Page 1 of Shadow's Edge

Chapter 1

Kyle

The tires of my Vanquish S hummed against the asphalt as I neared the Knights MC clubhouse, the landscape around me an eerie reminder of a past I’d spent years trying to outrun. Every street sign, every familiar bend in the road, whispered memories I had no interest in revisiting. Some people took comfort in nostalgia, I found it suffocating.

Little girls dream about their weddings—the white dress, the flowers, the perfect love story unfolding like a fairytale. My best friend in second grade had been different. She’d imagined herself in a tux, standing beside the woman of her dreams. Last year, I’d watched her marry that woman, both of them glowing in matching white gowns, looking like princesses out of a Disney movie. It had been beautiful. Inspiring, even. But dreams like that? They’d never been in the cards for me. Mine had gone up in flames before I even had a chance to believe in them.

A bitter chuckle slipped out as my mind flickered to my childhood reel: a trainwreck of screaming matches, a mother drowning herself in alcohol, a father who barely acknowledged my existence. The highlight reel ended in a crescendo of bullshit—the day my mother took the easy way out, leaving me to clean up the mess.

If it hadn’t been for Duke, my uncle, stepping in when he did, I would’ve been another casualty of the chaos. Instead, he pulled me into his world—Indigo Security, a top-tier investigations and protection company. From day one, I was put through the wringer. Firearms, combat training, intelligence work, you name it, I did it. By twenty-one, I had my helicopter pilot’s license and was recruited for covert government ops. We were the Ghosts—phantoms in the field, slipping in and out unnoticed. It was everything I craved: adrenaline, purpose, and most importantly, distance from my past.

Yet here I was, twenty-four hours fresh from the Sand Pits—the hellscape of the Middle East—pulling into a place I swore I’d never step foot in again. Why? Because Duke asked me to. Because I owed him my life. Because he’d said the one word that shattered every promise I’d made to myself. Trafficking.

A low rumble of an engine behind me signaled Match pulling in. We’d been through hell together, but our jobs didn’t exactly allow for a carpool situation. At the edge of the lot, the trailer that transported our bikes sat waiting. The guys all had Harleys, but I craved speed—my Kawasaki Ninja was built for it, custom wheels, sleek paint job, and fast as sin. My car was no different. The Aston Martin had been a gift from a job in Monaco, and I loved it so much I struggled to part from when it when I was at home. A blacked-out Vanquish S, every inch of it luxury and muscle wrapped in a dream.

The weight of exhaustion settled into my bones as I idled for a moment, eyes tracing the building in front of me. The clubhouse had changed since I was a kid, it looked cleaner, more refined.But I knew better than to be fooled by fresh paint. The ghosts of the past didn’t fade so easily.

A loud grunt yanked me back to the present, and I laughed outright as Match struggled to unfold himself from his truck. We’d taken a beating this time, and while I had my share of bruises, Match had shielded me when a mud wall collapsed, so he was worse off. Watching him move was like witnessing an old man try to bend steel.

I could’ve sat there, stalling a little longer, but movement at the door caught my eye.

Duke stood there, solid as ever. Beside him? The last person I ever wanted to see. Nixon ‘Preacher’ Ripley—my sperm donor. He looked the same, sadly too much like me, and I hated him for it.

More figures emerged from the building. Data, one of the Ghosts, and another Knight I didn’t recognize, but my focus stayed on Duke as he approached. He pulled me into a bear hug, but the moment pressure hit my bruised ribs, I groaned. He let go immediately, frowning.

“Couple bumps and bruises, old man. Not a big deal.” I shrugged it off, unwilling to show how much they actually hurt.

Data shoved between us, wrapping me in a hug of his own. “Good to see you, babe.”

“Yo, what the fuck am I?” Match bellowed from across the lot.

“You don’t get a hug, ‘cos you don’t got tits!” Data shot back, grinning. Laughter rippled through the group, everyone except Preacher, who stood there staring at me with something unreadable in his eyes. Good, let him stew in it.

Match scowled as he grabbed his gear. That was his default setting, perpetual grimace. In all the years I’d known him, I could count on one hand the times I’d seen him smile. Thirteen, to be exact. And even then, it had been terrifying.

I made my way to my trunk, pulling out my civilian duffel, my military bag, and my rifle case. Data grabbed my duffels and took them inside. He knew better than to touch my rifle, everyone did. That was mine.

As I turned to follow, my father’s voice cut through the air like a rusted blade.

“Kai.”

I stopped, eyes locking onto his. Neutral expression, no weakness, no emotion.

“It’s good to see you,” he said, awkward and out of place.

I didn’t respond, just nodded and kept walking. Let him squirm.

Inside, my eyes adjusted to the dim lighting. The clubhouse had cleaned up well. Gone were the sticky floors and seedy corners crawling with bacteria yet to be discovered by modern science. The men here seemed more disciplined, the space more structured. Still, it wasn’t my world.

Duke’s voice pulled me back. “We’re headed this way.” He nodded toward the hallway leading to the MC’s core, the armory, Church, offices.

“I’m not locking it up.” I gestured to my rifle.

Duke smirked. “We’re going straight to Church, Kai.”

As the people in the room shifted, heading in the same direction as us, I fell in line behind him and Preacher. The unfamiliarKnight from outside kept pace beside me, but I didn’t spare him a glance. I wasn’t here to make friends.

I was here to get the job done. And then? I was gone.

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