Chapter 7 Kaila
KAILA
My fingers race across the mechanical keyboard, the click-clack rhythm grounding my frantic pulse.
The back of Austin’s tactical van smells like stale coffee and copper.
Three monitors are bolted to the wall in front of me, glowing with the thermal feeds from the helmet cams of the Broken Halos team.
"Tracker, you have two heat signatures coming up on your left. Corridors intersect in ten meters," I whisper into the headset, the words rattling against my teeth. I hate the weakness. I’m Kaila Reyes. I’ve demolished banking firewalls and government servers.
A woman like me has no business tangling with a man so lethal, terrified his predatory violence might ultimately consume us both while he walks into this nest of vipers.
"Copy, Little Ghost," Daniel’s voice comes back, low and distorted by the static. "Stay off the open channel unless it’s urgent."
"Don't tell me how to do my job, mountain man," I snap back, though there’s no bite in it. Just the metallic taste of terror coating my tongue. "And don't get shot. That’s an order."
"Yes, ma'am."
On the center screen, the thermal image shifts.
Daniel—Tracker—stalks forward with a terrifying fluidity that makes my stomach clench with doubt.
A purely feral creature hunting in the dark.
The other glowing thermal shapes on the screen—Logan and Shane—are flanking him, advancing with the heavy, practiced accuracy of hammers. Daniel remains the scalpel.
We parked a mile out from the Costa Eastern Cliffs compound, an abandoned mining facility sitting like a rusting scar on the side of the mountain.
Fat snowflakes bury the windshield of the van, sealing me inside this metal box.
A Prospect named Joey sits in the driver’s seat with a shotgun across his lap, his jaw locked hard.
The kid barely has peach fuzz on his chin.
He checks the rearview mirror every ten seconds, flinching whenever my keys clatter too loudly.
"You okay back there, ma'am?" he croaks.
"Eyes on the perimeter, Joey," I order, keeping my focus welded to the screens. "If a squirrel sneezes, I want to know about it."
"Yes, ma'am."
A sudden red flare blooms on the left monitor, signaling gunfire. My stomach drops straight through the floorboards.
"Contact front," Logan growls over the comms. "Shane, suppressive fire. Tracker, flank right."
Chaos unfolds across the grainy thermal feeds. The crackle of automatic fire rips through my headset, piercing my eardrums. My shoulders jerk with every pop, knuckles hovering over the keys. I can’t shoot a gun, but I can open doors.
"Tracker, the electronic lock on the east wing is cycling," I announce, hammering the keys. "I'm overriding the keypad now. Give me three seconds."
"I don't have three seconds, Kaila," Daniel grunts. The wet thud of a body hitting the floor bleeds into the jagged tear of his breathing.
"Done," I shout as the bypass code accepts. "Door is open. Go, go, go!"
The heavy steel door swings inward on the screen as Daniel kicks the barricade. His thermal signature disappears into the dark of the facility's lower levels. Down there, the readings turn icy cold. The Costas use those depths to hide whatever they never want found.
"Kevin," I whisper, my fingers closing around the small obsidian stone in my pocket. Heat radiates from the polished rock against my palm. Daniel promised me Gunnars never lose what's theirs, and my fragile sanity hinges entirely on that vow.
"I’m in the sub-basement," Daniel reports. Static bites into the signal as the feed drops deeper underground. "Smells like accelerant. They’re scrubbing the site."
"They know we’re here," Shane adds over the radio, completely unbothered. "Austin, bring the truck around to the south exit. We’re going to need a fast exfil."
"Copy that," Austin confirms through the cab's speaker.
Blood pounds violently against my ribs. "Daniel, I’m picking up a stationary heat signature in room B-4. Small. Curled tightly into a corner."
"I see it," Daniel replies. The tension in his voice is a crushing pressure pushing through the earpiece. "Approaching now."
My lungs lock up entirely. The screen feed tracks Daniel advancing down a narrow hallway lined with pipes. His boots halt in front of a heavy iron door.
"It’s rigged," he mutters. "Tripwire on the handle. Crude, but effective."
"Can you bypass?" Logan questions.
"Yeah. Hold tight."
His gloved hands fill the camera feed, moving with absolute accuracy. A tactical knife flashes in the low light, slicing straight through the thin wire before shoving the heavy door wide.
The lens swings into the interior of a damp concrete box. A lone figure sits tied to a metal chair in the far corner, hooded and slumped forward.
