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Kabir

She failed.

Whether it was Ghost shutting her down with that insufferable calm or Sebastian steamrolling the room with command presence, it didn’t matter.

They ignored her.

Probably bulldozed her.

Which meant they ignored me .

I probably wasn’t Zane’s favorite person either anymore. Can’t say I blamed him—but I wasn’t here for approval.

Fuck.

I had done everything I could to warn them. Quietly. Carefully. Without exposing the fragile thread I was walking. But they still chose to push forward.

So I had to improvise.

I made sure I was looped into Romano estate’s perimeter security detail. Romano was reluctant at first, until I told him that I couldn’t derail his defense on my own.

I was just one person against his two strike teams of ten militants each.

Now, here I was—standing in the dark, with the enemy, wearing a face no one questioned. My gear matched theirs. My stance. My silence.

I was just another shadow among Romano’s private death squad.

Because that’s what they were—not soldiers, not official security.

Mercs.

Killers for hire, loyal to whoever wired their payment on time.

The mansion behind me loomed like a palace dipped in blood money. Glowing windows. Precision landscaping.

And the land around it?

Crawling.

Twenty men. No chatter. No error. Clean formation. A few in elevated overwatch positions. Thermal surveillance rigs.

This was a setup. A staging ground. A kill zone dressed as a fortress.

I stared into the estate, heart steady, breath even.

And for the first time in a long time—I doubted Blackthorn’s odds.

They thought they were the predators tonight.

But they knew they were walking straight into an ambush. I was sure of it.

And I didn’t know if I could stop it in time.

I waited in the dark—motionless, invisible.

Five of Romano’s ground security were with me, scattered across the south lawn. Seven snipers were posted at key vantage points—tree lines, terraces, and elevated balconies. Another eight backup mercs were tucked deeper into the estate’s interior, probably lying in wait like coiled vipers.

That was all they told me. Nothing more. No map. No locations. I was deliberately kept on a need-to-know leash.

And I hated it.

I didn’t even know how many Blackthorn was bringing in.

I wanted—needed—to warn them. But radio silence had kept them alive this long. Breaking it now could put everything at risk.

So I waited.

The air was too still. Even the leaves didn’t dare rustle.

I flexed my fingers once on the grip of my rifle. Checked the line-of-sight. Confirmed my exit points. Again.

Then, like a fuse had been silently lit—crack.

“Fuck—sniper down!”

The merc beside me flinched, startled as Dragon—Romano’s team lead—shouted into his earpiece.

I turned just enough to catch the slight tremor in his stance. He was trying to locate the source. Too late.

“We’ve lost Bravo-Four and Six,” came another voice over comms. “Repeat—two snipers down. Repeat—”

Crack. Thump. Crack.

Two more.

I didn’t even flinch this time. Just tilted my head up slightly, lips curling beneath the tactical mask.

They hadn’t hit the ground team yet. That was smart. That was Ghost’s tactic.

Hit the eyes first. Blind the beast before you cut its throat.

Dragon was panicking now, trying to get confirmation, barking commands into his mic.

One by one, six snipers went down.

I lowered my rifle slightly and smiled beneath the mask.

It was surgical. Precise. Every shot like a signature.

My team— my fucking team —was here.

And they were tearing through Romano’s outer defenses.

God, I’d missed this.

This wasn’t chaos.

This was art.

But I had a part to play. Fear to perform. Panic to feign.

The first shot from Romano’s side thundered out across the estate. Sloppy. Blind. Miscalculated. Pure retaliation without a target.

I couldn’t stop smiling.

It wasn’t until the final sniper was confirmed down that Dragon completely lost his grip. He started barking orders into everyone’s earpiece, voice jagged, barely coherent. Then the panic spread like wildfire.

Gunfire broke out in bursts. Scattered. Uneven. No one knew where to shoot.

Then—screech.

Two black SUVs tore up the road leading to the mansion, kicking gravel behind them.

I stepped out of the shadows, drawn to the spectacle.

Fuck , but this was exciting.

The SUVs drifted to a perfect halt just inside the outer perimeter, headlights on low beam like they didn’t give a damn about subtlety.

Romano’s ground team didn’t hesitate—they lit the cars up.

Bullets slammed into windshields, tore through side panels, sparked against reinforced bumpers. I fired too, because I had to, but my shots landed wide—harmlessly chewing up grass.

The cars rocked under the impact but didn’t break. Not even a crack in the armor.

Of course.

Fucking Sebastian Blackthorn. I’d missed his obnoxiously indestructible fleet.

Then it happened.

The headlights flickered.

Dimmed.

And went dark.

The ground team hesitated—just long enough to register that something was off.

A half-second later, floodlights erupted from both SUVs—high-beam, tactical-grade, full-spectrum whiteout.

