Page 25

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Kaden

Luckily, this isn’t the first time I’ve grabbed a struggling person out of a trunk

T he car moves like a ghost through the back roads, slipping out of the city before the sun can catch us. Josie is in the trunk. Awake. Kicking. Fighting. Good.

People who don’t fight don’t survive.

I tighten my grip on the wheel, glancing in the rearview. The road behind me is empty. No headlights. No pursuit. This is what acting fast gave us—the advantage of surprise.

The agency is going to regret training me as well as they did. Every detail accounted for. No mistakes. The checklist runs through my head, sharp and clean.

Note in her apartment, handwritten in Josie’s own writing: “I haven’t been happy with my new life. I need to disappear for a while. Please don’t worry about me.”

Voice mimicker used to call the school: “I have the flu. I’ll bring a doctor’s note when I return.”

Text sent to her parents: “Taking a trip with a friend for a few days. Love you.”

All technology secured in Faraday bags. No signals. No pings. No trace.

Car stolen from an elderly man’s property—a forgotten vehicle with no digital history.

License plates modified. Even if someone looks for this car, they won’t find it.

Destination no one, not even others at the agency know about. Somewhere in probate with a clear history of not being visited. In this case, I chose a cabin I found years ago and have kept in my back pocket because I trust no one.

Enough gas to reach the cabin without stopping.

A substantial arsenal. Because, oh, yes, I trust no one.

No witnesses. No traces. No loose ends.

Prepared for everything short of a full-out war.

This is why the agency considers me the best. If they look for Josie Rhodes, they’ll find a woman who chose to disappear. If they link her to me? Find us?

I’ll take every last fucking one of them to hell with me.

No music on this trip. The weight of silence allows me to monitor Josie’s kicking around and attempts to break free. She’s trying. I respect it. But it won’t change the outcome. I wish this could have gone differently. Smoother. Cleaner. Last night flashes through my mind—Josie asleep in her bed, her chest rising slow and steady, unaware I’d slipped in to watch her one last time. The agency’s orders burned in my skull: Eliminate the threat. Her kindness had rewired Ai-Den, a glitch they couldn’t tolerate. My finger hovered over the trigger, but her soft murmur—a dream-whispered “Ken”—stopped me cold. I saw her then, not as a target, but as the woman who’d cracked something in me I’d buried deep. I made the call right there: defy them, save her. It’s a breaking point—years of loyalty shattered in a heartbeat. No time for explanations or forgiveness. What matters most is that Josie will live to see tomorrow. The rest? I’ll worry about that later when we’re safe. My jaw tightens, shoving the memory down. Feelings are a liability now.

I mentally run through my arsenal to regain my focus.

Glock 19, loaded. Suppressor attached.

Combat knife, strapped to my ankle.

Second Glock, stashed under the driver’s seat.

Kevlar vest, under my jacket.

Tactical gear, prepped and ready at the cabin.

There’s a rage in me that the agency probably thought they’d snuffed out years ago, but it’s been there, smoldering. They’re going to regret not killing me when they had the chance.

The road narrows, winding through thick trees. Snow dusts the edges of the pavement. My mind drifts to a mission three years back—Agent Voss, a sharp bastard who’d been my shadow for a decade. He’d questioned an order, gone rogue to save a civilian. I found him in a ditch, throat slit, erased like he’d never existed. The agency didn’t negotiate; they purged. I’d thought about calling in a favor then—Rico, an old contact with a knack for disappearing people—but the agency doesn’t work that way. Loyalty’s to the machine, not each other. No one’d risk their neck for me now, and I wouldn’t ask. Trust died young for me. I see it for a split second—me at eight, laughing in the summer sun, chasing Tommy and Lila through the grass. Friends I thought would last forever, till Dad vanished and Mom followed, leaving me with nothing but loss. That kid didn’t know the world yet. I do. The agency’s reach is long, their memory longer. They’ll hunt us, but I’ll outsmart them. I’ve got no one to lean on, just my own damn grit.

A sharp right, and then we’re off the main road, the cabin looming ahead—dark, abandoned, exactly what I need.

Perfect.

The property has been empty for years.

Tied up in probate. A forgotten asset of the wealthy.

No street cameras. No neighbors.

No heat signatures for drones to pick up.

I pull the car around the back, hidden from the road. The cabin’s silhouette cuts against the night, a sagging relic of warped wood and peeling paint. The musty smell of damp rot hits me as I step out, mingling with the sharp bite of pine and snow. A loose shutter creaks in the wind, banging like a warning against the silence. Through the trees, a faint glow flickers—some distant town, too far to matter. The isolation presses in, thick and heavy, the kind of quiet that swallows sound whole. No one to hear a scream. The windows are dark, grime-streaked, reflecting nothing but the void. Inside, I know it’s bare—dusty floors, a chipped sink, a mattress I’d stashed years ago. The generator’s low hum will be the only life here, just enough to keep us off the grid. It’s a fortress of neglect, perfect for hiding, perfect for war.

I kill the engine and the trunk shifts violently. A last-ditch effort. I step out. Stretch. Roll my shoulders. This isn’t going to be pretty, but it has to be done. I move to the back of the car.

The cold air burns my lungs. The weight of the night presses down, thick and suffocating.

For the first time since I made the call, something sharp cuts through me. Not guilt. Not hesitation. Something worse.

I care how Josie feels.

I force that weak thought down. Feelings won’t save her. Strategy will.

Josie’s muffled voice is frantic behind the steel.

Panic. Fear. Pure survival instinct.

I place a hand flat against the trunk. Just for a second. Just to anchor myself.

Then, without a word, I pop the lock.

Yep, she is not happy.

Luckily, this isn’t the first time I’ve grabbed a struggling person out of a trunk and tossed them over my shoulder. She’s a handful though, I’m not going to lie. Gets a few kicks in before I secure her legs.

That usually doesn’t happen, but I don’t want to hurt her.

I would tell her that, but she’s growling like a fisher cat and I decide she might need a moment or two to calm down before I try to talk to her. The elbow hit she delivers to my face when I’m opening the cabin door is impressively forceful, but I shake it off and kick the door closed behind me.

I try to be gentle when I deposit her onto the couch, but she doesn’t make it easy. And the way her legs start swinging around has me taking a step back.

I sigh.

I rub the back of my neck and wonder if there is anything I can say that would have her looking less like she’ll stab me the second she gets her hand on something sharp.