home where laughter could coexist with scars.
A legacy carved into the Hawaiian soil. Even if he carried his ghosts alone, they would never have to.
Surge leaned back, watching Niko crush out his cigarette and stretch, silhouetted against the starlight. The younger man handed him the empty bottle, eyes tired but steady. “Guess that’s it,” Niko said softly.
“No,” Surge corrected, voice rough with conviction. “This is just the beginning.”
The End
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