When the cell signal dropped and social platforms went dead, we knew something was wrong.
But by then, there was no way to reach home.
Many of us didn’t have a home anymore.
Nor did we have families.
Two years have passed since the Change. Yeah, there is irony in the word that carries with it despair and horror and signifies the turning point when the almighty proved that they can jeopardize world peace for power.
The bombing stopped a long time ago. But the fallout is an invisible monster that claims thousands every day. Social collapse turns Western nations into savages. And world famine shows the West the oh-so-precious difference between living and surviving.
There’s the ‘safe’ world—Australia, South America, Africa, and the few Western countries that didn’t have nukes and therefore weren’t involved.
And there is Zion.
Prosperous.
Untouched.
In two years, I made this island a safe haven. I lost people who loved me. I made a home for those who hate me. I built a pharmaceutical empire that gives hope to future generations.
Being a king is a solitary journey. To avoid insanity, I have to keep my mind at peace.
But then I meether.
Katura Ortiz. A beautiful spy, sent to my island by a Russian mobster. I admit, that was a clever trick—sending a nineteen-year-old to blend in.
But now her cover is blown. So guess what?
She wants to play? We’ll play.
Bymyrules.
Cliff Villa is quiet when I turn off my MTT Superbike at the entrance.
One guard is at the door. “All good, boss. Bremer is watching the back terrace. She didn’t try to leave.”
Katura Ortiz has spent a night in my villa under surveillance while I was in Port Mrei, sorting shit out with Droga and getting shot by his girlfriend in the process—a two-year silent war that finally came to an end this morning and still hurts like a stab in the heart.
My arm is numb from whatever Doc injected it with. My clothes are damp and smell like fucking seaweed. I haven’t slept in two days. Haven’t eaten anything in as long.
But I’ve had plenty of booze, which is wearing off, and I don’t like it. Because now I feel groggy and have to deal with this Harley fucking Quinn.
The chick is unapologetically confident. She was one of seven others selected to come to Zion a month ago, and one of the lucky four who survived the boat crash, then spent weeks on the Eastside with the Outcasts.
I watched her on camera.
Studied her.
She was different.
Well, well…
I nod to the guard, letting him go, and walk in, trying to keep cool.
Creep in, to be exact, into my own fucking villa—after Amir, my business partner, gave me intel that Aleksei Tsariuk was talking to Navy SEALs about breaching Zion’s security, that pretty spy who came to my island only weeks ago acquired a whole new meaning.
I thought Katura Ortiz was an unusual applicant. With her background in martial arts, Navy SEAL dad, Bangkok residence and Pennsylvania survivalist shit, she could bring some refreshing energy to this place.