Chapter 34
Nash
I drummed my fingers against the polished mahogany, watching General Lawrence Bryce sweat. He'd been talking for seventeen minutes straight—selling me on the strategic importance of our "partnership" as if I gave a damn about American military interests. The clock on the wall ticked past 2200 hours. Each second worth approximately $160,000 according to the contract sitting between us.
Money. The universal language of the desperate.
"So you see, Mr. Wilder," Bryce continued, dabbing his forehead with a handkerchief, "having Ares Legion personnel train our overseas units would provide a level of... plausible deniability that's quite valuable in today's political climate."
I stared at him until he looked away. A reflex I've cultivated over years—the predator's gaze. When a man can't meet your eyes, he's already surrendered.
"What you mean to say," I finally replied, "is that your government would prefer my men do your dirty work in regions where American casualties would be politically inconvenient."
Finn, my operations director, stood silently at my right shoulder. Six-foot-four, ex-Spetsnaz, and loyal to a fault. His presence alone made Bryce's security detail shift uncomfortably by the door.
"That's—well, that's one way of putting it," Bryce stammered.
I leaned back in my chair. "I find honesty refreshing, General. You should try it sometime."
The room fell silent except for the air conditioning's gentle hum. Outside the window, recruits ran drills across the parade ground, moving like ants from this height. Pathetic. The American military's finest—trained to follow orders but not to think. Cannon fodder with fancy equipment.
My mind drifted to the girl. The same girl who had occupied my thoughts for several consecutive nights.
I'd seen her this morning, stepping off the bus with other students. Something about her movement caught my eye immediately—the way she scanned the perimeter, assessed entry points, identified security cameras. Pure instinct, hardwired into her nervous system.
Just like mine.
"Mr. Wilder?" Bryce's voice pulled me back. "Is there a problem with the terms?"
I refocused. "Your terms are irrelevant. My men will do what they're trained to do. Your government will pay what we demand. The rest is noise."
Bryce nodded vigorously. "Of course, of course. Ten billion is merely a starting point. We can certainly—"
"The money is fine," I cut him off. Money had long ceased to matter—a simple tool, nothing more. What intrigued me was the girl. I shouldn't have let her live after she witnessed my operation at Mulholland Drive. Yet I had. Why?
For the first time in fifteen years, I'd hesitated. For the first time since I was fourteen, standing over my first kill, I'd broken protocol.
And now here she was, on my territory.
"Sir," Finn leaned down slightly, his voice low. "The contract."
I glanced at the document, then at Finn's carefully blank expression. Right. The performance of normalcy.
I took the Mont Blanc pen—a gift from the Saudi defense minister—and signed without reading the final terms. Ten billion dollars. Less than what I'd spent building my compound in the Swiss Alps.
"Excellent!" Bryce's relief was palpable as he reached for the contract. "We're thrilled to have Ares Legion's expertise. I know you're busy with other... ventures."
I raised an eyebrow. "Ventures?"
Bryce paled slightly. "Just that, well, intelligence suggests your organization has been pursuing certain... artifacts. The, ah, Satan's Heart, if I'm not mistaken?"
My jaw tightened. The fact that U.S. intelligence knew about my search for the pendant was concerning. I made a mental note to identify and eliminate the leak.
"General," Finn interrupted smoothly, "you're speaking too much. Mr. Wilder doesn't appreciate excessive chatter."
I stood, buttoning my jacket—Brioni, black, tailored to conceal the Sig Sauer at my hip. "We're done here."
Bryce scrambled to his feet, clutching the signed contract like a lifeline. "Of course, of course! Thank you for your time, Mr. Wilder. I'll personally ensure—"
I was already walking toward the door when it burst open. A lieutenant stumbled back, clearly startled to find me so close.
"Sir!" He addressed Bryce, snapping to attention. "There's been an incident with the student program. One of the high school girls just flipped Lieutenant Commander Davis during an inspection."
I froze mid-step.
Bryce sputtered behind me. "She what? That's impossible. Davis is former SEAL Team Six—he's built like a tank."
"Yes, sir. She's half his size, but witnesses say she executed a perfect shoulder throw. Dropped him like a sack of potatoes. And sir," the lieutenant lowered his voice, "Davis didn't even discipline her. He actually apologized afterward."
"That's ridiculous," Bryce scoffed. "Davis would rather die than show weakness. Are you certain—"
I turned and walked back to the desk, silencing the room with my movement alone. I knew exactly who had flipped Davis. The same girl who'd beaten Jax Crowe in a street race. The same girl I'd touched but inexplicably hadn't killed—seemingly the first thing to spark even a hint of genuine interest in me in 25 years.
After decades of toppling governments, orchestrating wars, and building empires, this was... new.
"Sir?" Finn questioned, a hint of curiosity in his usually impassive voice. "Is there something else?"
Bryce looked like he might faint. "Mr. Wilder, if there's any issue with the contract, we can certainly revisit—"
"I have no interest in your ten billion dollars, General," I said quietly, settling back into the chair.
"What I want is everything you have on that girl."