Page 12

CHAPTER 12

PHARO

The deafening roar of the engine drowns out everything—except the gnawing feeling in my gut that something's about to go wrong.

It’s a feeling I haven’t been able to shake since Arlo was injured.

I grip the controls tightly, feeling the vibration snake up my arm. The vast Egyptian desert stretches below us, endless and unforgiving, with the ancient pyramids rising from the sand in the distance. The sun is low in the sky, casting everything in a golden haze.

The team’s quiet in the back, all of them laser-focused, scanning the horizon for anything out of place. The businessmen we’re transporting are nervously shifting in their seats, looking out of the windows like they can’t believe they’re here, hovering over this ancient land where history bleeds into the present. They’re out of their element, but I can’t afford to care about that. My eyes stay locked ahead, eyes sharp and alert. I’m not here for sightseeing.

We’re heading into Jordan to drop them off—a routine job on paper, but nothing’s ever routine when you're doing this kind of work. I’m not thinking about that, though. I’m thinking about the promise I made to Jax, to return home in one piece, alive and well.

Why would he ask that of me? He’s never cared before. Why now?

I shake the thoughts away, refocusing on the job at hand. There’s no room for distraction when you’re flying through hostile airspace. The helicopter dips slightly as we start our descent. Our passengers are quiet. They don’t realize yet that the moment we touch down, they’ll be in the middle of a conflict zone that features almost nightly on the news.

I breathe out slowly, eyes flicking over the instruments as I adjust course. The landing zone’s coming into view. The barren desert stretches ahead. The dust storm that’s kicked up doesn’t help, but it’s just another thing to deal with.

“Get ready,” I murmur to my team.

The helicopter settles onto the ground, and I pull back slightly on the controls to steady us. The moment the wheels hit the sand, the businessmen unbuckle, eager to get out, but I don’t move just yet. I’m scanning the horizon, every muscle in my body on alert. It’s too quiet out here. Something feels off.

“Move out,” I say into the comms. My team responds with practiced precision, positioning themselves around the drop-off site, weapons in hand. I keep my eyes trained on the perimeter. I don’t like this. Not one bit.

They file off the bird, two taking point, followed by two bringing up the rear, with the clients sandwiched in between. With Arlo gone, we’re a man down.

A voice crackles in my earpiece. Hogan’s, who’s taken lead as second in command. “We’ve got company. Two vehicles, fast approach.”

I don’t need to think twice. I snap into action. “How fast?”

“Too fast.”

“Shit,” I mutter. I tap into the comms again. “Get them moving. We’ll cover the perimeter.”

Beside me, Orson grabs his gun, ready to provide backup if need be.

I push the throttle forward, lifting the helicopter just enough to keep us out of the way, but not so high that I can’t keep an eye on the situation. I know my team is moving in tight, closing ranks around the businessmen as they scramble toward the private shuttle that will take them to the hotel. They’re nervous, and I have to wonder what kind of business they deal in.

The vehicles are still too far to see clearly, but I know they’re coming. I can feel it in my gut. I know what comes next. This is the part of the job I live for—the quiet, the waiting, and the inevitable rush of adrenaline when everything goes to hell.

I tap the button on the control panel. The drone above us hums to life, its camera zooming in on the vehicles. “Stay sharp,” I mutter under my breath, more to myself than anyone else. “We’ve trained for this.”

The vehicles close in faster now, and I feel the shift in the air as my team adjusts positions, ready for whatever’s coming.

I lift the bird higher, the wind rushing past as the blades spin faster, cutting through the air with a sharp buzz. My eyes are trained on the incoming threat, but I’m already calculating our next move. It’s not going to be pretty, but I’ll be damned if they get the drop on us. Not today.

“This is about to get interesting,” Orson murmurs, fingers tightening on the controls as the sound of the rotors fades into the growing roar of incoming engines. The game’s changed now.

This isn’t hostile conflict from the Muslim Brotherhood. It’s personal. These guys pissed off the wrong people, and they want us to kick the bullies away for them.

The landscape blurs beneath us as I push the helicopter into a steep climb, the whine of the engines growing louder. My pulse kicks up, but I keep my breathing steady. The moment the enemy gets close enough, the fight will be on. And when it does, I’ll be ready.

The vehicles approach, their tires kicking up dust as they circle my team, closing in with dangerous intent. Without hesitation, I drop the nose, swooping down sharply, using the bird’s massive weight and speed to threaten them with a deadly game of chicken. The rotors spin like deadly cyclones, low enough to rattle the vehicles and kick up a cloud of sand so thick, it makes it nearly impossible to see anything.

I can almost hear the drivers’ hearts racing as the chopper screams toward them. It’s a move that’ll make them hesitate, piss their pants, and second-guess whether they really want to keep coming at us. I’ve seen it before—people who think they can take on a helicopter with nothing but a few beat-up cars and a death wish.

I don’t give them the luxury of time. My fingers dance over the controls, and the helicopter banks hard to the left, swerving out of their path. I give them a moment to rethink their strategy, but I’m already scanning the horizon for the next move. They’re not going to back off easily, and neither will I.

One thing’s for sure—this is no longer just a drop-off. It’s a fight. And I’m not about to lose.

The vehicles hesitate, clearly rattled by my low pass, but they don’t back off—not yet. I can see them scrambling to adjust, trying to find a way to keep up or get a clear shot. They’re not amateurs, and this is far from over. My team’s already moving fast, covering the businessmen as they bolt for the parking lot. Every second counts now.

The charter shuttle skids out of the parking lot like its tires are on fire, leaving the assets stranded and my team scrambling to come up with a new plan.

I pull up sharply, gaining altitude to get a better view of the situation. My eyes dart to the incoming vehicles, calculating the next move. “Take cover!” I shout over the comms to my team. I don’t need to tell them twice. They scatter, making themselves harder to target, disappearing into the dunes. The sandstorm kicks up again, giving us a little more cover, but it won’t last long. I need to get us out of here, now.

They crowd in, and I shift the chopper into a full climb, pulling us higher and faster than I’ve gone all day. I know the vehicles can’t keep up at this height, and they definitely won’t be able to match my speed in this terrain.

But that’s not enough. I need to shake them completely.

I bank hard to the right, then push the collective forward, throwing us into a steep dive. The ground below rushes up, the pressure building as the wind howls around the cabin. My gut twists as I pull up just in time, sending the helicopter darting through the clouds. We’re not just escaping; we’re disappearing.

The vehicles try to follow, but they’re too slow. The sandstorm, the terrain, and the speed—all of it makes it impossible for them to keep track of us as we climb higher, merging with the sky, slipping away from the ground below. It’s a gamble, but it's the only way.

I glance at the radar. The fuckers are still trying to follow, but they’ve lost their lock. They’re not going to find us in this mess.

“We’re clear,” I say, my voice low but satisfied. The chopper hums steadily as I level out, scanning the horizon once more. We’ve bought ourselves some time.

It’s not the cleanest escape, but it’s enough to get us out alive. And that’s all that matters right now.

Through my comms, I hear Hogan’s voice address the terrified businessmen. “I don’t know who you are and I don’t care what you did, but you pissed off the wrong people, and I don’t just mean us.”