The garden, the mansion, the entire estate was swallowed in blinding light.

Screams. Swearing. Confusion.

I dropped back, ducking behind the curved stone wall of a nearby fountain. Gun clutched, breath shallow.

I choked out a disbelieving laugh. Sebastian had been hiding this neat little feature.

Dragon was yelling into every open comm, demanding reinforcements. “Where the hell is the backup team?! Get them out here now!”

Car doors opened.

One by one, Romano’s ground team dropped. Sharp, silenced hits. No wasted bullets. No hesitation.

It was clean.

Brutal.

Perfect.

My heart hammered. Pride bloomed in my chest.

But so did dread.

I didn’t know if they still considered me one of them.

Or a liability.

A rogue asset.

I stood.

Lifted my rifle slowly, grip loose, barrel pointed skyward in surrender. The floodlights were still too bright—I squinted through the white haze.

I could die right here, I realized.

This would be the cleanest place to cut me out.

I took one step forward.

Then another.

The lights dimmed just enough for shapes to form.

My team.

Sebastian. Zane. Ghost. Dylan.

All of them in matte black gear, bulletproof vests stacked with loaded magazines, like they had rolled straight out of a warzone and into a massacre.

I scanned the space behind them. Where were the others?

Was it really just the four of them?

Goddamn.

I stopped ten feet away.

Hands still raised. Breath steady. My pulse wasn’t.

“Kabir,” Ghost said, his voice low but unmistakable.

He used my name.

He’d rarely used my name.

I didn’t let the surprise reach my face. I dipped my head.

“Ghost.” Beat. “I thought we told you to back off.”

I propped up my rifle again.

“Lower your weapon,” Zane said quietly, his voice steady. “Come back with us, Kabir. We can still fix this.”

I kept my gun raised high, pointed at no one, eyes locked on Sebastian.

Seb’s jaw was tight, his finger twitching near the trigger. “Where is the Doom Switch? Is it inside?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said, calm and rehearsed. “You need to leave. Now.”

“Cut the shit,” Ghost snapped, stepping in. “You’ve been feeding them everything. You think we don’t see it?”

I met his glare but didn’t flinch. “You came to the wrong house.”

“Where is it?” Sebastian asked again, his voice slightly soft.

Internally, my stomach churned.

I have no fucking clue where the Doom Switch is.

But if they thought I did, I had to keep it that way. Anything less, and Dragon would sniff me out instantly.

“Answer the question,” Seb pressed. “Where’s the Doom Switch, Kabir?”

I hesitated for just half a second. Enough for him to notice.

“I’m not telling you,” I said coldly.

That was the truth—and the lie.

“We’ve got backup in place.” Dragon’s voice crackled in my earpiece, tense and clipped. “Orders are clear. One more hostile move and I take the shots.”

I went rigid.

My eyes flicked to Zane. To Dylan. To Ghost and Seb.

Shit.

They had no idea how close they were to dying.

My heartbeat thundered in my ears. The crosshairs could already be locked in.

I had seconds.

I lowered my weapon slightly to signal them to duck.

A frown painted on Ghost’s face.

Zane ducked immediately as the first shot rang out.

Seb flinched, dropping down with a sharp grunt as a bullet grazed his arm.

“Contact—left flank!” Ghost shouted, immediately grabbing Dylan and shoving him down behind the SUV just as another shot splintered a stone column beside them.

Chaos erupted.

Gunfire lit up the night, muzzle flashes strobing across the field.

Romano’s backup team flooded out from hidden spots—Dragon’s men. Precision-trained. Ruthless.

I ducked behind the edge of a decorative statue, my mind racing.

I couldn’t blow my cover directly.

But I could still fight.

Silently, I reached for the hidden handgun strapped under my tactical vest. My last card.

Showtime.

I peeked out—fired once.

A Romano mercenary dropped instantly.

Shifted angle—pop.

Second one down.

The third was retreating into the trees—his aim pointed at Ghost. My shot hit him clean in the back.

Dragon’s voice cracked in my ear, frantic. “Where the hell are those shots coming from?! Blackthorn’s got backup! Repeat—backup confirmed!”

I smirked, ducking low.

Haan, chutiye. I’m their backup.

But the chaos spiraled. Ammunition was thinning. Even Blackthorn’s crew was starting to reposition—less offensive, more defensive.

And then I saw it.

Zane signaled the retreat.

Smoke grenades hissed. Cover fire was laid.

They were pulling out.

Smart. It was a goddamn deathtrap, and they’d walked right into it.

I fired two final shots to cover their exit, then turned on my heel and ran.

Through the gardens.

Through the estate’s outer gate.

Out into the dark alleyways of the city. Toward my hollow apartment.

I must have ran for a good twenty minutes on high speed.