Opening my email, I quickly type an email to my editor, Carl.
Subject: Possible story — disappearances near pipeline
There might be more here than just relocation. A local woman told me about a village where everyone has disappeared. Including her daughter. The military is assisting in relocating villagers to make way for the pipeline, but there are rumors of resistance, fear, and force. I’m going to dig deeper and see what I can find. Photos attached from today.
I attach a few of the shots I took earlier: the trucks, the soldiers helping families, the tired faces of people being moved from their homes. After hitting send, I lean back, and the chair creaks under me. I fire off one more email requesting a Humvee and protection detail for tomorrow, planning to visit the village Adeya informed me about and see what I can learn about Nia.
With my fingers tightly gripping the armrests of the plane’s leather seats, the private jet hums low, slicing through the clouds on our descent into Chicago. The city’s lights flicker faintly on the horizon, but my thoughts are still on the mission in Dubai. It was supposed to be an easy protection detail for a high-profile businessman—I use the term loosely—not a barrage of gunfights trying to keep the dirty bastard alive long enough for him to make a few billion dollars before returning him to London.
The rumble beneath me deepens when the wheels hit the runway with a muted thud, jostling the plane. The subtle jolt travels through my body, snapping me back to the reality that I am home.Another loose term. Home has become a complicated word for me over the years, with more days spent flying around the world and living in foreign countries than in the Midwest.
When I step off the jet and onto the tarmac, Damon is already waiting. He’s leaning against a blacked-out Tahoe with his arms crossed. There is a stiffness to his stance, afamiliarity from our old days that is comforting in a way few things are these days. His eyes catch mine, and he offers a lopsided smirk, equal parts greeting and business. “Back in one piece,” he teasingly mocks, his deep voice cutting through the noise around us.
“I’d be a pretty fucking shitty team leader if I weren’t,” I retort, meeting his smirk with a tired grin.
After tossing my bag into the back of the SUV, I slide into the passenger seat as Damon gets behind the wheel. He drives fast—as always—the city passing in a blur of hustling pedestrians and yellow cabs. Damon breaks the silence, giving me a rundown I didn’t ask for but need. “Jagger just wrapped up his job in Brussels. He should be landing this evening.”
I nod, pleased that he survived the babysitting mission I sent him on. He is a bit of a wildcard—an unstoppable force, with an inability to always use his brain-mouth filter—but he apparently survived. At least, I didn’t hear anything from the A-lister’s publicist about him, so I’m going to assume he bit his tongue a lot.Maybe clear off.
“Gunnar was cleared by the doc yesterday,” Damon adds. Having taken a bullet to the shoulder a few months ago in Mexico City, he has been out of commission for far too long. “He’s good to go. No restrictions.”
“Mentally?” I ask. The last thing we need is for one of us to be carrying baggage—physical or emotional—that slows us down.
Damon smiles, flipping on the turn signal. “Itching to shoot someone. Pretty sure his go-bag was packed before the appointment.”
I laugh as we come to a stop before the office, Aegis Tactical Solutions. From the outside, it looks no different than the buildings surrounding it. The reception area sits just inside the main door. Behind it are cubicles, a meeting room for us to speak with clients, and normal run-of-the-mill office fixtures. But when you venture to the other floors, it’s a different world—a state-of-the-art fitness center, combat training areas, and even a gun range in our basement.
Over the past few years, Aegis Tactical Solutions has carved out a reputation as the premier private military and security firm in the country. On paper, I might be the founder and president, but it wouldn’t have the reputation it does without Jagger, Gunnar, and Damon at my side. The three of them joined me without hesitation after our service, when Aegis was nothing more than an idea I thought up in my shitty one-bedroom apartment.
On the surface, the business appears to be entirely legitimate. Nearly all the staff work on government contracts, with multinational corporations, and cover big-ticket private security jobs.
Then there are the jobs my brothers-in-arms and company co-founders handle behind the scenes—smuggling shipments, weapons runs, and discreet extractions for clients who can’t be named—the kind of work that doesn’t hit the news but keeps the world turning and provides us a lot of off-the-books favors. It’s the dirty laundry no one wants to claim, but everyone depends on.
I pull the door open and step inside to be welcomed by the sterile hum of the lobby. The receptionist greets us as Damon and I walk toward the elevators, both of us giving her a polite nod.
When the elevator cab reaches the executive floor, we’re met with the buzz of electronics, freshly brewed dark roast coffee, and the faint—yet distinct—aroma of gun oil from recent weapons maintenance. Abby is seated at the workstation in her office, perched behind a bank of screens that display schedules, manifests, and incoming requests. Her fingers fly over the keyboard as she juggles a dozen tasks at once. “Welcome back, Hawk. How was Dubai?” She breaks eye contact with the screen just long enough to playfully bat her eyelashes at me. “Bring me anything?”
“Dubai was good. Easy. No surprises.” I peel off my jacket and drop it on the back of the chair beside me. From my bag, I pull out a small package and place it on her desk. “And of course I did. I know better than to go to Dubai and not bring back Pistachio Kataifi.”
“You have us well-trained, Abbs,” Damon adds with a smirk, stepping into the office as Abby moans around the piece of chocolate in her mouth. “You want me to grab Mattis?”
“I’ll get him.” I chuckle, watching Abby shovel another bit of chocolate into her mouth.
Down the hall, I find Mattis tucked into the corner of his office, half-buried behind monitors and wires snaking across the floor. He is our resident tech wizard, who happens to have a panache for accessing information he shouldn’t. “Hey, Mattis.” I knock on the door, and his eyes dart from the information-filled screens to me. “We’re all heading to the conference room.”
“Right behind you, boss.” He pushes back from his desk and crosses the office toward me. He bears a slight limpfrom the prosthesis, but over the years, he has become so comfortable with it that you’d think he’d had it his entire life.
The whole team converges in the conference room. It’s a minimalist space with slate walls, a long espresso-wood table polished to a mirror sheen, and a full wall of floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city’s sprawling skyline. Gunnar, Damon, Mattis, and I gather around the table with Jagger joining us via video conference. Abby stands at the whiteboard—covered in maps and timelines—launching into a rundown of the upcoming jobs. They are mostly security details: business executives traveling overseas, celebrities needing discreet protection during tours, and other standard fare.
I cut her off before she can finish, “Give those to the juniors. Jagger, Gunnar, Damon, and I don’t need to waste time babysitting spoiled rich kids or dealing with their entourage drama.”
“Thank fuck.” Damon laughs from across the table, shaking his head. “The last A-lister I had to watch lost his shit every time the hotel couldn’t procure the correct type of oranges he likes. And no, don’t ask me what the fuck that means.”
Abby rolls her eyes but nods, bringing up the roster of junior operatives. “Fine. You guys keep the heavy hitters. The rest go to the rookies.”
I lean back in my chair, watching the glow of the skyline ripple across the windowpane. “So, no jobs for us, Abby?”
“Nope. Nothing since you’re”—she air quotes—“too good to babysit.”
