Chapter One

Kane

I didn't look back as the gates slid shut behind me, didn't bother glancing up at the tower to see the high-powered rifles aiming in my direction, just walked to the guardhouse. They were expecting me, obviously, but they still behaved like entitled dicks. I just stayed silent. Only ten more minutes and I would be free, and I wasn't giving them a chance to change their dammed minds. Not that I was on parole. I was done completely. Which was why they were all trying really hard to get me to give them a good excuse to lock me away for life.

Seventeen years for assault with a deadly weapon, except I was the deadly weapon, even if the fucker that called himself my father was trying to add another scar to my back at the time. Because I had fought back for the first time in my sixteen and a half years, and because I already had a scar on my face, the jury had taken one look, dismissed the self-defense plea, and Georgia had tried me as an adult and thrown away the key.

"Your ride's waiting," O'Connell said and handed me my new ID with a smirk on his face. I resisted, barely, the sudden urge to wipe it off, knowing he wanted just that. O'Connell had been transferred to Ware Correctional four years ago and had tried his best to make me lose it and go down for good.

I also knew I'd only just managed not to get put in the new enhanced detention unit they were building behind Ware because it had only opened a week ago. Keeping my face expressionless, I glanced at the guardhouse window. I didn't have a ride. I didn't have anyone coming to collect me. I'd just planned on walking to the bus. But as I ignored the clowns that practically pushed me out the door, a man got out of a black Chevy truck and stood there staring back at me. I didn't know him, and to be honest, he looked a little like a cop—same confident swagger. Maybe ten years older than me. Mid-to-late forties I would guess, hair graying at the side. He was fit for a human, but I could take him. Not that I wanted that happening where there were witnesses.

For a second I considered not even bothering to stop, but the man quirked an eyebrow.

"Kane Diaz."

He didn't say it as a question, more a confirmation, so I didn't see why I had to answer. The man walked steadily toward me and held out his hand. "Name's Diesel Rawlings. I own Rawlings Security, and I want to offer you a job."

I warily returned the shake; some regulars were funny about touching us. "Should I know you?"

"Yep, but your piss-poor attorney told us you'd refused to see us. We sent letters in, but I'm assuming if you don't know the name you didn't get those either." I shrugged in response. "I was going to get the guys to intervene, but you were two weeks from getting sprung and they're on their honeymoon."

I frowned. "Who is?"

He walked back to the truck. "I'll tell you on the way back to the office." I still didn't move, but Rawlings just continued like I had and climbed in his truck. He started the engine and rolled down the window. "Hear me out. In exchange, I can put you up in an apartment for a week to think about it. No pressure." He waited, the engine running, but he didn't seem to be in any hurry to force a decision out of me, and seventeen years inside gave you a pretty accurate bullshit meter. I'd already been offered a night in a place that sounded like some halfway house for parolees, but I didn't trust anyone in the system.

I took a moment to wonder if he was on the level before I walked over and climbed into the seat, eyeing him warily.

"I work with the guys in Tampa," Rawlings responded as he put the truck in drive and headed out of the parking lot.

"What guys?" I said, trying to sound bored, but not sure I could pull it off. Everything was all a bit much. I hated enclosed spaces, but right at that moment I wasn't that fond of open ones either.

"The enhanced team in Tampa," he said, then glanced over when I didn't say a word. "You have to have heard of them."

"A little," I lied, dragging myself back to the topic. "I wasn't allowed much regular TV." There'd been rumors of guys like me, but all I'd heard about was them getting locked up in psych institutions.

"Fuck," Rawlings said. "Okay, good thing we have four hours then."

I whipped my head around. "Where are we going?"

"Our home base is in Atlanta, but we take jobs all over the world."

I scoffed. "Then you'd better let me out here so I can get the bus, because I'm not allowed to fly, and I can't carry a gun."

"But we both know you don't need a gun," Rawlings drawled, which shut me up. Was this why? He wanted someone for some super private army? Not that I'd get any better offers, and I wasn't stupid, despite most people's opinion. He knew I would have spent tonight either on a bus if I could catch one, or on a park bench. I didn't know where the fuck I was going come morning either.

I supposed it wouldn't hurt to listen. Rawlings started with the history of the enhanced, how the first kids started being born in the seventies, which was a lot earlier than I'd thought. How it was true that a lot of them became the responsibility of the state because their parents were frightened of them. That all rights were effectively stripped from them. Insurance, health care, the list was endless. I knew that. Of course, I did. I just hadn"t known there were so many enhanced and from the way Rawlings spoke, it sounded like half of them had moved to Florida.

Then some guy called Talon had saved someone's life, and it had escalated into a full FBI team of enhanced and regular human partners in Tampa. Apparently, they had become so successful there were a lot of different places wanting their own unit. They still had a huge battle with the public, though.

He mentioned all the names, but I really only remembered Talon and Finn, because they were the two on their honeymoon. And apparently they had fucking kids. It was all so normal the whole thing blew my mind.

"But there's no way anyone like the FBI will give me a job with my record," I protested.

"I don't work for the FBI," Rawlings said flatly. "I'm my own boss. I take on whatever jobs I want." Rawlings signaled and pulled into a gas station.

"Fuck," I said in astonishment at the gas prices. Rawlings followed my gaze.

"I know, right? Want anything? I'm going to find a restroom."

I could do with a restroom as well, and I was hungry. All I had was a basic ID card and a pre-paid debit card, or "gate-money" as some of the guys called it, but it wouldn't get me far as the fees on the card were astronomical and I was loath to spend any on gas station junk. And I didn't have so much as a ball cap to hide my face.

Rawlings eyed me when I didn't answer. "How about you stick with me?"

