Page 13 of Hardline Torque
The rest of Black Tide melted into the darkness as if they’d never been there.
Tane started the engine and eased the truck forward, Victor sat in the passenger seat, his heart still racing.
“There’s an armed guard at the gate,” he said.“He’ll notice this.”
Tane grinned.“Watch.”
They rolled up to the gate.The guard straightened—then relaxed, breaking into a grin.
“Tane,” he called.“Didn’t know you were back,bruddah.”
“Briefly,” Tane replied easily.“Catch up soon, ya?”
“Looking forward to it,bruddah.Say hi to da boys.”
The gate lifted.
Victor stared straight ahead as they rolled out and onto the open road, the hum of the engine settling into something almost hypnotic.The port lights fell away behind them, swallowed by distance, and with every kilometer that slipped past, the adrenaline bled off just enough for something colder to take its place.
Doubt.
It crept in quietly, the way it always did.
The Directorate had been masters of that.Soft voices.Careful words.Promises framed like gifts.Protection.Purpose.Belonging.They’d wrapped control in language that sounded like trust and twisted truth until it justified things Victor still heard in his sleep.
You’re special.
You’re necessary.
No one else can do what you do.
He shifted in his seat, jaw tightening as memory brushed too close—rooms that smelled of antiseptic and steel, men who smiled while they lied, missions sold as necessary evils that always seemed to rot a little more each time he carried them out.
Was this any different?
He forced himself to look at Black Tide the way he always looked at a new variable.Strip it down.Assess it clean.
Assets—cohesion, discipline, infrastructure.Loyalty that ran deeper than contracts.
Liabilities—visibility, history, emotional attachment.
Unknowns—intent.
And Tane.
That was an unknown and a huge fucking complication.
Tane hadn’t promised him anything.Hadn’t tried to sell him a future or dress cooperation up as salvation.He’d just stood there—steady, infuriatingly calm—and refused to let Victor burn himself out alone.
If this went bad—if Black Tide turned out to be just another version of the same machine with better manners—Victor knew what survival would demand of him.
He would have to kill Tane.
The certainty of it sat heavy in his chest, bitter and sharp, leaving a sour taste at the back of his mouth.
And Victor hated that the thought didn’t harden him the way it should.
Hated that it hurt.
