Chapter 1
Chapter 1
Ryan
T en Years Ago
The jungle is alive with noise, a cacophony of cicadas and distant bird calls, but all I can hear is the steady sound of my pulse in my ears. The air is heavy, thick with humidity and the scent of damp earth, making every breath feel like dragging in steam. My grip on the rifle is solid, my finger hovering just off the trigger.
“Eyes up,” I whisper into the comm, my voice barely audible but sharp enough to cut through the tension.
Leo is a shadow at my right, his movements fluid as he signals clear. Miles brings up the rear, scanning the thick vegetation for movement. We’re a three-man unit, deep in cartel territory, tasked with extracting two DEA agents who were stupid enough to get themselves snatched.
The target building looms ahead, a decrepit shack of corrugated metal and splintered wood that barely stands in the clearing. But we know better than to trust appearances.
“Visual on the shack,” Leo murmurs, his voice calm.
“Copy,” I reply, gesturing for us to fan out.
Leo takes position behind a fallen log, covering us as Miles and I move in. My boots are soundless on the dirt, the jungle swallowing every step.
We reach the shack, the stink of sweat and decay hitting me like a wave. My gut tightens. Something feels off, but I shove the feeling aside. We don’t have the luxury of hesitation.
“Stack up,” I command.
Miles nods, positioning himself on one side of the door while I take the other. Leo joins us a beat later, his rifle aimed and steady.
“Breach on my count. Three… two…”
I don’t get to “one.”
The door explodes, shards of wood spraying like shrapnel. A hail of gunfire erupts, tearing through the walls.
“Ambush!” I yell, diving for cover as bullets chew through the air.
Leo curses, returning fire through the smoke and chaos. I roll to the side, my rifle up, and fire off three controlled bursts. Shadows move inside the shack—cartel gunmen, not hostages.
“Hostages are dead!” Leo shouts.
I risk a glance inside. He’s right. The bodies of the two DEA agents are slumped in the corner, blood pooling beneath them. It’s a setup.
“Fall back!” I bark, my voice cutting through the cacophony. “Miles, lay down covering fire!”
Miles unleashes a torrent of bullets, giving Leo and me enough cover to retreat. The cartel is on us, their shouts and gunfire growing louder.
We weave through the jungle, the extraction point a hellish mile away. Bullets rip through the trees, splintering bark and sending leaves raining down like confetti.
“Left flank!” Leo warns, spinning and dropping one of the gunmen with a clean shot.
I swing my rifle, taking out another before he can draw a bead on Miles. The jungle is a nightmare of shadows and movement, every second a fight to stay alive.
“Keep moving!” I order, my voice hoarse.
The extraction point is close, but so are our pursuers. A grenade explodes to our right, the concussive force throwing us off balance.
“Shit!” Miles shouts, clutching his side.
“Leo, cover him!” I say, pulling Miles to his feet. “We’re almost there!”
The roar of the chopper cuts through the chaos, its rotors slicing the air above us. Salvation.
We break into the clearing, the cartel hot on our heels. I turn, firing in controlled bursts as Leo and Miles climb into the helicopter.
“Go, go, go!” I yell, leaping onto the skid as the bird lifts off.
Bullets ping against the hull as we ascend, but the jungle starts to fall away, the cartel fighters shrinking into ants below.
I collapse against the wall of the chopper, my chest heaving. Leo looks at me, his face grim.
“They knew we were coming,” he says.
I nod, the weight of the mission’s failure settling over me. The hostages are dead, and the intel was bad. But we’re alive—for now—and that’ll have to be enough.
Present Day
The rig shudders beneath me, a deep metallic groan that reverberates through my bones as flames lick higher into the night sky. Heat sears my skin even through the layers of fire- resistant gear, and the acrid stench of burning oil mixes with the salt of the open sea. I crouch low, gripping the heavy fire hose with both hands, bracing myself against the relentless pressure as I direct the torrent of water at the inferno.
“Ryan, move! That section’s gonna blow!” Maria’s shout crackles over the comm, sharp and urgent.
Maria is one of my most experienced rig managers. I don’t hesitate. Years of training kick in as I abandon the hose and dart to the side, leaping across the grating just as an explosion rocks the platform. A wall of heat slams into me, and I hit the deck hard, rolling to absorb the impact. Sparks rain down like hellfire, the metal under me scorching hot.
“Status!” I bark into the comm, pushing to my feet. My heartbeat pounds in my ears, steady and fierce.
“Containment at sixty percent,” Maria responds. “We need another five minutes.”
“We don’t have five minutes,” I mutter, my gaze locking onto a ruptured pipe spewing flames like a dragon’s fetid breath. I snatch up a foam extinguisher, charging toward the fire. The adrenaline sharpens my focus, my movements precise. This isn’t my first blaze, and it won’t be my last.
With a hiss and a blast of foam, the flames retreat, subdued but not extinguished. I spin to help the others, moving as one with the crew until the fire is finally out.
The rig is silent now, except for the hiss of cooling metal and the soft lapping of waves below. I pull off my helmet, sweat streaming down my face, and glance at my reflection in a shattered piece of glass. Blackened with soot and grime, my face is almost unrecognizable.
