Page 2 of The Team (The Milvus Files #3)

TWO

LONDON

Rhett Ouston didn’t drink alcohol often, but he still enjoyed a night out. Being surrounded by happy people, who were oblivious to the horrors of the world, was good for the soul.

To be in a club filled with people, merry and dancing, laughing, making out, with the music thumping, made Rhett feel normal. Even if just for a few hours.

Where there wasn’t evil lurking in the shadows or death and destruction around every corner.

Where he wasn’t on high alert, on a secret mission, undercover.

Where he could be himself. Be nothing but a regular twenty-six-year-old man in a club in Soho, watching the love of his life dance without a care in the world.

Jay Lin had been a beacon of light in his life for eight years. A sassy, sarcastic, smart-mouthed ray of fucking sunshine .

His ray of sunshine.

Jay needed to let loose tonight. They’d been in go-mode for months, and while Rhett could forge on, Jay had needed a break. Just for a few hours.

Of course, Rhett would never deny him.

He’d do anything for him.

Jay had only had two beers—barely enough to take the edge off—but he liked to dance. Where he could close his eyes and lose himself to the music, to the thump and sway of dancing bodies.

And Rhett could lose himself watching Jay.

Jay was shorter than most men. All of five foot four inches and barely sixty kilos, and holy hell, he was pretty. His Chinese/Malaysian heritage was a striking mix, and with his bright eyes and blinding smile, men were usually drawn to him.

He never showed a hint of interest in them though.

His eyes were on Rhett the whole time, and most men took one look at Rhett’s six-foot-two, military-fit frame and his death glare and usually got the message.

Or Rhett would slide his hand down to Jay’s ass and give the guy a lethal and possessive glare and that was the end of that.

Not that he had to mark his territory often, but he’d have no hesitation. Not in any country in the world, and certainly not in a bar in Soho.

So when he noticed a man at the back of the club watching the dance floor, watching Jay, Rhett kept an eye on him.

Five ten, Chinese, fit, serious, and wearing all black. His short hair looked military, and the way he scanned the room while appearing not to was a tell.

Fuck .

Rhett put his water down, watching. Waiting.

A second man appeared, trying to come off as smiling as he spoke to the first guy. Taller, bigger, also Chinese, definitely military.

And definitely watching Jay.

Rhett was on the move.

He weaved his way through the crowd toward the dance floor.

Jay was watching him, saw the seriousness, so he knew.

.. but he kept up the charade and never stopped dancing.

Rhett didn’t collect him, didn’t take his hand and lead him outside.

He put his hands on his hips and began to sway with him so he could whisper in his ear.

“Two men, corner, at your three o’clock.”

Jay put his arms around Rhett’s neck, swaying and smiling. Then he leaned up on his toes and pulled Rhett down a little so he could talk in Rhett’s ear. “Are they swingers?”

Rhett growled. “Not funny.”

Jay threw his head back and laughed, then whispered again, his lips at Rhett’s ear. “They’re definitely watching. Should we give them a show?”

Rhett didn’t like the way these men had singled them out. Their night of anonymity was over. “We should leave.”

Still playing his part and not to cause a scene, Jay laughed again, took Rhett’s arm, and led him toward the exit. As soon as they were outside, they were nothing but shadows in an already dark night, disappearing in plain sight.

Round the corner, down the alley, through a gate, and gone.

“Who were they?” Jay asked, serious now as they clung to the shadows, heading for the crowds on Rupert Street.

“Don’t know. But they weren’t just watching you. They were scoping. We got made.”

“Who knows we’re here?”

That was the million-dollar question.

As they made it to the crossroad, Rhett scanned the street. Saturday night crowds were milling about on the sidewalks. A few drunk and loud folks but nothing unusual, and there was a taxi bay across the street and down past the pub.

They headed towards it, just as a crowd of people poured out of the pub. Loud laughing men and women, crowing about a football match.

Rhett navigated through them, Jay beside him, but one drunk older guy had more liquid courage than brain cells and decided that pushing Rhett was a good idea.

“Watch where yer goin’,” he said, staggering and sizing up Rhett. “Big guy like you don’t scare me. Beat plentya’ guys bigger than you.”

The dumbass looked like his nose had seen a few fists back in his day, and perhaps if he had been thirty years younger and thirty kilos lighter, it might have been a fun fight.

But not tonight.

Rhett put his hands up. “Sorry, pops. I don’t dance.”

Jay laughed, and the older guy clearly thought Jay was an easier target. He turned to him, red in the face, about to spout off some bullshit, but Rhett stepped in close. His voice was low, menacing. “Look at him if you wanna fuckin’ die today. I dare you.”

