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18. Kai

EIGHTEEN

Kai

Terminator shut me in a suffocatingly small room with bare walls and a single flickering light overhead casting eerie shadows across the floor. I was in a cold chair handcuffed to a metal table, my gaze fixed on the door as I awaited Indigo. I had to forget being Kai and channel the alter ego I was running on this op, but that didn't mean I couldn't be on edge sitting in here. They'd taken my watch and phone—I'd expected that, and they smashed them, and then my gun was taken from me. Again, expected. I hoped to hell I got my baby back—I loved that gun in a non-romantic, it-saved-my-life kind of way.

When Indigo entered, flanked by two guards, neither of which was Terminator, I kept my expression to that of a pissed-off criminal who hated being locked up. I couldn't help but take stock of their weaponry—the guns strapped to their chests, the bulge of an ankle holster, the telltale signs of concealed knives. They were decked out to hurt, and I figured they were ex-special forces from the way they stayed silent and still. There was no posturing, just a lethal presence that made the hairs at the back of my neck stand on end.

I respected their potential skills, which meant I knew how to take them down if needed.

Indigo herself was a force to be reckoned with, her presence commanding attention as she took the chair opposite mine. Her hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail, her expression unreadable as she studied me with sharp eyes.

I couldn't resist a jibe, despite the gravity of the situation. "Room service is shit," I remarked, my tone dripping with sarcasm as I met Indigo's narrow-eyed stare head-on.

She watched me in silence for a moment before speaking. "Kevin David Raynes, aka KD," she said, her voice cool and composed. "Parents deceased, no siblings."

I raised an eyebrow, allowing a flicker of surprise to cross my features—I knew my cover was solid, no mention of me as Kai, it was all KD Raynes. "Yeah, that's me," I admitted with a shrug. "A loner, through and through."

Indigo leaned back in her chair, studying me with an intensity that sent a shiver down my spine. " Dishonorable discharge from 427 Squadron," she continued her voice like ice. "One stint in military jail."

"Haven't we done this already when I hit town looking for you? Y'know, the day you had your goons tie me to a chair and beat the shit out of me?" That had been a bad introduction to Kozlov's second, but I'd stayed conscious and had earned my way into their trust.

Twisted, awful trust. Zach had cleaned me up, silent and watchful, but I'd gotten the introduction, and it had only taken four days for the bruising to subside. At least they hadn't killed me—I called that a win, but Zach was too far gone into being angry with me to respond with a smile to my joke.

Turned out he didn't want me to get beaten up.

"Fond memories," Indigo said with a smile. "You bled so prettily."

I clenched my jaw, letting the memories of supposed past transgressions flood back, my expression showing painful clarity. Let's hope the backstory stuck, however much I hated it.

"Of course I did," I said with a heavy dose of sarcasm.

Indigo regarded me with a mixture of humor and curiosity, her stare piercing. I wondered whether she would be the one who saw through the facade Shadow Team had constructed. "You stayed in town, though?" she asked, her tone deceptively soft.

I met her focus unflinchingly, refusing to back down in the face of her scrutiny. "I need the money. I stayed, and now you need a pilot," I said, my voice steady.

My HK was out of reach, nearer her than me. I could go for it, take her out, or one guard, but that wasn't the point of this, and I held myself still.

"Nice gun, but not as nice as this," she murmured, her hand blurred into motion, producing a gleaming knife she twisted between her fingers.

With a flick of her wrist, she let the knife fly, the sharp whistle of its passage cutting through the air like a razor's edge. It embedded itself in the wall behind me, the force of its impact a low thud .

For a moment, I froze, my mind racing to catch up with the reality of what had happened. Indigo's display of skill showed me what she could do, and I had a begrudging respect for her prowess with the blade. We knew going in that she was a formidable opponent, left a trail of bodies, and wasn't one to be underestimated.

I met Indigo's gaze head-on, my expression a mask of determination. "Nice throw," I said, my voice betraying none of the unease that churned within me. "But I'll stick with my HK, if you don't mind."

Indigo's lips curved into a smirk, her eyes glittering with amusement. "Suit yourself," she replied, her tone tinged with a hint of mockery. "Just remember, knives never run out of bullets."

"But you only get one chance with a knife," I murmured .

She retrieved her blade from the wall, and in the next moment, it was caressing my throat, then harder, so I was sure there would be blood.

Stay still.

