Hogan’s hand stilled, but he didn’t move away.“And what do you do with it all?”
Kai met his eyes.“We give some of it away.Charities.Trusts.Medical programs.We funnel it into communities, into places that need it.We take lives, sure—but we try to save more than we destroy.”
“Try?”Hogan’s voice was sharp.
Kai pushed himself up on one elbow.“We’re not blind.There’s blood on our hands.We don’t deny it.But we have rules.A code.And we live by it.”
Hogan arched a brow.“Spell it out.”
Kai nodded slowly.“We don’t take contracts on innocent civilians—no cheating exes, no insurance claims, nothing without cause.Ever.We don’t kill for politics we do not support or for profit alone.The only people who die at our hands are those who would take hundreds more with them—traffickers, warlords, corrupt officials running networks that prey on the weak.We run every job through our filters, check every angle.If it doesn’t pass, we walk.”
He paused, letting it hang there.“Our code is simple.Protect those who can’t protect themselves.Strike only when the outcome saves more lives than it takes.Never betray your own.And never, ever, leave innocents behind.”
Hogan studied him in the dim light.“You kill for money.And you make yourselves sound like some kind of Robin Hood gang with guns.”
“Not Robin Hood,” Kai said flatly.“We’re not heroes.We’re a scalpel.We cut out the rot before it spreads.”
For a long beat, the only sound was the rain hammering the roof.Hogan finally spoke.“Do you know what dead reckoning is?”
Kai blinked.“I’ve heard the term.”
Hogan’s mouth twitched, the ghost of a smile.“Navigation.Pilots use it when we can’t rely on instruments or visuals.You figure your position by where you’ve been, how fast you’re going, and what direction you’re heading.It’s not perfect.It’s instinct, math, and faith all rolled together.It keeps you alive when the world around you is dark and full of lies.”
Kai listened, the explanation sitting heavy in his chest.
“That’s what this feels like,” Hogan said, his voice dropping low.“You and Black Tide.Me and the Pathfinders.Bravo.All of us.We’re making choices in the dark, guessing at where the hell we are.But the point is we’re still moving forward.Still aiming to land somewhere better.Maybe you killed bad guys in the past for money, maybe we killed them under a flag.End of the day, the blood washes the same.What matters is who we’re trying to protect.”
Kai swallowed hard.“So, you’re saying you’re okay with it?With me?”
Hogan reached out, his hand closing over Kai’s jaw.“I’m saying I get it.It’s not clean.It never is.But if dead reckoning is all we’ve got, then I trust yours as much as my own.”
The silence that followed wasn’t empty.It was full, layered with things neither of them could quite say yet.The rain pressed harder against the van, wrapping them in sound.Kai let out a slow breath, sinking back into Hogan’s chest, feeling the steady thump of his heart.
For the first time in a long time, the storm outside felt like it belonged to someone else.Here, in the dim glow of their little cocoon, they were exactly where they needed to be.
****
The penthouse reekedof excess—glass walls, marble floors, a city spread out beneath him like prey waiting to be taken.Sergei Antonov stood by the window, a tumbler of vodka in his hand, his reflection staring back with the hard lines of frustration and fury.The fucking Pathfinders and their Hawaiian friends had gutted his operation here.One mansion burned, seventy-five percent of his men cut down.A blow, yes—but not the end.He still had money, and money meant power.
The secure line on the desk pulsed.He crossed the room and pressed the receiver to his ear.A voice greeted him, flattened and warped by a computer.The DEA agent.His inside man.He had no idea why the man insisted on the voice distorter.They had met face to face on occasion.
“You failed,” the distorted voice said.“The Pathfinders and Black Tide all walked away, and too many on your side were lost.”
Antonov’s lips peeled back from his teeth.“We lost soldiers, not the war.They bled, too.But now ...now we plan the strike that ends them.”
“They’re strong.Too strong to take head-on.Wait.Build back your numbers.Strike when they’re off guard,” the agent countered.
“No.”Antonov slammed his glass down hard enough to crack the glass.“They think themselves victorious, celebrating even now, I am sure.I will not give them time to breathe.I will cut their throats while they laugh over their dinner.You will send men.Reinforcements.Weapons.You owe me this.”
A pause.Then the synthetic voice replied, “If we move too fast, we risk exposure.My superiors—”
“Your superiors are nothing,” Antonov snapped.“I am not asking.I am telling.I need men, and you will provide them.Unless you want the Bratya to advise your superiors to look closer at your role in this.Do you?Do not think that you hold all the cards.”
The silence that followed was brittle, angry.At last.“Fine.I’ll send what I can.But you hide this from the others.If the Bratya heads know you’ve bled this badly, they will replace you.”
Antonov smiled coldly.“They will know only that I wiped the Pathfinders from this earth.They will see their bodies, piled high, and they will sing my name in Moscow.”
“And the bait?”the agent asked.