Pops took a step back, and through all the crowd surrounding them, the pub security watching, waiting, Rhett noticed something move out of the corner of his eye.

Two shadows in the dark past the pub.

“On our six,” Rhett said, the old guy forgotten.

Jay turned. “Shit.”

They took off, pushing through the crowd, toward the threat this time. People yelled after them, the old guy hollered for the cowards to come back like some hero, and someone laughed.

Rhett didn’t care. They rounded the corner onto Shaftesbury Street, his heart thumping.

And saw nothing.

There was no one. Nothing but a streetlight some twenty metres up the road and an otherwise empty street. Quiet and dark buildings and a one-a.m. silence.

So Rhett looked upward, scanning the brick walls, looking for anyone, anything. Those walls were three stories high. Not scalable, not in the seconds it had taken them to get there.

“What the fuck?” Jay mumbled. “Where’d they go?”

Rhett had no answer. “I don’t like this,” he whispered. “Let’s go.”

He turned, ready to head back past the pub, ready to see if old pops really did want to dance, when a figure emerged from the shadows and lunged for him. Rhett reacted on instinct, deflecting and slamming into the body mass.

He could see him now.

Wearing all black, the first guy from the club. Rhett had his arms around him and drove him onto the street. A passing car honked its horn, but Rhett was focused on his target. Before he could find his centre of gravity, Rhett swung at him.

His target was fast on his feet—too fast—countering Rhett’s punches, anticipating his moves. They traded a few blows, Rhett copping a sharp jab to the eye before landing a solid punch to the guy’s chin.

It rattled him for a split second, and Rhett risked a glance back at Jay.

Jay could hold his own, Rhett knew that. But he’d always worry. The need to protect him was ingrained.

Rhett circled around so he could see both Jay and his target, who flew at him with a sidekick.

Rhett blocked and parried, trading jab for jab, blow for blow.

And his target laughed.

He fucking laughed.

“You know Sanda,” he said. His split lip bled more when he smiled and he wiped it with the back of his hand. “I’m impressed.”

Rhett sneered at him. “Who the fuck are you?”

But then there were sirens incoming and cops on foot surrounding them.

Fucking hell.

The street fight was over, though honestly, Rhett and Jay could take down all these cops on their own if they had to. They weren’t even armed. But this was already bad enough.

“Put your hands in the air,” one cop yelled at them.

“Like you just don’t care,” Jay sang along, wiggling with his hands in the air.

Rhett shot him a look, seeing his eyebrow was cut, but he was still smiling .

Always smiling.

The big guy behind Jay chuckled, despite his bleeding mouth and scuffed cheekbone.

What the fuck was going on?

Rhett looked at the man beside him. He wasn’t smiling now. His jaw was set, eyes hard. Assessing, calculating.

“We could make a run for it,” he said, like it was a challenge. Like this was all some kind of joke.

Rhett sneered at him. “You go first.”

More cops arrived then, sirens, lights, crowd gathering, recording it all on their phones. Hell, it was probably being live-streamed to TikTok. This was a nightmare.

“Get on your knees,” one cop ordered the four of them.

Jay opened his mouth and Rhett snapped at him, “Do not say it.”

Jay snorted but he complied, going to his knees. So did the big guy beside Jay. Rhett and his new friend needed to be told twice, apparently.

They lowered themselves down like it was some contest between them to see who’d concede first.

It was a tie.

Then Rhett allowed himself to be handcuffed and manhandled down to the local police station, where, after being processed, he and Jay were thrown in an interview room.

Across the hall, he could see his two new best friends sitting in their interview room. The first guy was sitting stock-still and stoic, and Rhett was pleased to see he’d given him a shiner and a split lip. The second guy was banged up but mumbling something and smirking, laughing .

“Who do you reckon they are?” Jay asked. “Five bucks says they’re spies for the PLA.”

“That’s a safe bet,” Rhett mumbled. “My question would be what the fuck do they want with us? And how the hell do they know who we are? They targeted us. It wasn’t random.”

Just then, a uniformed Met officer escorted an older man, Chinese, wearing a long blue trench coat and a steely scowl, into the room with the two waiting men.

Smiley straightened up instantly, but Stoic’s eyes met Rhett’s through the glass window.

And as their visitor seethed quietly at them, Stoic simply stared at Rhett.

Jay nudged him. “I think he likes you.”

Rhett couldn’t help it. He laughed.

Stoic’s expression never changed.