Chapter 1

Chapter One

Kane

U ndisclosed Location in

The Middle East

Two Weeks Ago

The crosshairs hovered steadily over the target, the world beyond the scope dissolving into a blur of muted colors. Kane's breath was shallow and measured, his heart rate almost nonexistent. His hands, large and calloused from years of holding the cold steel of a sniper rifle, remained as steady as they had been during his first kill. The early morning sun was beginning to rise over the jagged hills of the Syrian desert, casting long, dark shadows over the landscape, but Kane's eyes were focused solely on the man in his sights.

The target—a high-ranking insurgent leader—stood oblivious to his impending death. He was flanked by two guards, but Kane had been watching them for hours. Their patterns, their small talk, the way they leaned on their rifles when they thought no one was looking. Amateurs. He had seen it all before. Kane gently squeezed the trigger, feeling the familiar resistance of the finely tuned weapon beneath his finger. There was no rush, no hesitation—only the finality of what came next.

The shot rang out, a single, sharp crack that echoed across the barren landscape. Through the scope, Kane watched the man drop to the ground, his life snuffed out in an instant. His guards stood frozen, processing the death of their leader before instinct kicked in, and they scattered like frightened deer.

Kane remained motionless, his eye still pressed against the scope, tracking the movements of the survivors as they scrambled for cover. But they were no longer his concern. His mission was complete.

He eased off the trigger, taking a moment to breathe in deeply, feeling the cool morning air fill his lungs. The distant sounds of the desert began to fade back in, and with it, the realization that this was the last time he would ever have to do this. This was his final assignment, the last time he would feel the cold kiss of his rifle against his cheek.

It had been years—decades, even—of solitary missions, silent kills, and long stretches of waiting in the most desolate places on Earth. The Marines had been his life, his purpose. But now, that was over. He'd put in his twenty years, and it was time for something new. The Marines had given him discipline and a family of sorts, but from the time he'd become a sniper, his connection to other people had begun to distance him from them.

It had infected all areas of his life, including sex. He'd found he didn't have the time or patience to connect with a woman via the normal dating patterns. A friend had introduced him to the D/s lifestyle and to clubs that catered to those who needed to control and dominate in their sexual encounters, not really connect. He'd been like a man dying of thirst who'd stumbled on an oasis. Kane had trained and become an excellent practitioner, but still, he didn't really connect to the subs he played with. He never played without a contract and was not known as a Dom who provided any kind of emotional aftercare.

As he packed away his gear with methodical precision, there was no relief, no sense of accomplishment. There was only the cold, stark realization that he had always been alone.

Kane moved through the arid terrain, every footstep measured and careful. The extraction point was miles away, but the journey didn't bother him. In fact, he relished the quiet walk through the desert, a place that had become more of a home to him than any city ever would be. The isolation was familiar, a comfort that he understood better than human connection. And yet, the horizon loomed ahead—a tantalizing glimpse as to what his life might be. The question remained: did he want that life, or did he merely want to sink into a civilian life where he played at clubs and perhaps became a professor of history at an obscure university?

As he reached the extraction point, a dull whirring filled the air. The helicopter appeared on the horizon, a dark speck growing larger with each passing second. Kane watched it approach, his face an impassive mask. He was leaving, but there was no one waiting for him. No comrades to pat him on the back, no farewell party. Just the usual silent extraction, a quick flight to the base, and a signature on a piece of paper—his discharge paper, which would mark the end of this period of his life.

The helicopter touched down, the blades kicking up a whirlwind of sand and grit. Kane approached without hesitation, ducking under the rotor wash as he climbed inside. The door slammed shut behind him, sealing him off from the world he had known for so long.

The flight back to the base was uneventful. The pilot said nothing, and Kane didn't bother with small talk. He stared out the window as the desert passed beneath them, a sea of endless dunes and rocky outcrops. It was beautiful, in a harsh, unforgiving way. But it was also empty. Like him. The only time he felt as though he had anything to offer to another person—or even himself—was when he was topping a woman at one of the clubs he frequented.

When they finally landed at the base, Kane stepped out and headed directly to the debriefing room. The process was routine—he handed over his gear, answered a few perfunctory questions from a young officer who seemed more interested in his paperwork than the man in front of him, and then he was done. His papers were signed, and with them, his life as a Marine sniper was officially over.

Kane walked out of the building; his duffel bag slung over one shoulder. The base was bustling with activity, but it was all just noise to him. He made his way to the transport terminal, where a bus would take him to the nearest airport. As he waited, he scanned the area, his eyes searching for anyone he might know. But there was no one. No one had come to see him off, to shake his hand, or wish him well.

He was truly alone.

The bus arrived, and Kane boarded it without a word. He found a seat at the back, away from the other passengers, and settled in for the long ride. The exhaustion that had been building up over the years was finally catching up with him. He leaned his head against the window, closing his eyes as the bus rumbled along the dusty road.

