Chapter Three #2
The landing strip had been quiet, tucked away, and scrubbed clean of anything that might draw attention.
Too clean. Too efficient. The kind of place meant for arrivals that weren’t supposed to matter and departures that weren’t meant to be followed.
Ethan had brought the jet in smoothly, efficiently, as if he were setting down any other flight.
No flourish. No pause for acknowledgment. Just wheels, tarmac, and motion.
They’d unloaded fast.
Niko remembered the way the humid air had wrapped around them as they stepped off the aircraft, the smell of fuel and salt and heat all at once. Victor and Tane had flanked him instinctively, one steadying hand hovering near his back in case he stumbled.
Once they had all their gear offloaded and ready for transport back home, Kael had turned back toward the stairs that led up to the plane.
“Thank you,” Kael had said. Not loud. Not formal. Just real. “For helping us to bring him home.”
Ethan hadn’t met his eyes.
He’d nodded once—sharp, contained—and turned back toward the plane. Preflight already in motion. Fueling processes underway. Distance reestablished in seconds.
The others had added their voices.
“Couldn’t have done it without you.”
“You saved his life.”
“Appreciate the assist.”
Ethan hadn’t responded.
Not a word.
Niko had stood there, anger flaring hot and immediate, regret following close behind.
The two emotions tangled so tightly he hadn’t known which one to act on.
Anger was easier. Anger always was. He’d wanted to say something—anything—to cut through the silence he’d created in the cockpit.
Instead, pride and pain had tangled together, and he’d done what he always did when cornered.
He’d gotten into the truck.
They’d pulled away a short while later, tires crunching softly against gravel. Niko had twisted in his seat just in time to see the jet begin its roll, engines spooling up with restrained power.
The aircraft banked gracefully against the sky.
Gone.
No one had spoken on the drive back. The truck had filled with engine noise and road hum, and the unspoken agreement that this was Niko’s silence to have. Black Tide understood when not to interfere.
They’d let him sit with it.
Now, lying in the van with the day fully awake around him, Niko cursed himself for the words he’d chosen. For the timing. For the way he’d reached for a barb when what he’d really wanted was the truth.
He pushed himself upright with a low grunt and swung his legs over the side, pausing as the ache flared again. He ignored it. Pain was familiar. Regret was worse.
Ethan hadn’t always been like this.
That thought hurt more than the wound.
The memory came unbidden.
Flight school.
The smell of jet fuel and coffee. Long days that bled into nights, theory giving way to practice, practice turning into instinct. Ethan had stood out immediately—not loud, not cocky, just devastatingly competent. The kind of pilot instructors watched a second longer than necessary.
They’d burned hot and fast. Moving from friends to lovers in days, emotions built in hours, carried by proximity and trust, and the intoxicating certainty that some connections didn’t need caution.
Late nights in hangars. Shared flights. Shared jokes. Shared silences that felt like belonging. Ethan had trusted him in the air before he’d trusted him on the ground, and Niko had taken that as something sacred.
Then one morning, Ethan hadn’t shown up.
No call. No message.
Just a news article pushed into his feed by some algorithm that didn’t know it was delivering a knife.
Business mogul announces son’s wedding to prominent heiress.
Accompanied by an image of a man and a woman smiling for the camera. And not just any man. His man.
Niko had stared at the screen until the words blurred.
He’d reached out.
Blocked.
Phone. Email. Everything.
That had killed something in him he’d never quite been able to name. Not love—love had lingered, stubborn and unresolved—but belief. The belief that if something mattered enough, it would be fought for.
He dressed slowly and made his way up to the command center, nodding at the team as he entered.
The room hummed with activity—screens lit, data scrolling, voices overlapping as the rescue was dissected and catalogued.
Timelines were being scrubbed. Footage replayed.
Decisions evaluated. The machine of Black Tide resetting itself after a successful operation.
All of Black Tide were already in the room, seated around the table. Niko grunted by way of a good morning and poured himself coffee he didn’t really want.
Kael stood at the center of it all, calm as ever. He waited until Niko was close before speaking.
“I’ve learned more about Pyre,” Kael said.
Niko stiffened.
“He has been single-handedly shutting down operations,” Kael continued. “Not Directorate cells, not directly. Someone adjacent. Someone louder about their crimes.”
Niko turned fully toward him.
“Gun and drug trafficking mainly,” Kael went on. “Into the States. Over the past two years, he has been responsible for estimated losses north of two billion dollars.” The room quieted. “There’s a price on his head now,” Kael finished.
Niko felt heat rise fast and sharp, a flare of anger edged with something dangerously close to fear.
Because this wasn’t bravado. This wasn’t recklessness.
This was someone who’d accepted the cost and paid it anyway.
“Then what the fuck was yesterday all about? He could have been caught or tracked! Does he not care?”
Kael studied him. “I think he cares too much. Just not about himself.”
Before Niko could respond, Marsh’s voice cut in over the comms.
“Black Tide, we’ve got a problem.”
Everyone stilled.
“Someone on the dark web just posted Pyre’s location,” Marsh said. “It was a full drop, residential. I've cross-checked.” A beat. “They’re right.”
Niko didn’t hesitate.
“Spin up the plane,” he snapped, already moving. “Full readiness. We’re wheels up as soon as fuel clears.”
“Destination?” Luca asked, already packing his tech. And it was at that moment that Niko realized he had no clue where Ethan was based.
“Portland, Oregon,” Marsh informed.
That was all he needed, mind racing ahead to timing and angles and contingencies. Whatever anger he’d been carrying burned down to something cleaner now.
Protective. Possessive.
He didn’t care if Ethan wanted to be found or not.
No one who burned that brightly got to do it alone.