Chapter Six #2
“Close enough. Let’s just say I’ve studied your work. Pattern recognition. Makes this easy.”
Drew’s pulse steadied. The calm before the storm. “Then tell me, genius—how’s it end?”
The man raised the knife. “With you dead, and me ascended to the realms of gods.”
For a heartbeat, Drew considered letting him. He was tired—bone deep, soul deep. He’d spent the last four and a half years fighting ghosts, dismantling monsters, carrying the weight of every sin he couldn’t atone for. Maybe this was the reckoning he’d been running from.
He thought of Kael.
The way Kael had looked at him in the warehouse—equal parts fury and heartbreak. The way his name had sounded in that low, rough voice.
Could he leave him again? The first time had almost killed them both. The second time would finish the job.
He closed his eyes, hearing Kael’s voice in his head, sharp and commanding—You don’t quit, Wraith. Not now. Not ever.
“Yeah,” he whispered to himself. “Not today.”
The man lunged. Drew caught the knife mid-swing, muscles screaming.
The blade nicked his palm but stopped inches from his chest. He twisted, using the sheets as leverage, and drove a knee into the man’s stomach.
Fighting from a prone position wasn’t ideal, but it was a skill drilled into him long ago—how to make your body a weapon even when pinned.
They grappled, knocking over equipment. The monitor crashed to the floor. The man grinned through the struggle. “Told you. I know everything you do. You can’t win.”
“Funny,” Drew hissed, forcing the knife hand wider. “You sound like someone who’s about to lose.”
The killer’s smirk faltered just slightly—enough for Drew to notice. And then something moved in the corner of his eye.
A shadow shifted near the door.
Drew’s lips curled. “Guess you didn’t predict this part.”
The killer blinked. “What?”
“Surge,” Drew said, his tone darkly amused. “Means imminent death, right?”
The man didn’t have time to turn. A single suppressed shot cracked through the room. The killer dropped instantly, knife clattering to the tile.
“Actually it does.” Kael stood in the doorway, weapon raised, eyes blazing. “When there is a medical surge of energy, it is known as terminal lucidity, a recognized phenomenon in the dying process that often indicates that death is imminent.” He lowered the weapon. “As it was for this prick.”
Behind him, Breaker and Reef moved to drag the bodies of the two dead men over to the wall, and then to cover the entrances, tactical gear on, sweeping the room with professional precision. Torch checked the hall.
Kael holstered his gun and crossed to the bed in three long strides. “You really can’t stop finding trouble, can you?”
Drew’s head was pounding, the room tilting. “I attract it. Comes with the charm.”
Kael leaned over him, scanning for injuries. “You done going all lone crusader on me? Ready to accept some damn help?”
Drew’s laugh was weak but genuine. “Yeah. I’m ready.”
Kael’s eyes narrowed slightly. “That quick, huh? Still got that truth serum in your system?”
Reef chuckled from the doorway. “Ask him anything, boss. He’s an open book right now.”
Kael went still, then met Drew’s gaze. The air thickened between them. “Do you regret leaving me?”
Drew’s vision blurred at the edges, but he held Kael’s stare. “Yes. Every single day.”
Kael’s voice dropped lower. “Are you mine to claim?”
Drew’s throat worked. “Yes. Always have been, always will be.” The word came out rough, torn from somewhere deep. Kael’s eyes darkened, hunger and relief warring in them.
Kael straightened, jaw tight. “Then you’re coming with us. We’ll protect you.” His mouth twitched. “And I might need more of that truth serum.”
Drew tried to smile, but the darkness was creeping in fast. He needed Kael to understand, to hear him before he slipped away.
“The drug’s gone from my system,” he whispered.
Kael frowned. “So, what? Are you lying to me right now?”
Drew shook his head weakly. “No. Never again. No more lies between us.”
Kael’s face softened, then shifted—alarm flashing in his eyes as Drew’s lids grew heavy.
“Hey, hey, stay with me.” Kael’s hand came up, pressing gently to his face. The heat of it cut through the cold that was settling in his bones.