By the time they reached the airport, Kane felt like a ghost drifting through the motions. He checked in for his flight, passed through security, and made his way to the gate. Everything was a blur of monotonous routine. But when he boarded the plane, something unexpected happened.

"Kane?"

The voice was deep and authoritative, with a strong Scottish accent. It cut through the fog of his exhaustion like the proverbial hot knife through butter. Kane looked up to see Robert Fitzwallace, a former SAS commando and CEO of Cerberus—a highly respected, and some said feared, black ops, intelligence, and security firm. Fitz was a tall, imposing man with a presence that commanded attention.

"Fitz," Kane said, his voice betraying a hint of surprise.

Fitz was the last person Kane had expected to find. The last time they crossed paths had been in London, at the private lifestyle club, Baker Street, which also served as Cerberus' headquarters. The club catered to a very specific clientele, and Fitz was the top Dom and owner the club with his wife, JJ. Kane had rarely been to London, but when he had, Baker Street had provided him not only with a place to indulge but a place to stay. Kane didn't necessarily consider Fitz to be a friend, but they were friendly, and the former SAS officer had seemed to take an interest in him. An interest that was now making itself known once more.

"It's been a while," Fitz said, a slight smile playing at the corners of his lips. "I almost didn't recognize you."

"Same here," Kane replied, though that wasn't entirely true. Fitz was a hard man to forget, with his salt-and-pepper hair, chiseled features, and piercing blue eyes. He had the air of someone who was used to getting what he wanted.

"I heard you were on this flight," Fitz continued, "and I thought we might have a chat. Why don't you join me in First Class?"

Kane hesitated, glancing down at his economy-class ticket. He wasn't one for luxuries, and the idea of spending the flight in a plush seat with a glass of champagne didn't appeal to him. But Fitz wasn't the kind of man you refused.

"Sure," Kane said, finally nodding.

The upgrade was smooth, and before long, Kane was seated next to Fitz in the spacious, quiet cabin at the front of the plane. The other passengers barely registered them, too absorbed in their own world of newspapers and pre-flight drinks.

"Do me a favor," Fitz rumbled at the flight attendant. "Find me the best single malt you have on the plane and keep them coming."

"Of course, Mr. Fitzwallace. Mrs. Fitzwallace called to let us know you would be joining us and had a bottle of your favorite delivered to the plane. I'll see that it's opened and served to you straight away."

Kane watched the flight attendant's shapely backside head back down the aisle. "JJ spoils you."

Fitz chuckled. "Aye, lad, that she does, but having the scotch delivered is more about letting the flight attendants know I'm a married man than it is to seeing about my creature comforts. But as long as she makes sure I'm getting good scotch, I don't much care what her motivations are. But I didn't fly all this way—and on a commercial jet, mind you—to talk about my wife. I came here to find you."

The hairs on the back of Kane's neck stood up. "Why might that be?"

"Easy, lad. Nothing nefarious. I've been keeping tabs on you," Fitz said. His tone was casual, but there was an underlying edge to it. "I know you've just finished your last tour. It's quite a career you've had."

"Something like that," Kane replied noncommittally. He wasn't in the mood to reminisce, especially not about the countless lives he had taken.

Fitz leaned back in his seat, studying Kane with a calculating gaze. "What's next for you?"

Kane shrugged. "Haven't thought about it much. Go home, maybe. Finish my degree. Figure things out."

"And then what? Live out the rest of your days in quiet solitude?" Fitz's voice was probing, like he was peeling back the layers of Kane's soul and searching for something.

"Maybe," Kane said, though he knew it was a lie. He couldn't picture himself living a normal life, blending into the background. It wasn't who he was, but the only life he'd known was the military, and he was putting that life behind him.

Fitz seemed to sense this. He nodded thoughtfully, then leaned in slightly. "I have an offer for you."

Kane didn't respond, but his eyes flicked to Fitz's, signaling his interest.

"I'm going to assume you know something about Cerberus," Fitz continued.

"Something," said Kane noncommittally. "One doesn't play at Baker Street and not know at least something about Cerberus. It's not like any of you are trying to make a big secret of it."

Fitz nodded and smiled wryly. "That's true. The lads are able to let their hair down, so to speak. No one talks about anything openly or shares confidential information, but they don't have to hide who they are or what they're about. We handle situations that governments can't—or won't—deal with. Off the books, under the radar. It's the kind of work you're used to, but with a bit more… autonomy."

Kane narrowed his eyes. "Why me?"

"Because you're the best," Fitz said simply. "And because I know you're not ready to walk away. Not yet."

"You don't know that."

"Oh, but I do."