I nodded and got out, keeping my head down, and followed Rawlings. Rawlings lifted his hand in greeting to the older man behind the counter and headed to the restroom. He went in first while I just hung around and tried to look like I was choosing a magazine.

I heard the click of the gun as I turned around.

My arms shot in the air, hands splayed as muscle memory from the last seventeen years had taught me before I even made a conscious decision to do so. The older man from the counter was looking down a shotgun, aimed right at me, and his hands were steady. If I breathed the wrong way, it could easily be my last, and I doubted anything I could do would influence the outcome. The last thing I needed was to make the man's trigger finger shake.

"Get out of my store. I already called the cops."

We both heard the restroom door open, and the man's eyes flicked toward Rawlings. Rawlings stopped. "Is there a problem?"

"I don't want his sort in here. That's the problem."

Rawlings nodded as if that was perfectly reasonable. The sirens blared in the distance already. I'd been so close. So fucking close to freedom. I eyed the shotgun, knowing I'd rather eat one of those bullets than go back inside, but then, almost as if Rawlings had heard me, the fucking idiot stepped in between me and the gun.

"You aiming to die?" the older man asked.

"You aiming to kill me, soldier?" Rawlings answered.

The man was silent for a beat. "Where'd you serve?" he asked.

"3rd Battalion, 75th, but I don't carry my DD on me."

He lowered his gun an inch. "What you doing with him?"

"He's family," Rawlings stated immediately.

"Then you'd better get gone," the man said. He nodded to the door. "I'll say I made a mistake, but don't come back." Rawlings nodded and started for the door. Shocked and ashamed to admit I was trembling, I followed him.

"What about the cops?" I asked as Rawlings started the truck.

Rawlings grinned. "You wanna stay and talk to them?" It was obviously rhetorical because Rawlings got the truck moving pretty damn quick.

Another hour and I was forced to ask him to stop, and Rawlings pulled into a rest area. He parked in the farthest spot away from everyone and I jumped out, hopped the small metal fence, and went into the bushes. I wasn't risking going anywhere with people. When I got back, Rawlings was walking back to the truck with some bottles of water and some protein bars he must have gotten from the vending machines. "I didn't get much because I called Danny and he'll have food ready for us. We'll be back in around forty minutes."

"Who's Danny?"

Rawlings paused, but then stared pointedly at me. "Part of the team, but someone who you always treat gently." Rawlings held my gaze for a few long seconds until I nodded.

What the fuck? Gently? What did that even mean?

"My main team is comprised of Danny—Daniel Sullivan, Drake Starr a.k.a. Ringo; Gray Darling, Emile Razor a.k.a. Mac; Blue Evenson, who we call Jay; and Paula Fielding. They all have different strengths and you'll get to meet them gradually. I have a couple of others that I can call in with specialized abilities, but they work on a case-by-case basis."

"Do any of those with specialized abilities have a scar on their face like me?" I couldn't help the touch of sarcasm in my voice.

"No," Rawlings answered. "You'd be our first."

"So why me, then? I'm not sure what you're expecting, but I can't do X-Men shit." And there was no way I was admitting to anything.

Rawlings shrugged. "We'll see."

We paused at a red light and I looked around. I had no idea where I was. "Where—"

"Marietta, but this is Henderson Street, and we own four apartments in this complex for the team. I live out of the city, but I'll stay a few days while you make a decision. Once you have, you can come to my place and meet Pink."

I met his gaze and for the first time Rawlings looked a little less bad-ass. "My wife."

Which surprised me. I'd wondered with the "gentle" comment if he and Danny had something going on.

I followed Rawlings out and up the stairs, glad he didn't bother with the elevator. After the last seventeen years, I wasn't inclined to like small spaces and I'd kept myself fit to stay out of trouble. There wasn't anything to do except the gym, as I wasn't allowed to join work details. Any education had been limited as well. No idea why they thought a degree would make the mark on my face less scary, but I couldn't do shit about that.

Rawlings tapped once on the door, then pressed the numbers on the small keypad and the door clicked open. I frowned. Why knock if he had the code? I followed Rawlings inside, then came to a stop before I got farther than a small entranceway as a dog appeared. Fuck.

My heart pounded like it was gonna burst, and breathing suddenly took conscious effort. Rawlings patted its head in passing and carried on, but I couldn't move. Images of another dog pierced my mind, and I untangled my muscles enough to take a step backwards.

"Sadie." The dog immediately dropped to the ground. "Sorry, she's protective of me with strangers."

I forced my eyes from her to the man standing next to the dog. This must be Danny. He was much smaller than me, maybe five feet nine at a pinch, fair skin, slim, dark brown, absurdly curly hair. Very boy-next-door from the old sitcoms they'd let me watch. A few freckles covered his nose, and he looked normal in every way until you met his eyes. The blue was so luminescent, I felt like he could see right inside me. See the bad. See the hate, resentment. Like he knew exactly what I was prepared to do to get rid of the scar on my face. I wanted to wrap my arms around my middle but in prison that was a dead giveaway. You didn't do that.

"Hope you're hungry," Danny said, then murmured something to the dog, and they both retreated. For a long time, I didn't move. I had choices, even though I had a record and practically zero cash. One of the guys had told me about the underground fights I could join, even with a scar, or especially with a scar. I had a name and a place in Tallahassee anyway. And they paid cash.

But did I want that? Really? My belly growled, reminding me I hadn't risked breakfast because O'Connell was there, and I didn't trust the fucker not to add any extra-special herbs to mine just to fuck me up. Should I stay? Rawlings had said he would give me a week. Seven days. The man had stepped up in the gas station.

Slowly, carefully, I let my legs carry me forward to the kitchen. I didn't believe in luck. People like me got zero chances, but maybe there was still a tiny part of me that believed in fucking miracles. I guessed there was only one way to find out.