Chapter Six
Phoenix
“Sitrep on the planes,” I clarified for Helios.
“Which ones?” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “You’ve had me in the air for two weeks straight.”
“The Bombardiers.” I checked my personal cell. No new texts.
“You already know Ares and I took delivery of them. They’re fucking flying buses, but that’s what you wanted. Range, speed, and cargo capabilities.”
“Bombardier Global 8000s achieve Mach zero-point-nine-four with a range of eight thousand miles.” They weren’t buses. “The Falcons and the Gulfstreams?”
“I know how fucking fast the 8000s can fly, same as you know that pulling in your entire fleet is like waving a surrender flag. The guys are already asking questions.”
“Direct all inquiries my way, and I concede nothing.” I did, but not how he thought.
“I’m not saying shit to anyone. You haven’t even told me what the fuck you’re actually doing besides leaving your six wide open. And that last statement is bullshit. You’re surrendering your anonymity. Mine, too, as long as you stay in this fishbowl of a hotel suite.”
“You could’ve called in a sitrep.” Using my current burner, I pulled up security feeds for the residential property that should’ve been finished last week. “The aircraft?”
“The Falcon 8Xs and Gulfstreams are all parked, split between Miami Executive and Opa Locka. The rest of the smaller planes, we brought in this week. You ready to fucking talk?”
Glancing up from my cell, I mentally ran through the list of shit I still needed to handle. “About?”
“A fucking sniper that showed up at your Cap d’Antibes property a month ago, on the exact same day as you.”
It wasn’t just a sniper—the shooter had been trained in Spec Ops, his accent was American, and he hadn’t been alone.
“And?” The memory of a five-foot-three blue-eyed blonde in a green bikini with a calculated smile, tight cunt, and tactical backpack hit me the same as it had a month ago and every day since. Broadside.
Helios eyed me. “And he wasn’t alone.”
“I know.” Fuck, I knew. Every second that wasn’t occupied with implementing my plan was taken up reliving that little trespasser’s scent. And the way she’d run headfirst into the firefight Helios started.
“Did you look for the sniper? Because Cypher and Ares did. Neither found shit, and you haven’t mentioned it once since stepping off your boat.
Kidnapping that insane blonde chick was one thing.
Not saying a fucking word after she took off when we refueled in Tenerife, not going after that sniper—is another. You know what that shit says to me?”
Yes. That my attention was divided, and I was fucking slipping.
“I have more important things to handle. The sniper, whoever he was”—an angry boyfriend, husband, brother, or father of the little trespasser—“didn’t send it.
He only returned fire once you unloaded.
” More importantly, the sniper hadn’t followed me or the Paragon. Subject closed.
“Your fucking point?”
Christ, Helios was exhausting. “If he’d wanted me dead, I would be.
” The sniper had the shot. He hadn’t taken it.
I wasn’t going to fucking discuss with Helios how I’d been momentarily distracted by an arresting enigma of a woman who was still featuring prominently in the caprices of my sexual depravity.
“That’s what you’re telling yourself? You’re not dead, so it’s all good? What the fuck, Nix?” Helios challenged. “That sniper had you in his crosshairs while you stared at tits and ass, forgetting the basic fucking training they teach SEAL fucks like you.”
Forcing my jaw not to tick at his tits-and-ass comment, I remembered exactly how the little trespasser had looked when she was on her back, naked, legs spread. “You think I forgot?” I wasn’t asking about the goddamn sniper.
“Jesus fucking Christ. Don’t get fucking shot because you’ve got your dick hanging out.”
“As I said, I’m here.” For now. “And SQT is more advanced than basic fucking training.”
Helios shook his head. “Could’ve fooled me. Seeing your dumb ass throw the chick over your shoulder and run for cover instead of shooting her when you had the chance looked a hell of lot like retreating.”
Technically, kidnapping. “Not always a bad tactic.”
Incredulous, Helios looked at me like I was insane. “It was your fucking property.”
“That I only go to once a year.” Not worth dying over.
Neither was the woman. I couldn’t afford the headspace she was already occupying.
Which was why I’d stopped tracking her after we’d left port in Tenerife, and told Cypher to do the same.
I knew she’d sent a two-word text to a burner that was now offline, then got on a containership.
Anything beyond that was irrelevant to my plan.
“Then why keep the fucking place?” Helios challenged, walking me right into my own trap and hanging me with it.
I didn’t tell any of the men who worked for me why I had the estate in the South of France, or why I didn’t allow it to be used as one of Paragon Operations’ safe houses.
Nor did I tell them why I went there once a year for twenty-four hours on the anniversary of my faked death.
I wasn’t about to explain that kind of sentimentality.
I rerouted back to Helios’s original comment. “You mentioned other problems?”
“Christ.” Focusing up, Helios sighed. “You’re being tracked. Yesterday and today. Someone was on me when I came and went.”
The whole point of being here was to draw out any threats. “Who?”
“Didn’t fucking see, but I felt that shit. I was followed.”
I didn’t dismiss Helios’s instincts. They were the most honed weapon in his personal arsenal. “Did you tell Cypher? Check the security feeds?”
“I’m not a hacker, and I’m telling you, motherfucker.”
“Copy. I’ll handle it.” I’d check the hotel’s security feeds later or deliberately walk through the lobby myself.
“Bullshit. You’re gonna ignore what I’m fucking telling you, and do whatever the hell you want.”
“One, I’m not ignoring you. Two, I’m not operating without an objective. Three, if you have a specific complaint, fucking say it.”
“What goddamn part of all the shit I’ve been saying isn’t sinking the fuck in? You coming in was a bad fucking idea, Nix. For all of us.”
Using my intelligence training, I flipped the script on Helios. “How’s Feralyn?”
His jaw immediately clenched. “I’m not here to discuss my stepsister.
” He pushed to his feet. “Whatever the fuck you’re up to—setting up shop on top of Alpha, moving off your goddamn boat, pretending your concentration hasn’t been shit for months—I don’t fucking care.
Pull your head out of your ass and get straight.
Both Ares and I were on that dock in Tenerife a month ago.
All of us heard Alpha and that SEAL fuck of his warn you.
Alpha gave you thirty days to come clean.
That was four fucking weeks ago. Quit idling in his territory.
Make amends, or do whatever the fuck you’re gonna do, but do it by tomorrow, because Ares and I live here.
” He looked pointedly at me. “Feralyn lives here. You read me?”
Loud and clear. “Lima Charlie.”
“Good. Because I don’t give a fuck how much you pay me or how many times you saved my ass, you fuck with Feralyn—in any goddamn way—it’ll be the last motherfucking thing you do.” He turned toward the elevator.
“Helios.”
“What?” He punched the elevator call button with the side of his fist.
“Feralyn’s safe.” I’d never left loose ends in the field.
If anyone was a threat, I eliminated them.
Helios did the same. Yes, I’d come in to deliberately compromise myself and draw out any hostiles.
But it was a controlled risk assessment, and I’d been religiously watching dark web traffic for a month.
We hadn’t brought any threats to Florida.
Crucially, I hadn’t. If Helios was thinking rationally, he’d realize that if there was a credible threat, if either of us had been tracked, we’d already be dead or engaged. Neither had happened.
Helios stepped into the elevator, then looked back at me. “She’ll never be safe with me around.” His fist hit the interior panel, and the doors closed.