Kane couldn't really argue with that. He had been a Marine for so long that he was having trouble imagining a life without some kind of mission, some kind of purpose. But he also knew that Fitz wasn't just offering him a job. This was a recruitment, and with it would come obligations, commitments that Kane wasn't sure he wanted to make.

"What's the catch?" Kane asked.

"No catch," Fitz said with a shrug. "Just a job that needs doing. Think of it as a way to keep your skills sharp while figuring out what you really want. A way for you to test the waters and for me to see if you're as good a fit as I believe you to be. You do know, I'm rarely wrong about these things."

Kane considered it for a moment. Fitz was right—he wasn't sure he was really ready to walk away completely. And the idea of working for Cerberus intrigued him. It wasn't the same as the Marines, but it was close enough.

"All right," Kane said finally. "I'm in."

Fitz's smile widened, a rare expression of genuine pleasure. "Good. We'll get you set up as soon as we land."

The rest of the flight passed in relative silence, with Fitz offering a few details about Cerberus and its operations. But Kane's mind was already racing ahead, thinking about what the future might hold. This wasn't what he had expected when he left the Marine Corps, but it felt right. It felt like the natural next step.

When they landed in Chicago, Fitz and Kane were whisked away in a private car to Cerberus' American headquarters--Club Southside. The building was unassuming from the outside—just another old brick warehouse in a neighborhood full of them. But inside, it was a different story.

The security was tight but unobtrusive. To the right was a sort of grand staircase and an elegant, vintage elevator—both of which could take you up to Cerberus' operational hub and safe rooms. To the left was a massive set of double doors, which led to the interior of the club and its dungeon.

Kane was led to the elevator, where Fitz used his thumbprint to engage it and hit the button for the floor where Kane assumed the offices were located. When the car stopped and doors swooshed open, it was all Kane could do not to whistle in appreciation. It looked like a cross between a war room and a high-tech office. Monitors lined the walls, displaying real-time data feeds from around the world, while a group of analysts sat at workstations, monitoring everything from terrorist movements to corporate espionage.

"This is where the magic happens," Fitz said as they entered the room. "But you won't be spending much time here. Your work will be in the field."

Kane nodded, taking it all in. He had expected something impressive, but this was on another level. Cerberus wasn't just some back-alley operation—it was a well-oiled machine with resources and reach that rivaled most and exceeded some governments.

"Your first assignment is already lined up," Fitz said, handing Kane a tablet. "It's in Syria. I know you're familiar with the region."

Kane took the tablet and scanned the briefing. It was a straightforward mission—join an archeological dig being run by another operative's sister. There was a rumor that the dig was being targeted by both the local militia and any number of terrorist groups. But there was more to it than that. Kane could read between the lines. This was about more than just protecting the woman; it was about sending a message to the militia, letting them know that Cerberus was watching.

"I'm not crazy about this," Kane admitted, handing the tablet back to Fitz. "It feels… personal."

"It is," Fitz agreed. "But that doesn't make it any less important. And if you do this, it'll help build trust with the team. They need to know they can rely on you, and you need to know you can rely on them."

Kane thought about that for a moment. He wasn't used to working with a team. His years as a sniper had taught him to operate alone, to trust only himself. But he also knew that if he was going to make this work, he would have to adapt. He would have to build relationships, something he had avoided for so long.

"Fine," Kane said. "I'll do it."

Fitz nodded, satisfied. "Good man. You leave next week. Meanwhile, you're welcome to stay here, or we can put you up in a five-star hotel. As a member of Cerberus and a man who already has play privileges at Baker Street, you are cleared to play here, as well. I think you'll find the subs here are on a par with those at Baker Street."

"I'd prefer to stay here."

"Good man. I'll have someone see you to your room and let them know you may be playing here tonight. The kitchen is already open. You can call down and have anything you like sent up or head down to the lounge to eat. I'll make sure everyone knows to expect you."

Kane didn't say anything more as he was led to his quarters. The room was large and luxurious. He had to admire Fitz's style and that the room contained all the amenities he would need for the night. He dropped his bag on the bed and sat down, running a hand through his short, dark hair.

As he stared at the blank wall in front of him, Kane felt the weight of everything that had happened in the last twenty-four hours. He had gone from being a Marine sniper, alone in the desert, to joining an elite organization with global reach. It was a lot to process, but Kane wasn't one for introspection. He knew what he had to do, and he would do it.

But as he laid down to grab a little shut eye, his mind drifted back to the desert, to the quiet solitude of his last mission. He had been alone for so long that he had forgotten what it felt like to be part of something larger than himself. Now, he was about to find out.

Tomorrow, he would begin a new chapter of his life, one filled with uncertainty and danger. But for the first time in a long time, Kane didn't feel alone. He felt… something else. Something that he couldn't quite name but knew he needed.

And with that thought, he closed his eyes and let sleep take him, knowing that when he woke, the world would be waiting for him to make his mark once more.