For a moment, there was silence, but then she moved the blade and twirled it once more before sliding it into the sheath at her waist.

"Let him go."

The guards moved forward, one unlocking my handcuffs and releasing me from my restraints, the other handing me my gun.

I watched as Indigo and her guards exited the room, leaving the door open.

"With me," she ordered.

I took a moment to check my weapon, ensuring it was still loaded and ready. The familiar weight of it felt reassuring in my hand and with a practiced motion, I weaved it between my fingers, mimicking the fluid motion of Indigo's knife. The metal gleamed in the dim light as it spun through the air and when the gun came to rest in my hand, I holstered it with a sense of quiet satisfaction. I may not prefer knives over guns, but I was no stranger to their use—and if push came to shove, I knew I could hold my own in a fight.

With a final glance around the room, I squared my shoulders and followed Indigo and her two thugs down the corridor as it branched left and widened into a comm room I would never have expected in the middle of a forest—it wasn't quite on the same level with Swim Central, but there had to be one fucking huge-ass generator to power all of this.

What my team back home wouldn't give to get their hands on all the intel likely stored in here.

Indigo settled into a chair at a wide desk and gestured for me to sit next to her.

"There's a shipment leaving tomorrow night," she said, her voice low and measured. "You're up flying out the cargo."

I arched an eyebrow, my mind racing even as I maintained a calm exterior. "And what exactly is this shipment?" I asked, my tone neutral. "Weight, destination, fuel, co-pilot, special instructions?"

Indigo's lips curved into a sly smile, as if she relished the challenge of keeping me in the dark. "All in good time, KD," she replied. "You'll have all the details you need before you take off."

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes, frustration bubbling beneath the surface as I struggled to maintain my composure—undercover or not, this wasn't how things were done. "I need intel," I insisted, my voice firm but controlled. "I can't fly blind into a situation like this. What are we dealing with? I need to calculate fuel, to assess co-pilot skill. I won't crash my baby into the side of a mountain because I was unprepared."

For a moment, there was silence between us, the tension thickening with each passing second, interrupted only when Terminator walked in and leaned against the wall. But then, with a sharp nod, Indigo relented, her lips curving into a smile. She patted my knee. And was it just me, or did the touch linger? Jeez. No.

"Fine," she conceded, her tone begrudging, and gave me a figure. "The location is need-to-know for now. You'll get that an hour before you leave. Your co-pilot is Yuri." Terminator stepped forward. Was he the co-pilot? Damn. I was hoping for some unarmed wannabe who wouldn't know if it went off-plan. Instead, I got six-six of badass blond-haired merc.

"VVS. Ka-52," Yuri said in strongly accented English.

I nodded —Russian Air Force, advanced Russian attack helicopter pilot— and respect passed between us. He was built like a brick outhouse, and his grip on his rifle was strong. His expression was unreadable, his gray eyes shuttered, and we shook hands.

"427," I replied.

He inclined his head ; I did the same, and that was it. We'd achieved an acknowledged level of bad-guy bonding. I deserve an Oscar for this.

"Any additional instructions?" I pressed Indigo, unwilling to leave anything to chance. "Security protocols, contingency plans, anything at all?"

Indigo regarded me with a calculating gaze, weighing the pros and cons of divulging more information.

"All in good time," she said, her words heavy with what sounded like a warning. "This shipment is more valuable than you might imagine—and there are those who would stop at nothing to get their hands on it."

"My price has gone up."

She laughed and had her knife against my chest in an instant. No one moved.

"Your price stays the same, and you get to live," she said.

I shrugged then. "I can work with that."

She nodded as if that was what she needed to hear—me backing down, and her closing the argument at the end of a blade.

"The helo is tracked. If the pilot veers off course and tries to steal cargo, we have countermeasures on board." She stepped closer, that damn knife at my chest again. "We pay good money to ensure you stay on task, otherwise…"

"Boom," I deadpanned.

"Exactly," she said.

"And how do you explain a huge explosion to the military?"

She raised an eyebrow as if it surprised her I'd thought that far ahead. "We have strategies for that, but you? Well, you'd be dead." She then gestured at the big Russian hovering next to her. "Yuri will show you where the bunks are; he'll also watch you."

I grinned at the big Russian, then punched him on the arm. "Snuggle buddies," I deadpanned. He scowled down at me, and I bit my lip.

Undercover was fun.

And at least this time, I hadn't gotten beaten up.

Yet.

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