Chapter 6
SIX
Kade
KADE
The cabin's main room feels smaller with her in it.
Wren's been in motion since I locked the door—touching things, picking them up, setting them down, like she needs to confirm the physical world still exists.
Her hands move from the windowsill to the lamp cord to a coffee mug she doesn't drink from.
Objects stay where you put them. Objects make sense.
Shock. I've seen it enough times to recognize the patterns.
"Talk to me." I set water bottles on the scarred coffee table. "What exactly did you find that brings hitmen to your door?"
She stops mid-pace, arms wrapped around herself despite the cabin's warmth. "You said Black Helix. How do you know that name?"
"I work for Guardian HRS, and we have files on most international criminal organizations. Black Helix specializes in dark web operations—drugs, weapons, and human trafficking. They run their entire network through encrypted channels." I watch her face go pale. "Why?"
"The app." She drops onto the couch like her strings were cut. "The fucking app. I should have known it was too good to be true."
"What app?"
She pulls her laptop from the bag, hands shaking as she powers it up.
"Three weeks ago, I got a freelance request through my usual channels.
Anonymous client—nothing unusual. I work in crypto and privacy tech.
Anonymity is standard. They wanted a security audit on a new encrypted messaging platform. The money was... significant."
"How significant?"
"Fifty thousand for two weeks' work." The laugh that comes out is all glass edges. "Should have been my first red flag, but I've been barely scraping by since I went freelance. Rent in San Francisco is insane, and I needed the money."
She turns the laptop toward me, showing code that might as well be hieroglyphics. Her finger traces patterns. She explains like she's teaching a child—not condescending, just precise.
"See this? It's a backdoor. Not obvious—actually brilliant in its subtlety.
The encryption is real, military-grade, and unbreakable from the outside.
But there's a ghost protocol built into the authentication sequence.
Every message, every user, every transaction gets copied to a shadow server before encryption. "
"They're monitoring their own network."
"More than that." She pulls up another screen, logs scrolling past. "They're capturing everything. Not just messages—location data, device fingerprints, behavioral patterns. It's the most sophisticated surveillance system I've ever seen, and it's completely invisible to the end users."
I study the data, pieces clicking. "Black Helix built this to monitor their own people. Make sure no one's skimming, talking to cops, or going rogue."
"And I documented all of it." She closes the laptop, hands trembling. "Wrote a detailed report about the vulnerability, how to exploit it, and even how to patch it if they wanted to go legitimate. I sent it to the client contact last night."
"The night you went to the bar."
"I was celebrating. Job done, rent paid, maybe even a vacation." Her laugh cracks on the last word. "Instead, I signed my own death warrant."
"You couldn't have known—"
"Couldn't I?" She stands abruptly, pacing again. "Anonymous client, too much money, software too sophisticated for a startup? I'm supposed to be smart. It's literally my job to see patterns, find flaws. And I walked right into this."
"You found their vulnerability. That makes you the smartest person in this equation.
" I catch her wrist as she passes—gentle but firm.
"They built a multimillion-dollar network with one critical flaw, and you found it in two weeks.
That's why they want you dead. You're the only one who knows their weakness. "
She looks at our joined hands. Then up at me. "So what now? I hide forever? Witness protection? Spend my life looking over my shoulder?"
"Now we figure out how to use what you know." I release her wrist, already running scenarios. "If we can access their shadow server—"
"We can't. I found the vulnerability, but I don't have access credentials. It would take massive computing power to break in, and even then—"
"What if we don't break in? What if we make them think their system is already compromised?"
Her head tilts, that sharp intelligence focusing like a beam. "Psychological warfare. Make them panic, turn on each other."
"Exactly. You documented everything. We leak portions strategically, make them think someone inside is talking."
"That's..." She sits back down, wheels turning. "That could work. I have everything backed up and encrypted across multiple servers." A pause. "I could set up a dead man's switch. If something happens to me, everything goes public automatically."
"Walk me through it."
She looks up. I'm not nodding and moving on—I need to know if this plan holds weight or if it's just a thing she said to feel less cornered. An operator who can't picture the mechanism can't build around it.
"Scheduled packet transmission," she says, shifting into the focused register she uses when she's solving rather than surviving.