Drew managed one last breath, his gaze locking on Kael’s. “Told you I’d never quit.”
Kael’s thumb brushed his jaw, voice low and fierce. “I knew you wouldn’t. You’re safe. No one can get to you. Not while I’m here.”
Then, the darkness claimed him.
****
Marcus Vale had always been a master at weaponizing truth. He’d built a career convincing men that darkness could be noble if it was dressed in purpose. And now, he was using the same trick on his own people.
He stood at the head of the conference table, flanked by Victor Dane—the Directorate’s strategist—and Lang, a younger operative with restless energy and something to prove.
Victor, precise and sharp, had once followed Marcus without question.
But lately, his gaze lingered a little too long when their eyes met, and Marcus knew the strategist’s loyalty wasn’t just professional anymore.
Marcus used that. He always did.
“Gentlemen,” Marcus began, the digital projection of the Black Tide compound illuminating the room.
“These men are not heroes. They’re mercenaries hiding behind moral codes.
Assassins who take contracts from the highest bidder.
They’ve destabilized markets, toppled leadership, and now they’ve stolen one of our most valuable assets. ”
Victor frowned slightly. “You’re saying they took Hawkins?”
Marcus’s expression softened, something personal glinting behind his eyes. “They didn’t just take him, Victor. They turned him. The same man I trained—the same man we built—is living among killers who call themselves righteous.”
Lang scoffed. “The Black Tide? I’ve read their files. They only hit targets they call ‘corrupt.’ Sounds like freelance morality to me.”
Marcus leaned forward, voice calm and persuasive.
“A convenient lie. They claim to kill for justice, but every ‘righteous hit’ has benefited their investors. They’ve just rebranded greed as virtue.
” He let the words sink in, watching the doubt flicker in Victor’s face.
“If Hawkins is with them, he’s compromised.
He’s not one of us anymore—he’s a threat. ”
Victor hesitated. “You’re sure?”
Marcus nodded once. “I’ve seen the reports myself. They’re expanding operations, consolidating power. If we don’t act now, they’ll become untouchable.” He turned toward Lang. “And that’s where you come in. I want you embedded in the logistics of this retrieval. You’ll coordinate from the field.”
Lang blinked. “Field? Sir, that compound’s heavily guarded.”
Marcus smiled, all charm and menace. “That’s why you’ll go with Victor. He’ll make sure you don’t get lost.”
For a moment, Victor looked surprised. Then he smoothed his expression, nodding. “Eight weeks?”
“Eight weeks,” Marcus confirmed. “That gives us time to study their defenses, exploit their arrogance, and remind the world that the Directorate still controls the narrative.”
Lang shifted uneasily. “And if Hawkins resists?”
Marcus’s voice cooled. “He won’t. He’s still mine, whether he remembers it or not.”
Victor’s gaze flicked toward him, something complicated there—admiration, maybe jealousy. “And if he doesn’t remember?”
Marcus smiled, just a trace of sadness behind the confidence. “Then I’ll remind him why he joined us in the first place.”
He stepped back, clasping his hands behind him as the hologram flickered with images of Black Tide’s land—the cliffs, the forest, the low sprawl of their garage complex.
“We go in under the cover of night. Minimal force. Surgical precision. When it’s done, we’ll have our asset back, and the world will believe we saved him from a den of murderers. ”
Victor’s lips curved faintly, though his eyes were thoughtful. “And if they’re not murderers?”
Marcus looked at him, voice low. “They are.”
The strategist nodded, though something unreadable passed behind his gaze. Lang looked between them, uncertain whether to feel inspired or afraid.
Marcus smiled again, satisfied. “Gentlemen, the clock starts now. Prepare the team. When we move, it will be swift, clean, and final.”
As they filed out, Victor lingered at the doorway. “You really think Hawkins will come back willingly?”
Marcus’s answer was almost tender. “He will. One way or another.”
When the door closed behind them, Marcus turned back to the darkened glass, the city lights flickering like distant fire. “You were mine first, Drew,” he whispered. “And I always take back what’s mine.”