"Kevin," I breathe, vision blurring completely. "Daniel, is that him?"
Daniel stalks forward, his rifle scanning the dark. Finding the corners clear, he holsters his weapon and drops to one knee beside the chair, ripping the canvas hood away.
Purple bruising paints the face on the screen, one eye swollen completely shut. But I recognize the jawline instantly. It’s my baby brother.
"Target acquired," Daniel announces, the harsh edge dropping from his tone. "He’s alive. Pulse is steady. Hey, kid. Wake up."
A harsh, ugly sob claws up my throat, making Joey jump in the driver's seat. "Get him out, Daniel. Please, just bring him back."
"I’ve got him, baby. I’ve got him." Daniel brings the blade down to slice through the thick zip ties binding Kevin’s wrists.
A blinding new heat signature erupts onto the edge of my radar, dropping rapidly from the adjacent ventilation shaft.
"Daniel! Behind you! Vent!" I scream.
The camera whips around. No grunt—the Costa lieutenant himself drops from the ceiling, the jagged scar from the intel files pale against his sneering face. A blinking detonator rests securely in his palm.
"Gun!" Daniel roars. The view spins violently as he lunges across the distance, throwing his massive body directly over Kevin to shield the boy completely.
The digital feed goes blindingly white. A deafening boom blows out the microphone, leaving behind nothing but the high-pitched shriek of feedback.
"Daniel!" I scream, digging both hands into the plastic casing of the monitor as if I can physically rip him out of the pixelated chaos. "Daniel! Logan!"
Hissing snow fills the displays.
"Report!" I shriek into the mic. "Someone talk to me!"
"Explosion in the sub-basement," Shane cuts through, choking on thick dust. "Structural integrity is compromised. Ceiling is coming down."
"Where is he?" I demand, my nails gouging deep into my own thighs. "Where is Daniel?"
"I don't have eyes on him," Logan barks. "The corridor collapsed entirely. We’re cut off."
"No." The denial punches out of my chest. "No, no, no."
Tearing the headset away, I lunge blindly for the rear door handle.
"Ma'am! Stay inside!" Joey yells, reaching back to grab my jacket.
"Get off me!" I snarl, shoving the kid back with adrenaline-fueled strength. "That’s my brother! That’s my man!"
I hit the icy ground hard. Bitter wind bites into my skin, flash-freezing the wetness on my cheeks. The compound sits a hundred yards away, black smoke already billowing from a collapsed ventilation stack. Orange flames lick hungrily at the falling snow.
My boots slip on the slick gravel as I sprint toward the tree line. The Sig P365 Daniel forced on me bites cold against my spine through my waistband. Pulling it will be entirely useless against burning rock and collapsing earth.
"Kaila!" Austin bellows from somewhere to my right, but I push my burning leg muscles harder.
Slashing through the perimeter fence opening, I find Logan and Shane stumbling from a crumpled side door. Ash coats their tactical gear. Their hands are completely empty.
"Where is he?" I scream, fisting the heavy fabric of Logan's tactical vest. "Where are they?"
Logan’s gaze drops to the slush at his boots, his jaw working beneath a mask of black soot. "The blast took out the main supports, Kaila. We couldn't—"
"Don't you dare say it," I seethe. "Don't you dare."
Pivoting back to the burning structure, I stare at the roaring wall of flame blocking the primary entrance. My boots drag me one step closer to the inferno.
"Kaila, stop," Shane warns, his heavy grip locking around my bicep. "You can't go in there. It’s gone."
"Let me go!" Thrashing wildly against the hold, I kick at the snow. "He promised! He swore Gunnars never lose what's theirs!"
A violent, grinding scrape of metal tearing over stone echoes through the clearing.
To the left of the fiery entrance, the heavy steel grate sealing a drainage outflow shudders violently. The rusted bolts groan under immense pressure. Everyone freezes in place.
The massive grate bursts outward with a deafening clang, burying itself in a snowdrift.
Thick, bloodied fingers grip the concrete edge. A thick forearm follows, corded with screaming muscle and plastered in gray dust.
Daniel hauls himself up from the black depths of the drain, his massive chest heaving for oxygen. Slick red blood pours freely from a gash on his forehead, soaking his shredded tactical gear. Slung high over his right shoulder, wrapped securely in a fire-retardant tarp, hangs Kevin.
"Daniel!" The scream rips out of my throat, raw and burning.
Carefully lowering Kevin to the ground, the giant then collapses onto his side in the deep powder.