"I pre-address the full documentation—audit report, all the shadow server logs, everything—to three federal agencies and two investigative journalists.
FBI, DOJ, Homeland. Contacts at the Times and ProPublica who would run it within the hour. "
"Firing window?"
"Forty-eight hours from when I arm it. It goes out automatically unless I cancel from my authenticated device.
Biometric verification plus a rotating token that changes every sixty seconds.
" Her voice steadies as she lays it out.
"Black Helix can't intercept from outside.
The transmission queues on a server that they have no record of.
The cancellation key never leaves my hardware.
They'd have to physically take my device and my hand to stop it. "
"How long will it take to set up?"
"Not long." She opens the laptop again. Meets my eyes. "I'll do it now."
"Now you're thinking like a survivor."
"I don't want to survive." The fire in her eyes makes something kick hard in my chest. "I want to burn their whole network down."
"That's my little bird."
The words slip out—too familiar, too possessive for what we are. She doesn't flinch. If anything, she leans forward and starts working.
I pull a chair around to her side of the table and watch her build it.
The dead man's switch assembles under her fingers with methodical precision—pre-addressed packets, staggered fifteen minutes apart, so no single intercept stops all of them.
Timer set. Biometric lock engaged. The rotating token cycling its first sequence on the screen.
Her hands are steady now. This is the language she was built for.
"Five recipients," she says, more to herself than to me. "Staggered. FBI, DOJ, Homeland. Times and ProPublica."
"What's the cancellation window?"
"Forty-eight hours. My thumbprint and the current token. That's it." She closes the laptop without ceremony and pushes it aside. "Done."
She doesn't look relieved. She looks like a soldier who just took up a defensive position and knows it's the best one available.
"It's armed," she says.
"Good." I hold her gaze. "That was your first weapon. Now you're dangerous."
The words land somewhere behind her sternum. I watch the impact move through her—the recognition of what she just did. Not hiding. Not hoping someone else handles it. She drew a line in the sand and dared them to cross it.
She stands. Moves closer.
"I'm not going to be your damsel in distress," she says quietly. "I won't hide while you fight. That's not who I am."
"I know."
"Do you? Because since we got here, you've been treating me like cargo to be protected."
"You need to be protected. You're the only witness to their vulnerability."
"I'm a person, not evidence." She steps into my space. "I have skills. I can help. I'm not going to sit here like some princess in a tower while you—"
I kiss her. Hard, possessive, swallowing the rest of it. When I pull back, we're both breathing fast.
"You're not a princess." My mouth is still against hers. "You're a warrior who doesn't know how to fight yet. There's a difference."
"Then teach me."
No hesitation. Not asking to be saved—asking to be armed.
"Tomorrow," I tell her. "Sunrise. Basic firearms, then we work up."
"And tonight?" Her hands slide up my chest. "I need sleep, but I need something else first."
"What's that?"
"You." Her fingers find my belt. "Preferably multiple times. In multiple positions."
Christ.
"That's quite the bedtime request."
"I'm quite the woman." She's already working my buckle free. "Or haven't you noticed?"
"Oh, I've noticed."
She grins—wicked and wanting. "Then stop talking and take me to bed."
"Bossy."
"You love it."
I do, but I need to establish something first.
I catch her wrists as she reaches for my zipper. "We do this my way."
Her pupils blow wide. "Which means?"
"I'm in control." I release one wrist to cup her face. "Always. That's not negotiable."
She holds the look for a long moment—assessing, deciding. She just armed herself against an international criminal syndicate and sat across from me while the timer ticked. She's not afraid of anything right now.
"Definitely." The grin turns bright and filthy. "I like you in charge. Makes me wet when you go all commanding."
"Fuck, Wren."
"That's the idea."
I pull her to the bedroom.
The belt comes out first. I thread it through the headboard slats and secure her wrists above her—not tight enough to cut, tight enough that she feels it when she tests it. She tests it immediately. The low sound she makes when the leather holds sends heat straight down my spine.
"Stay."
"I'm not a dog." But she stops pulling.
"No." I drag my mouth down her throat, slow enough to make her arch into me. "You're mine. Different thing entirely."