Chapter Fifteen
Helios
“She’s looking better.”
Coming awake with a start, my Glock was already drawn and aimed at the source before I’d turned my head.
The intruder’s distinctive green-eyed gaze met mine.
“Jesus fucking Christ.” I was staring at a goddamn impossibility. “You’re dead.” I didn’t lower my aim.
William “Bravo” Nilsen, former SEAL, KIA a couple years ago, stood over me as I sat next to Feralyn’s hospital bed. “Long story. Or short one.” Tipping his chin at her, he repeated a version of his initial statement. “She looks better than when you first extracted her.”
“How the fuck do you know?” Black T-shirt, tactical pants, boots, same blond hair, still fucking ripped, the motherfucker definitely wasn’t dead. And he definitely knew too goddamn much.
“Been checking.”
I put shit together. “CIA.” Special Activities Center. “Ground Branch.” This motherfucker had gone paramilitary.
“Not anymore.” He slid a hand into his front pocket and came away with a bullshit business card. All black. Handed it to me.
I read it.
Paragon Operations.
That was it.
I flipped the damn thing over. It had a single number on the back. “What the fuck do you want? Congratulations?”
“I see you’re still the same asshole that strolled out of Selection eating a candy bar,” he stated, quoting verbatim the same shit the Sergeant Major had said to me.
It took less than a second for me to grasp both the scope of how I’d fucked up and this motherfucker’s reach.
He’d not only found me and Feralyn here when she was registered under an alias, he knew about the extraction, he’d tapped my new burner and hacked into the hospital’s security feeds. He’d been watching every move I made.
“Why the fuck are you here, Bravo?” Oh three hundred, catching me off guard, selective intel drops. I could fucking read the room.
“It’s Nix Erikson now. Call sign Phoenix.”
“Don’t give a fuck what you call yourself.” He was pissing me off. “You hacked me and my sister’s shit.” And I’d goddamn failed her. He could’ve been another trafficker-terrorist fuck entering this hospital room, and I’d been asleep on watch. Fuck.
“Stepsister,” the asshole corrected.
“Last time I’m asking. What the fuck do you want, Phoenix?”
“Get her through recovery, then come work with me.”
With him. Not for him. “Doing?” I knew what.
“Same as what you do now except exponentially more pay, and better tech and equipment.”
I hated tech, didn’t need better fucking equipment, and I wasn’t a gun for hire. “Not a fucking merc.”
“You’re already a mercenary. The only difference is that your paycheck won’t come directly from Uncle Sam.”
Directly. What a fucking joke. “This is what a Vice Admiral’s son has become? A goddamn hitman hiding behind government contracts?”
“Private sector,” the motherfucker calmly stated. “More than twenty times your current pay grade. Flight training included. Choose your assignments.”
This fucking asshole. “Flight training,” I muttered, looking back at Feralyn.
“You’ll get your pilot’s license quicker with me.”
“You’re a fucking pilot now?” In what little spare time I had, I’d started private flight training.
Something for me. But it was expensive as fuck, I never had enough time, and getting rated for the wings I really wanted was as much of a pipedream as owning a plane.
Now this motherfucker was dangling the carrot.
“Yes.”
“Fucking great.” Good for him.
“I require everyone at Paragon to have their multi-engine, instrument-rated Commercial Pilot License.”
“You’re gonna pay for CPL with IR?” I didn’t even have my PPL yet.
“Yes.”
“I don’t have my Private Pilot License yet.” Christ. Was I seriously fucking considering this?
“You’ll get it.” Reaching behind him, he grabbed a small go bag, then tossed it at me. “Take a shower. I’ll sit with her.”
“You don’t fucking know her.”
“I know you’re in the same clothes from the extraction, leaving trace evidence in a hospital that has you on all of their security feeds.” He tipped his chin toward the en suite bathroom. “Go.”
God-fucking-damn it. “I kept my head down when we came in.” I’d had a cap on. I wasn’t fucking new.
“It’s not enough.” He took out a cell. “Wiping you from their system now. Shower.”
I stood. “Wipe her too.”
Phoenix, Nix, whatever the fuck he went by, looked up. “You’re going to do that. Once she’s released.”
“I don’t do tech.” I didn’t have a rep in the Unit for hacking. I was the assaulter.
“Now you do.” He looked back at his cell. “Five minutes.”
I strode into the bathroom, stripped, showered, shaved, and got dressed in the new threads. Every goddamn article of clothing was my size, right down to a new pair of Danner MEB boots.
“This motherfucker,” I muttered, shoving all my trace evidence shit into the bag. Striding back out into the hospital room I couldn’t wait to get the fuck out of, I dropped the duffel at Nix’s feet. Then I negotiated. “Four conditions.”
Standing exactly where I’d left him, Nix lifted his chin.
“One. Miami’s my home base. I’m not gone for more than thirty-six, and I’m not gone, period, until she’s fully recovered.
Two. I’m not a goddamn desk jockey. I’m not a hacker.
I’m not fucking PSYOPs or whatever other intelligence bullshit you’re trained for now.
I’m direct action. Three. I want my own wings.
” I rattled off the make and model, then I leveled him with a look. “Four. You fucking protect her.”
Nix aimed his SEAL stare at me for a solid five seconds.
Then the motherfucker locked in on his cell and swiped a few times before shoving the damn thing in his pocket and focusing up.
“Once she’s recovered, you can start with twenty-four-hour assignments, then work your way up to seven days.
Anything longer, we’ll discuss prior. Decision will be yours.
Whether operating independently or not, you’ll wipe your own digital footprint and use the tech needed to be your own overwatch.
I wired a transfer to an offshore account already set up for you. Login details texted.”
My burner vibrated.
Fucker kept downloading. “Set up a few shell corporations, then buy the plane and bury it. Bury all purchases moving forward. As far as your stepsister, I’ll protect her like I protect everyone at Paragon Operations—religiously. Questions?”
“Yeah.” I didn’t trust this slick prick as far as I could throw him, but he’d also been nothing except switched on in the field.
Fucker was Navy royalty. His op attitude had always been spot-on.
Smart, fast and ruthless, he’d been a great door kicker.
I had no reason to question him, and I didn’t give a shit about the details—who he had working for him, what ops he was handling—I’d find out all that shit once I got Feralyn through the worst of it.
But I did want to know one thing. “How long you been scouting me?”
“Long enough.”
It clicked. “Motherfucker.” I shook my head.
“I’m not fucking working with Ghost.” His shit had exploded right before Feralyn was taken.
I didn’t give a fuck. I gave even less fucks about Ghost’s SEAL career going up in flames or why.
All I cared about was Feralyn. And Ares.
“Take your goddamn money back. Deal’s off. ”
“Transfer’s already complete. Noted on Ghost.” Heading to the door, ignoring every goddamn thing I’d said, Nix grabbed the go bag on his way out. “I’ll be in touch. You need me beforehand, call. If it’s an emergency, use Code Red.”
“I know you fucking heard me, motherfucker.”
Pausing, Nix glanced back. “I did.” He shouldered the duffel. “I also have DNA evidence of your last kills.”
Jesus fucking Christ. “That’s your recruitment? Blackmail?”
“No.” His gaze cut to Feralyn, then back to me. “You’ll take the work because of the money and the time it’ll give you to be close to her.” He walked out.
I fucking stood there.
Then I grabbed my burner. Using the texted intel, I pulled up the bank’s website and entered the login and password.
Twenty-five million.
That motherfucker.
“Christ,” I muttered, shoving the cell back into my pocket.
Nix was right. I was taking the fucking job.
In clean clothes and new boots, I sat back down next to Haven.