Chapter Eleven #2
Another one of Torch’s explosions hit like a hammer blow, the shockwave rolling through the compound.
Fire streaked skyward, painting the palm fronds in brief orange flares, before the flames died away quickly.
Kael ducked instinctively, the blast wind stinging his eyes.
He felt the thud of debris hitting metal, smelled the acrid tang of gunpowder. His ears rang, but his focus sharpened.
“Good hit,” he growled into the comm. “Breaker, confirm casualties.”
“Multiple,” Breaker replied, his voice clipped and efficient. “The rest of them are disoriented. You’re clear to move.”
Kael rose from cover, shoulder throbbing, eyes locking on a shadow that moved against the flame-lit haze. He lifted his rifle and fired twice. The shape jerked and fell, the echo of the shots swallowed by the crackle of fire. For a moment, the world narrowed to sound and smoke.
Kael’s gut tightened. “Fucking Directorate think they can fuck with my family? Let’s leave them with a message of what happens when assholes try to do that. Drew, with me. We take the main gate, and get Aunty. The rest of you, tighten the perimeter, circle in around us once you’ve cleared the way.”
Drew nodded once, face set. “Aunty first.”
“Always.”
They moved in perfect sync, sprinting across the gravel.
Gunfire barked ahead, the rhythm of it deliberate, professional.
Each muzzle flash cut through the smoke like lightning.
Kael and Drew slipped between cover points, one moving as the other fired, a deadly dance that almost looked like they had been doing it for years.
Sweat mixed with soot, and every breath burned.
Torch’s voice came through the comm again. “I’m lighting the north side of the gate. Hold your ears.”
The ensuing explosion turned night into chaos. A wave of heat rolled over them, accompanied by the whine of metal shearing. Kael’s eyes watered from the sting of gunpowder and salt, the humid air thick with smoke. He caught Drew’s glance through the haze—wordless understanding, shared fury.
They pressed on. Through the burning glare, Kael spotted floodlights snap to life around them blinding him momentarily. When his vision cleared, the sight froze him to the spot.
Six men stood in formation, rifles trained outward. In their center, Aunty Leilani knelt, wrists bound, her chin raised in defiance despite the bruise darkening her temple. Kael’s heartbeat slowed to a single, cold pulse.
He stepped into the open. “Aunty,” he called softly, switching to Hawaiian. “E noho mālie. I kū i lalo.” (Stay calm. Get down.)
Her eyes met his—steady, proud. She gave the smallest nod.
Then, the man nearest him spoke—in perfect Hawaiian. “Don’t. Say. Another. Word.”
Kael stiffened. The accent was clean. Not exactly native, but close. How in the hell—
The man moved forward from the shadows, rifle up. His face was half-lit by the flames—a calm, cold expression that didn’t belong to a hired gun. He stepped close, almost pressing the barrel against Kael’s temple. It was a cold and deliberate gesture.
Kael didn’t blink. “You should’ve stayed back, and kept that little language gift of yours a fucking secret if you really wanted it to pay off for you,” he murmured.
The man smiled faintly. “Not my style.”
A second figure emerged from the dark. Kael immediately knew this guy was the leader. Tall, composed, his expensive shirt flecked with ash. His grin was too familiar, too smug. He held a loudspeaker in one hand, a pistol in the other.
“Easy now, Makani,” the man said. “We only need one thing from you, and then me and my men, well, what’s left of them, will leave. Give up Hawkins, and this ends clean.”
Kael’s jaw flexed. “You think I believe that?”
Marcus shrugged. “Believe what you want. The Directorate doesn’t miss twice, and we do not like to misplace our assets.”
Drew moved before Kael could stop him, stepping slightly ahead, his weapon low but ready. “Marcus.” The name was quiet, but it carried weight. “Still playing the righteous crusader I see?”
Marcus’s eyes lit up, genuine amusement flickering there. “Drew Hawkins. You should’ve stayed dead, for real.”
“Yeah,” Drew said, voice steady, “you’d prefer it that way, wouldn’t you. I really would love to know the dollar value I have cost you in lost earnings over these past few years.”
Marcus’s gaze filled with hate. “ Too fucking much, and you need to pay for that.” He raised his pistol to aim it at Aunty’s head.
Kael’s blood turned cold and his grip tightened on his rifle, blood slicking his palm. “You hurt her,” he said evenly, “and you’ll never make it off this island.”
