Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 109245 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 546(@200wpm)___ 437(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109245 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 546(@200wpm)___ 437(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
But for the last five years, he’d lived in a six-by-eight-foot cell with a toilet bolted to the wall.
If he had to, he’d leave the luxury the Ravens were offering and walk away, especially if it meant not being owned or experimented on again.
He took a thirty-minute shower and dressed in a pair of light-blue jeans and an oversized white hoodie.
He left his quarters-slash-penthouse a few minutes before five for his meeting with Jo.
A woman met him at the elevators with a polite smile.
“Good evening, Scar. My name is Rose. I’m the manager of your hospitality division. I’m here to escort you to Operations Command.”
Uh, okay.
“How are you finding your accommodations in your quarters?”
“Fine,” he muttered.
“You can make a list of anything else you’d like stocked in your rooms.”
Books, a lot of books, and chicken-flavored Cup O’ Noodles—if I’m still here.
“Yeah, okay.”
She led him through the first level of the facility, and he kept his head on a swivel, watching everything that moved.
Each department was sectioned off by glass walls, a design intended for transparency rather than secrecy. Yet he still mapped each exit sign and stairwell.
Rose pointed out the multiple divisions as they passed: Intelligence and Analysis, Medical and Rehabilitation, Field Operations Support, Logistics and Transport, Training and Simulation, but one in particular caught his eye.
Shadow Division: Black Ops Planning and Execution.
Some of the stern-faced workers were in mid–weapon breakdown, others studied multiple rotating maps and satellite feeds, tapping and clicking on screens.
No one stared or gawked as he walked by, but they paused briefly and gave him a nod reserved for someone of importance before going back to their jobs.
A man jogged up to him in a pristine white suit with a shiny, blue unapologetic tie and fell into step beside him.
He didn’t speak, just bit his bottom lip, looking him up and down as if he wanted to devour him. He leaning over so far that his dark-blond curls fell across his forehead.
Scar stopped short. “What the fuck are you doing?”
The guy jumped, throwing his hands up as an enormous grin spread across his face.
“Oh, sorry! I’m Elias Bloom. Head of Wardrobe and Tactical Attire for you and Gage.”
Scar resumed walking. “Are you the one who put all that blinding white shit in my closet?”
“Well, you are the Whites,” he said cheerfully. “But I can tailor to your taste. Honestly, don’t you think white is the best color? It’s so versatile.”
Scar snorted. “If you say so.”
“I’m already planning to outdo the Blacks coordinator. I got some shit that’s gonna’ blow everyone’s minds.”
“Good luck,” Rose said from beside him.
“Can I see your hair?” he pleaded, hands clasped together as though praying Scar would say yes.
“No.”
“Then can I get you to come by later tonight for some measurements? The sooner the better.”
If I’m still here after this meeting.
“Fine,” he shrugged.
Elias lifted a hand for a high-five, then dropped it at Scar’s indignant expression.
“Whew. Love that energy!” Elias snapped his fingers rapidly. “We’ll create magic, you and me. We got chemistry…I feel it!”
Scar shook his head as the guy speed-walked away, his long white duster swishing behind him.
“Everyones really enthusiastic that you and Gage are finally home.” Rose smiled.
Scar grunted.
“And for what it’s worth,” she added, “we were all outraged at what the old director did to you. I only wish Meridian had killed him more slowly.”
Scar frowned. “Meridian?”
Her cheeks flushed. “The Black Raven. The first of you. He’s amazing. He and his partner, Ex, have stopped genocides, taken down countless drug and human traffickers, erased illegal weapons distributions before they reached urban city streets, shutdown warlord territories, you name it.”
Scar absorbed that.
“And who decides all this?” he asked.
“Jo,” she said easily. “Missions are sanctioned, carefully, but ultimately decided by her and her team.”
They stopped at a set of double doors labeled: STRATEGIC OPERATIONS COMMAND.
“They’re waiting for you.”
He walked in with his head high and his hood low.
Slowly, the conversations fell silent.
The first thing he noticed in the large room was the color-coded sections. Black. Brown. Green…and White.
The massive department was overloaded with mounted screens—showing everything from live satellite feeds to world news—tactical tables with holographic rotating maps, comms panels, and rows of headsets along the wall.
Each section had multiple members sitting within it, wearing the corresponding color. At the front of each one sat two figures. Scar didn’t know any of them by name, but their presence radiated power.
In front of the Blacks was a man dressed in layers of darkness. He was controlled stillness, emanating something dangerous. Beside him was another man—he assumed his partner—he was a little shorter but appeared no less deadly.
At the head of the Browns’ section were two men who seemed…grounded, solid.
One radiated a dense strength, heavy and serious, his expression hard as bedrock. His partner—all coiled intent—was leaning close to him with his mouth near his ear as if murmuring secrets, all with his eyes never leaving Scars’.