“Hell of a night,” Maria says, clapping me on the back.
“Just another day at the office,” I reply, managing a grim smile as I head toward the command post.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, vibrating against my hip. I pull it out, wiping the screen clean with the edge of my shirt. It’s a video call from Alex Castillo.
Alex doesn’t waste time with pleasantries when the call connects. His face is drawn, his dark eyes serious. “Ryan, we’ve got a problem at Celtic Knot.”
I nod, already feeling the weight of another fire—not literal this time—settling on my shoulders. “I didn’t think you’d be calling to invite me to the wedding.”
“What wedding?”
“I take it at some point you’re going to put a ring on Sophie’s finger.”
“Yeah, well…”
I chuckle. “So if it isn’t happy news, what’s up?”
“There’s a balloon payment’s coming due in thirty days,” Alex says, his tone clipped. “And someone bought the debt. They’re planning to call it in, force the family to sell.”
Someone? Not someone. Sapphire Development. Candace. The name lands like a punch to the gut. I’ve done my homework—I have to when someone’s sniffing around family property. “Candace Prescott,” I say, the words tasting like smoke.
Alex hesitates, his expression tight. “You know who she is?”
“Yeah,” I say, my voice rougher than I intend. “I know her.”
Alex doesn’t ask for details. He’s Leo’s kid brother, and like his sibling, he’s not one to pry. “Well, whoever she is, she’s making her move, Ryan. If we—I mean the winery—doesn’t find a way to cover that payment, your family will lose Celtic Knot.”
“You sound pretty invested…”
Alex chuckles. “Like you said… ring.”
The irony doesn’t escape me. Twenty-two years ago, I walked away from Pelican Point to escape the chaos of my family—and frankly, to keep from killing my father. I’d left the coroner’s inquest in a murderous rage. I knew Candace had been angry with me. There’s no way not to know that she’s been gunning for me and anything associated with me for years, and now she’s trying to take what little we have left.
“Thanks for the heads-up, Alex. Keep me updated. I’ll be headed your way.”
“I’ll do what I can,” Alex says before disconnecting.
I stare at the screen for a moment, the Celtic Knot logo shining brightly in the corner. I built Shadow Strike to handle fires—whether on oil rigs, in black ops, or even at Leathers. But this… this feels a lot more personal.
“And now another fire to put out,” I mutter, shoving the phone back into my pocket.
Before I can take a breath, the phone buzzes again. This time, it’s Emma. I swipe to answer, already bracing myself. My little sister is fierce, and she doesn’t sugarcoat anything.
“You need to get your ass home, Ryan,” she says, skipping any kind of greeting.
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Emma, I’m on an oil rig in the middle of the Gulf…”
“I don’t give a shit,” she interrupts, her voice rising. “Candace Prescott is buying up everything in sight. Not just Celtic Knot. She just closed on the old Macon property and is eyeing the vineyard next door.”
“Macon’s? Seriously?” I run a hand through my hair, now stiff with grime. “What’s she planning to do, buy the whole damn town?”
“Raze it, more like. She wants to build some fancy-schmancy five-star resort. And if you don’t get back here and handle it, she’s going to be able to do it.” Emma’s voice softens, just slightly. “I know you have history with her, Ryan. But this is our family. Celtic Knot is mom’s legacy.”
She’s right. Whatever else I’ve built, Celtic Knot and my mom were at the heart of it all. The place where everything started—and where everything fell apart.
“Can’t I just send a check?”
“No goddamn it, you cannot. Money won’t fix everything…”
“Yes, it will,” I argue, knowing all the while that arguing with Emma, whose law school tuition and fees I paid, is futile.
“No, it won’t. Get your ass back here and work this out with Brennen.”
“Fine,” I say, my jaw tightening. “I’m on my way.”
“Good.” Emma doesn’t wait for a goodbye before hanging up.
I glance out at the horizon, the sea stretching endlessly before me. My hands tighten into fists.
I’ve faced fires, cartels, and corporate sharks. But this? This feels like stepping into a storm I’ve always known would come. It’s time to go home. This time, there’s no running away.
I take a breath, deep and steady, forcing my shoulders to relax even as tension coils in my chest. The night air is thick with the lingering scent of burned oil and seawater.
Focus, Ryan.
I look out where the moonlight glimmers on the waves, letting the vastness settle my thoughts. Then, with a slow exhale, I pull up a number I haven’t dialed in years. My finger hovers over the screen for half a beat before I decide stealth and surprise have always worked well for me. Turning back toward the rig’s command center, I wait for the support vessel and start making calls. The crew can handle things without me for a few days. The fire’s out, and the cleanup is manageable. My private helicopter, stationed on a nearby support vessel, can have me stateside before dawn.
As I pack up my gear and leave instructions for Maria to handle operations, one thought burns in my mind: it’s time to face the past.
Candace. Brennen. Celtic Knot. All of it.
When my helicopter arrives, I make my way over to the helipad and get into the chopper. First stop, my private airfield. The helicopter lifts off and I bank back towards Texas.
Calling my pilot, I say, “Get the jet ready to go.” Emma isn’t the only one who doesn’t waste time on niceties.
“Where to, boss?”
“Pelican Point.”