Six
The gear-up room smelled of sweat, soap, and paint. Walls lined with lockers and hanging gear gave the space an industrial feel, but someone had tried to brighten it: neon graffiti tags wrapped around exposed beams, and an old boombox in the corner played a steady rhythm of reggaeton. Fluorescent strips flickered overhead, casting an uneven glow as Kiki pulled open a wire locker and handed Nikos a padded vest and face shield.
“You’re gonna want this, this, and this,” she said, tossing him a dark-blue jersey, chest protector, shin guards, and a few other pieces. “Those welts are no joke.”
He caught each piece one-handed, fluid as ever, and started to unbutton his wool coat. She grimaced when she saw his clothing—but he didn’t hesitate as he stripped down to the black undershirt beneath, revealing lean muscle.
She looked away, pretending to focus on loading neon pink paintballs into her hopper.
God, he has no right to look this good.
“Jose, Pedro, and Luis built this place a few years ago,” she said casually, needing the distraction. “They partner with a non-profit that helps keep kids off the streets. This gives them something to do. Something that feels powerful, without being destructive.”
Nikos nodded, pulling the vest over his head. “That’s smart. Keeps their energy focused. Gives them a pack that doesn’t require a blood oath.”
She glanced at him sideways. “That’s… surprisingly insightful for a billionaire.”
“I try to be more than my bank account,” he murmured.
There wasn’t a hint of ego in his tone. She liked that. He was infuriatingly magnetic.
Her stomach did a weird twist as she stepped into her own padded jumpsuit, tugging the zipper up. She grabbed gloves and extra CO2 cartridges, placing them in her utility belt, then passed Nikos a chest rig with loaded pods.
He clipped it with the experience of an expert. He wasn’t a novice when it came to handling weapons.
Maybe he’s more than just the brains behind his security firm,she thought, pausing to watch him.
“You’ve done this before,” she said.
He shrugged. “Used to play in tactical drills.”
Her fingers froze mid-strap. “Military?”
He hesitated, then nodded. “Six years. My brother Markos and a few of our friends joined up together.”
She blinked, caught off guard. “Seriously?”
“Yeah. We were… well, let’s just say discipline wasn’t our strong suit growing up. Too much money. Too little accountability. It took nearly dying on a ski trip in the Alps to realize we needed areset.”
He chuckled, but it didn’t reach his eyes.
She tilted her head. “What happened?”
His jaw worked for a second before he looked past her, through the thick plexiglass to the field. On the other side, two players were helping a third limp behind a bunker.
Something flickered in his expression. Something haunted.
“Some risks change you,” he said at last.
Kiki swallowed hard, the air thickening. She knew that look. That haunted distance. She’d seen it in her own reflection—and in Brie’s eyes.
It made something soft and stupid in her twist with compassion—and fear.
She couldn’t afford to care. Not like that. Not for anyone.
There were too many powerful people who would use her emotions against her.
Before she could say another word, Jose popped his head in. “Kiki! You’re up. Got a fresh team waiting—six players. It’s a larger team than normal, but I figure you can handle them.”
