Page 1 of Enticing Kane

Chapter One

Kane

Undisclosed Location in

The Middle East

Two Weeks Ago

The crosshairs hovered steadily over the target, the world beyond the scope dissolving into a blur of muted colors. Kane’s breath was shallow and measured, his heart rate almost nonexistent. His hands, large and calloused from years of holding the cold steel of a sniper rifle, remained as steady as they had been during his first kill. The early morning sun was beginning to rise over the jagged hills of the Syrian desert, casting long, dark shadows over the landscape, but Kane's eyes were focused solely on the man in his sights.

The target—a high-ranking insurgent leader—stood oblivious to his impending death. He was flanked by two guards, but Kane had been watching them for hours. Their patterns, their small talk, the way they leaned on their rifles when they thought no one was looking. Amateurs. He had seen it all before. Kane gently squeezed the trigger, feeling the familiar resistance of the finely tuned weapon beneath his finger. There was no rush, no hesitation—only the finality of what came next.

The shot rang out, a single, sharp crack that echoed across the barren landscape. Through the scope, Kane watched the man drop to the ground, his life snuffed out in an instant. His guards stood frozen, processing the death of their leader before instinct kicked in, and they scattered like frightened deer.

Kane remained motionless, his eye still pressed against the scope, tracking the movements of the survivors as they scrambled for cover. But they were no longer his concern. His mission was complete.

He eased off the trigger, taking a moment to breathe in deeply, feeling the cool morning air fill his lungs. The distant sounds of the desert began to fade back in, and with it, the realization that this was the last time he would ever have to do this. This was his final assignment, the last time he would feel the cold kiss of his rifle against his cheek.

It had been years—decades, even—of solitary missions, silent kills, and long stretches of waiting in the most desolate places on Earth. The Marines had been his life, his purpose. But now, that was over. He’d put in his twenty years, and it was time for something new. The Marines had given him discipline and a family of sorts, but from the time he’d become a sniper, his connection to other people had begun to distance him from them.

It had infected all areas of his life, including sex. He’d found he didn’t have the time or patience to connect with a woman via the normal dating patterns. A friend had introduced him to the D/s lifestyle and to clubs that catered to those who needed to control and dominate in their sexual encounters, not really connect. He’d been like a man dying of thirst who’d stumbled on an oasis. Kane had trained and become an excellent practitioner, but still, he didn’t really connect to the subs he played with. He never played without a contract and was not known as a Dom who provided any kind of emotional aftercare.

As he packed away his gear with methodical precision, there was no relief, no sense of accomplishment. There was only the cold, stark realization that he had always been alone.

Kane moved through the arid terrain, every footstep measured and careful. The extraction point was miles away, but the journey didn’t bother him. In fact, he relished the quiet walk through the desert, a place that had become more of a home to him than any city ever would be. The isolation was familiar, a comfort that he understood better than human connection. And yet, the horizon loomed ahead—a tantalizing glimpse as to what his life might be. The question remained: did he want that life, or did he merely want to sink into a civilian life where he played at clubs and perhaps became a professor of history at an obscure university?

As he reached the extraction point, a dull whirring filled the air. The helicopter appeared on the horizon, a dark speck growing larger with each passing second. Kane watched it approach, his face an impassive mask. He was leaving, but there was no one waiting for him. No comrades to pat him on the back, no farewell party. Just the usual silent extraction, a quick flight to the base, and a signature on a piece of paper—his discharge paper, which would mark the end of this period of his life.

The helicopter touched down, the blades kicking up a whirlwind of sand and grit. Kane approached without hesitation, ducking under the rotor wash as he climbed inside. The door slammed shut behind him, sealing him off from the world he had known for so long.

The flight back to the base was uneventful. The pilot said nothing, and Kane didn’t bother with small talk. He stared out the window as the desert passed beneath them, a sea of endless dunes and rocky outcrops. It was beautiful, in a harsh, unforgiving way. But it was also empty. Like him. The only time he felt as though he had anything to offer to another person—or even himself—was when he was topping a woman at one of the clubs he frequented.

When they finally landed at the base, Kane stepped out and headed directly to the debriefing room. The process was routine—he handed over his gear, answered a few perfunctory questions from a young officer who seemed more interested in his paperwork than the man in front of him, and then he was done. His papers were signed, and with them, his life as a Marine sniper was officially over.

Kane walked out of the building; his duffel bag slung over one shoulder. The base was bustling with activity, but it was all just noise to him. He made his way to the transport terminal, where a bus would take him to the nearest airport. As he waited, he scanned the area, his eyes searching for anyone he might know. But there was no one. No one had come to see him off, to shake his hand, or wish him well.

He was truly alone.

The bus arrived, and Kane boarded it without a word. He found a seat at the back, away from the other passengers, and settled in for the long ride. The exhaustion that had been building up over the years was finally catching up with him. He leaned his head against the window, closing his eyes as the bus rumbled along the dusty road.

By the time they reached the airport, Kane felt like a ghost drifting through the motions. He checked in for his flight, passed through security, and made his way to the gate. Everything was a blur of monotonous routine. But when he boarded the plane, something unexpected happened.

“Kane?”

The voice was deep and authoritative, with a strong Scottish accent. It cut through the fog of his exhaustion like the proverbial hot knife through butter. Kane looked up to see Robert Fitzwallace, a former SAS commando and CEO of Cerberus—a highly respected, and some said feared, black ops, intelligence, and security firm. Fitz was a tall, imposing man with a presence that commanded attention.

“Fitz,” Kane said, his voice betraying a hint of surprise.

Fitz was the last person Kane had expected to find. The last time they crossed paths had been in London, at the private lifestyle club, Baker Street, which also served as Cerberus’ headquarters. The club catered to a very specific clientele, and Fitz was the top Dom and owner the club with his wife, JJ. Kane had rarely been to London, but when he had, Baker Street had provided him not only with a place to indulge but a place to stay. Kane didn’t necessarily consider Fitz to be a friend, but they were friendly, and the former SAS officer had seemed to take an interest in him. An interest that was now making itself known once more.

“It’s been a while,” Fitz said, a slight smile playing at the corners of his lips. “I almost didn’t recognize you.”

“Same here,” Kane replied, though that wasn’t entirely true. Fitz was a hard man to forget, with his salt-and-pepper hair, chiseled features, and piercing blue eyes. He had the air of someone who was used to getting what he wanted.

“I heard you were on this flight,” Fitz continued, “and I thought we might have a chat. Why don’t you join me in First Class?”

Kane hesitated, glancing down at his economy-class ticket. He wasn’t one for luxuries, and the idea of spending the flight in a plush seat with a glass of champagne didn’t appeal to him. But Fitz wasn’t the kind of man you refused.

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