Marcus’s smirk widened. “You can’t win this. I’ve got a dozen men left, and you’re bleeding. My advice? Surrender. Give me what I came for, and we will leave.”
Kael’s finger hovered near the trigger. His mind raced. Too many angles. Too exposed. He could feel Drew’s energy beside him—coiled, ready. Black Tide had been in worse, but never with so much to lose.
Marcus sighed then racked his weapon to fire. “Ten seconds. Bring him here, or I’ll put a bullet in this woman’s head, and my men will wipe out the rest of you.”
The world shrank—to the shallow hum of floodlights, the men around them and his Aunty on her knees, no fear in her expression as she trusted her family to get her out of this situation. Ten seconds.
“Kael,” Drew said quietly.
“No,” Kael snapped, knowing what was coming. “Don’t you even—”
“She’s family,” Drew said, voice rough but calm. “You said it yourself.”
Kael shook his head. “You think I’m letting them fucking take you?”
“If you don’t then she dies.” Drew’s tone was steady, too steady. The resignation in it made Kael’s stomach twist.
Marcus’s smirk deepened. “Five seconds.”
Kael’s chest heaved once. He forced his hands steady. “You’re not taking him.”
The man behind him—the Hawaiian speaker—pressed the barrel harder to Kael’s temple. “Don’t be a hero, Makani.”
Kael’s voice dropped, low and lethal. “Too late for that.”
Drew holstered his weapon slowly and raised his hands. “It’s okay, Kael.”
Kael’s teeth ground together. “It’s fucking not, and you playing sacrificial lamb never fucking will be.”
“It will be,” Drew said softly. “Trust me.”
Kael’s heart pounded, every instinct screaming to fight. He met Drew’s eyes—steady, unflinching—and knew the man meant it. He’d rather die than see anyone else hurt. It was why Kael loved him, and why this moment felt like a knife.
The man behind him shifted, breath quickening, his gun wavered slightly. Drew took a single step forward.
Marcus watched, satisfied. “Good. Now, Hawkins, let’s have a chat about loyalty.”
Kael’s vision tunneled, the edges of the world going white. He could hear the soft hum of the comm in his ear, his team waiting for orders. He gave none. Not yet.
Then he smiled. Cold. Deadly. “You’ll regret this,” he said. “Every one of you.”
Marcus tilted his head. “We’ll see.”
Kael’s gaze locked on him. “No, you will. For the entire three minutes you’ve got left to live.”
Marcus’s expression flickered—confusion, then anger—but before he could speak, Kael barked into his comm. “Torch. Now.”
The explosion hit like thunder, and it seemed to be right around them, so close that the ground shuddered beneath his feet.
Chaos erupted—gunfire, shouting, smoke. Kael twisted, driving his elbow back into the man next to him, knocking the rifle away.
Drew moved simultaneously, firing low and fast. The first volley cut two men down.
Aunty dropped flat, rolling clear as bullets tore the air above her.
Kael’s shoulder screamed, but he kept firing, each shot finding home.
Marcus stumbled back, eyes wide, disbelief twisting into rage.
Kael advanced, every motion fueled by fury. “You shouldn’t have come here to my home.” Marcus raised his pistol, but Kael was faster. “And you sure as hell shouldn’t have threatened my family.” The final shot was point-blank.
The bullet hit, and Marcus staggered, blood blooming across his chest. He fell to his knees, gasping, a wild smile ghosting across his face. “You think you’ve won?” he rasped. “This isn’t over. Something’s coming for you, Makani. My vengeance will find you.”
Kael leveled his pistol at the man. “No, it won’t.” He pulled the trigger a third time.
Marcus fell onto his back. The echo of the shot merged with the roar of the flames, swallowed by the chaos.
“Reef,” Kael shouted into the comm, breath ragged. “Status!”
Silence. Then a faint reply. “Still alive, and still in fucking pain. And I want to learn how to fucking reanimate a dead bastard so I can kill the son of a bitch again.”
Kael exhaled shakily. He really was a potty mouth when he was hurt. Around him, the team’s voices cut through the smoke—Torch laughing, Māno swearing, Breaker confirming the perimeter.
But Kael wasn’t listening. He was staring at Drew, alive and breathing beside him, and the woman they’d just saved rising to her feet like the island queen she was amid the ruin.
The world burned around them, and Kael thought—three minutes? Hell, that hadn’t even been one.