Page 55

Then they prowled toward the fire pit they built over two years ago, brick by careful brick.

Kaal collected wood. Xander struck the flint, and soon, flames danced in the twilight, flickering over sinewed bare chests.

Smoke blended with the scent of sizzling meat as Kaal seared thick slabs of engineered beef over a portable heat plate.

Xander slathered patties in molten ghost-pepper liquid fire while Zev distributed butter, buns, and grilled onions from a food crate tucked in one of the cabins.

They ate with their hands, leaning forward, elbows on knees.

They joked, laughed between bites, and passed bottles of dark, hoppy beer.

‘Fokk,’ Santi groaned, licking sauce off his fingers. ‘Xander and Kaal should open a burger kiosk if this security gig shit doesn’t work out.’

‘Wouldn’t survive a week,’ Mak muttered. ‘Xander’d burn the stall down by the second customer.’

‘With freakin’ deliberation too after tossing akinaiinto the inferno for shortchanging him,’ Zev added.

Rigo huffed. ‘After realizing It was his math that was shit and the customer was not wrong.’

They chuckled, real, wholehearted.

For a few minutes, they were just men, sans duties, responsibilities and freakin’ unknown enemies.

As the darkness thickened, Xander passed around a tactical slate and pulled up a 3D projection of the latest Lombardi convoy map.

‘All right,’ he said, voice steady. ‘Now let’s solve this Lombardi situation before they burn down the rest of the flotilla.’

The laughter ebbed. Feet shifted in dirt. Beers set aside.

They leaned in.

One by one, theories and ideas got tossed into the mix.

Movement patterns. Cargo manifest hacks. Smuggler routes.

Rigo broke down financial trails. Zev highlighted dead shipyard codes.

Mak flagged weak contract loopholes that they could exploit.

Santi suggested bait-and-switches.

Boaz sketched a fake frigate trap on the corner of a napkin. Kaal said nothing, but his stare alone vetoed two ideas.

With no warning, Miral shimmered into view, barefoot and glamorous in glittering pants and a flowing tunic.

Her head tilted, with a lazy grin, as she rounded the fire.

‘Well,’ she purred, ‘what a vision. A circle of warriors around a bonfire, giving off smoke and testosterone. Someone write me poetry.’

Santi huffed. ‘If you’re not bringing dessert, you’re not allowed commentary.’

Zev grinned. ‘You know she is the sweet treat.’

Mak muttered, ‘Stars help me,’ and chugged the rest of his beer.

‘You’re lucky I come bearing gifts.’

She revealed the tray she’d been holding behind her, packed with chocolate-coated crunchy churros and honey almond cakes, still warm from the solar oven.