Chapter Two #2
Black Tide taking possession of whatever the Directorate had been moving made sense. More than sense—it felt right. If there was something dangerous in that truck, they’d either secure it, use it to shut something worse down, or destroy it outright.
They were disciplined. Accountable.
Things the Directorate had never been.
“Sure,” Victor said after a beat. “Take it.”
Decision made, he turned away.
“Stop.” Tane’s voice cut clean through the night.
Victor paused mid-step and looked back over his shoulder, eyebrow arching. “I don’t take orders from you.”
Kael stepped forward before Tane could answer.
Authority rolled off him in waves.
“No,” Kael said evenly. “You both take orders from me.”
Victor stared at him, genuinely startled. “I’m not Black Tide,” he snapped. “I work alone.”
Tane sighed.
Not frustrated. Not angry.
Resigned.
He swung his rifle off his shoulder and opened the truck, placing the weapon carefully inside before shutting the door again with deliberate calm.
“Not anymore,” Tane said. “Now get in the truck—or you’ll never see that sweet bike of yours again.”
Victor froze.
“My—”
“Yeah,” Niko said cheerfully. “That one. Rides smooth.”
“You should see the rack Tane’s got on his truck,” Niko added. “Beautiful setup.”
Victor stared at them, disbelief warring with irritation.
They had his bike.
“You should’ve seen him when he spotted it,” Keanu added, amusement threading his voice. “Like a kid at Christmas. I thought he was going to pet it.”
“I was assessing,” Tane snapped, irritation bleeding through his carefully even tone.
“Sure you were,” Keanu said. “Very thorough assessment. Lots of touching.”
Niko chuckled. “Relax, boss. We’ll keep it warm for him. Maybe even wash it.”
Tane shot them all a look that should have shut the conversation down. It didn’t.
Victor watched the exchange with something like fascination.
The banter was good-natured, needling, easy—the kind of thing Victor had never heard directed at Tane before.
Each comment chipped a little more at the man’s composure, tension tightening in his shoulders, jaw setting harder by the second.
“Enough,” Tane growled, frustration finally edging past restraint.
That did it.
Victor almost smiled.
Almost.
Tane turned back to him then and the look in his eyes had the humor draining from his expression.
“Please,” he said quietly. “Get in the truck. Don’t make this difficult.”
The words hit harder than the threat had.
They stood there, locked in place, the night humming around them.
Tane spoke again, this time in Hawaiian. Low. Measured. A proverb Victor recognized instantly.
Trust is not given to those who demand it, but to those who stand when things turn.
Victor translated it automatically—and surprised himself by nodding.
“Fine,” he muttered, circling the truck and climbing into the cab.
Kael was already moving. “Back to the site,” he ordered the others. “Stage near where Tane parked, and from there we will convoy in case something goes sideways.”
Tane tossed Kael his truck keys.
The rest of Black Tide melted into the darkness as if they’d never been there.
Tane started the engine and eased the truck forward, Victor sat in the passenger seat, his heart still racing.
“There’s an armed guard at the gate,” he said. “He’ll notice this.”
Tane grinned. “Watch.”
They rolled up to the gate. The guard straightened—then relaxed, breaking into a grin.
“Tane,” he called. “Didn’t know you were back, bruddah.”
“Briefly,” Tane replied easily. “Catch up soon, ya?”
“Looking forward to it, bruddah. Say hi to da boys.”
The gate lifted.
Victor stared straight ahead as they rolled out and onto the open road, the hum of the engine settling into something almost hypnotic.
The port lights fell away behind them, swallowed by distance, and with every kilometer that slipped past, the adrenaline bled off just enough for something colder to take its place.
Doubt.
It crept in quietly, the way it always did.
The Directorate had been masters of that. Soft voices. Careful words. Promises framed like gifts. Protection. Purpose. Belonging. They’d wrapped control in language that sounded like trust and twisted truth until it justified things Victor still heard in his sleep.
You’re special.
You’re necessary.
No one else can do what you do.
He shifted in his seat, jaw tightening as memory brushed too close—rooms that smelled of antiseptic and steel, men who smiled while they lied, missions sold as necessary evils that always seemed to rot a little more each time he carried them out.
Was this any different?
He forced himself to look at Black Tide the way he always looked at a new variable. Strip it down. Assess it clean.
Assets—cohesion, discipline, infrastructure. Loyalty that ran deeper than contracts.
Liabilities—visibility, history, emotional attachment.
Unknowns—intent.
And Tane.
That was an unknown and a huge fucking complication.
Tane hadn’t promised him anything. Hadn’t tried to sell him a future or dress cooperation up as salvation. He’d just stood there—steady, infuriatingly calm—and refused to let Victor burn himself out alone.
If this went bad—if Black Tide turned out to be just another version of the same machine with better manners—Victor knew what survival would demand of him.
He would have to kill Tane.
The certainty of it sat heavy in his chest, bitter and sharp, leaving a sour taste at the back of his mouth.
And Victor hated that the thought didn’t harden him the way it should.
Hated that it hurt.
Hated that some reckless, traitorous part of him hoped he’d never have to find out whether he could actually do it.