A wet, rattling cough tears through him as he spits black phlegm.
Then, his dark eyes lock onto mine. Across the frozen distance, cutting straight through the smoke, that utterly feral, possessive heat brands me.
Tearing free of Shane's hold, I sprint the remaining distance. My knees crack hard against the frozen dirt right beside him. Frantic palms map the rugged lines of his jaw and the solid bulk of his chest, hunting for fatal wounds.
"You idiot," I choke out, dragging my sleeve across the bleeding gash on his brow. "You stupid, heroic mountain man."
A savage grin splits his filthy face. "Told you," he rasps, the sound grinding out of his ruined throat. "I found him."
Dropping my gaze to the tarp, I watch Kevin stir weakly against the ice. His breathing is shallow but continuous. Battered and scorched, but breathing.
"Kevin," I whisper, pressing a palm to his cold cheek. The kid flinches hard before cracking open his good eye.
"Kaila?" he croaks. "The hell took you so long?"
A hysterical laugh bubbles out of my chest. "Traffic was a bitch."
Shifting back to Daniel, I find him tracking my every move with an intensity hot enough to scorch the air. The massive man forces himself upright, groaning as his torn muscles protest the shift in weight. A calloused hand cups my jaw, his thumb dragging reverently along my cheekbone.
"I had the shot," he murmurs quietly, meant solely for my ears. "The lieutenant. I had him dead to rights."
My spine goes rigid. The Costa commander. The monster directly responsible for months of waking nightmares.
"And?"
"And the ceiling started to go," Daniel answers flatly. "I could have pulled the trigger, or I could have shielded your boy."
That pitch-black gaze flickers to Kevin, then locks back onto my face. Endless, terrifying protectiveness radiates off his brutal frame.
"I chose the kid," he states, the absolute truth ringing in the air between us. "Because coming out of there without him meant I couldn't come home to you. And I have to come home to you, Kaila."
All oxygen exits my lungs. This vicious apex predator sacrificed his personal vengeance to safeguard the broken pieces of my family. The sheer weight of that devotion makes my doubt dissolve into ash.
"You’re home," I vow softly, pressing my forehead against his bruised brow. "You’re home, Tracker."
"Clear the area!" Logan barks, shattering the quiet intimacy. "That structure is caving. Move!"
Rising on unsteady legs, Daniel hauls Kevin upward alongside Shane. I wedge myself firmly under Daniel’s left arm, bearing whatever bulk he allows me to take. The man is pure granite against my ribs, smelling intensely of ash and dried sweat.
Together, we limp away from the burning pit. Behind us, the sub-basement groans and settles, black smoke pouring from the collapsed ventilation stack.
The compound above it still stands. Still lit. Still theirs.
We got Kevin out. We didn't take the hill.
Not tonight.
The convoy idling on the service road comes into view. Austin yanks the rear cargo doors open, his massive shoulders finally dropping from his ears.
"Get them warm," Logan commands. "We ride for the Clubhouse to assess the damage."
Refusing to enter the cab, Daniel stands guard in the slush until Kevin is strapped securely onto a stretcher inside the medical bay. Only when the doors lock does he finally turn his attention back to me. A massive, soot-stained hand wraps possessively around the nape of my neck.
"You left the van," he growls low in his chest. "I told you to stay put."
"I thought you were dead," I shoot back, tipping my chin up defiantly. "I planned to dig through that rubble with a plastic spoon if I had to."
The harsh lines around his mouth instantly soften. Pure, raw need eclipses the flash of anger. Wrapping both arms around my waist, he crushes me flush against his ruined Kevlar, burying his face deep into my messy hair.
"Mine," he hums straight into my ear, the deep vibration sparking a delicious heat along my spine. "You’re mine, Kaila. We’ve got the boy now. We're whole."
"Not yet," I counter, wedging an inch of space between us to meet his intense stare. "The lieutenant got away. It’s not over."
Shadows instantly harden the Tracker's features. "No. It’s not. But that bastard is running blind now. And I will hunt him down."
His mouth claims mine right there in the snow, kissing me with hard, desperate pressure. The sharp tang of copper and smoke floods my senses. That brutal kiss stamps a vow of absolute violence against any soul stupid enough to ever threaten us again.
"Let’s go home," he commands roughly.
Scaling the high cab step, I slide into the passenger seat beside my bloodied mountain man. He throws the heavy rig into gear, steering us away from the inferno and straight into the dark.