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“So good of you to join us,” I say without looking up.
“Why, thank you,” a voice that is very much not Zach’s snickers.
I pivot in my seat to see Maxen in the back, grinning from ear to ear. Refusing to acknowledge him further, I turn to Aaron and ask, “Are the rest loaded and ready?”
He sticks his hand out the window and gestures to the rear car. Whoever is driving must reply in the affirmative as Aaron cranks the engine and pulls out into the dark morning.
Shindand Air Base, Afghanistan
Hot, ugly, and home sweet home for the next few weeks. The daytime temperature soars above the hundred mark, and at nighttime, it hovers right around the same.
The flight from Virginia was direct, thanks to the range of the jet. Direct, but still long. Well over fourteen hours. Figure in the nine-hour time difference, and we land just after three am.
Not a bad way to travel. Honestly, the private jets are one of the best parts of working for Dillan Knot. We don’t use them for luxury but out of necessity. We’re considered civilians, so riding with the army is out. Since we’re sometimes called into life-and-death situations, waiting around for international flights isn’t exactly reliable.
As much as I enjoy the ease and comfort afforded by Knot’s fleet of planes, this particular flight has not been the best. I’m way past ready to get out of this enclosed space after the strangest flight I’ve made as a Knot contractor.
Out on the tarmac, I stretch under the hangar lights and head for the cargo hold. “What the hell was that all about?” Chelsea asks, leaning over to reach for her own bag.
“Huh?” I ask, playing dumb.
“Don’t huh me. I’m talking about that fifteen-hour funeral procession I just lived through. Does this have anything to do with that sparring match between you and Smoke?”
I look up to the darkened sky and groan. “Oh please, not that again.”
“Well, something is going on. Thanks to the rest of you acting like cadavers, I was forced to irritate Bastien the entire flight.”
“I bet he loved that.”
“Yeah. I’m sure if I hadn’t kept an eye on my water that last four hours, he would have poisoned me.”
Chelsea’s grumbling and accurate depiction of Bash draws a welcome laugh from me. Bastien isn’t the most talkative guy. He mostly communicates in a series of gestures and grunts, but he’s a brilliant strategist and solid as they come. Chelsea is the exact opposite. Though no less deadly than her counterpart, she comes across as a bubbling socialite. And despite her joking about being poisoned, the two team leaders get along famously.
Personalities aside, the different team members have to get along or at least share a mutual respect in order to work together. Without that kind of loyalty, people get killed when face to face with the shit we’re up against.
Mine and Aaron’s kinship is well documented. We’ve both saved each other’s asses more than a time or two over the years.
The new pairing in this particular group, Maxen and Brock, are doing well so far. They’ve been teamed up for the shortest amount of time compared to the rest of us, about four months. While I hated losing Brock from my team, he’s proven to be a great leader and is doing well in the position.
I retrieve my first bag and set it by my feet as Bastien steps beside me to grab his own gear. Feeling impish, I can’t resist taking a shot at the big man. “Have a nice flight, Bash?”
Bastien freezes mid-reach and grumbles. “Shut up, Fate.”
Laughing, I pick up my two bags and step out of the way.
Oddly enough, my exchanges with Chelsea and Bash seemed to have shaken something loose in my head. These people here are the same ones I’ve been working with and fighting with side by side, some for many years. The only thing that’s changed here is me. I’m creating the awkwardness.
Sure, Maxen made a move and called me out, but not once since I chose to sleep with him has he made me regret it. Ok, so it was only twenty-four hours ago, but he’s had plenty of opportunity to lord it over me or blank me out.
After the thong episode in the situation room, which was done while we were completely alone, Maxen has maintained a professional front. If there’s any problem at all here, it’s me.
Ok, so at first, I blamed Maxen for getting in my head when all he did was force my eyes open. And since when do uncomfortable truths stop me from completing my mission? Right. Never.
I’m the senior operative here, and it’s my job to make sure everyone does theirs and gets back home safely. It’s time I got my head out of my ass and got to work. Well, maybe after a couple hours of sleep since my stupid ass didn’t sleep at all during the flight.
While the rest of my team unloads their gear, two Sentinel assault trucks roll to a stop next to the jet. Sambi, one of our international suppliers, steps down from the first rig and approaches wearing a big smile. “Your boss has good taste.”
Knowing Sambi, that means expensive. “You know Knot. He has this crazy notion that his people should be well-equipped and shit. Something about wanting our asses to make it back in one piece.”