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8
The break roomstill smelled like coffee, but not the burnt, bitter sludge they usually got on deployment. Here, in what used to be a high-end hotel, everything was too damn nice, the gleaming espresso machine on the marble counter, the leather chairs gathered around a polished wood table, the massive flat-screen mounted on the wall that no one ever turned on. The fridge was stocked with protein shakes and energy drinks, the cabinets held organic snacks, and the floor-to-ceiling windows gave a sweeping view of the city below.
Too bad none of it made a difference. Dagger carried too much on his own, like he didn’t trust them to carry it with him. That was a fucking insult. They weren’t just teammates. They were brothers. When a brother shut them out, he might as well have thrown a goddamn grenade into the team. If Dagger wasn’t going to talk?Fine. The SEAL way had two options, spit it out or get your ass handed to you.
The air was thick, tension coiling beneath the surface like a tripwire. The team was loose but not relaxed.
Beast lay stretched out on the cool tile, an expensive Kong toy wedged between his paws, working hard for the peanut butterinside. His ears flicked with each muffled conversation, his sharp eyes sweeping the room like he was waiting for something. Like he sensed it coming before anyone else did.
Brawler leaned against the counter, rolling the tension out of his shoulders, but his pulse was still hammering, his blood too damn hot. He’d been sitting on this frustration since the revelation with that woman who was blaming everyone instead of mourning Brian. He deserved that. Dagger had the hots for his sister-in-law. Damn that had to be fucking hard, but that didn’t absolve him from fessing up to the team.
Then the door swung open. Dagger stepped in. No hesitation. No warning. Brawler moved. His fist slammed into Dagger’s jaw with the kind of force that rattled bone, snapping his head back and lifting him clean off his feet.
Dagger hit the damn floor hard. The expensive tile didn’t give.
Beast let out a low growl but didn’t move. The dog knew the difference between a fight and a lesson.
Brawler barely registered the dull ache in his knuckles. Dagger had a hard fucking head, but that didn’t make it any less satisfying.
For a second, nobody spoke. Dagger was getting some sense knocked into him because he didn’t get it, but that would shake something loose. Brawler didn’t punch people he didn’t care about. But when a brother carried a load, he didn’t have to carry alone, that pissed him off more than anything.
Then Twister cut through the silence. “Fuck, Brawler, take it down a notch.” His voice was sharp, but he wasn’t exactly rushing to stop him. The rest of the team had locked in, standing still, watching.
Waiting.
Brawler flexed his fingers, glaring at Dagger, who was still on the floor, rubbing his jaw. Damn he hated being out of the loop.His anger wasn’t just about loyalty. Dagger was shutting out his fucking battle brothers…his family.
“Don’t start on me,” Brawler muttered. “I should punch you, too.”
Twister scoffed. “For what?”
Brawler’s gaze swept the room. “For not calling this jackass out sooner.”
Dagger exhaled through his nose, still on the ground, his expression unreadable. Still taking it.
Easy let out a low whistle. “Talk about blindsiding a guy.”
“Nope, Easy, I think he saw that coming,” Bondo said.
Flash, arms crossed, grinned a little too much. “That looked like it hurt.”
Dagger huffed a dry laugh, rolling his jaw as he sat up. “I guess I deserved that.” He lifted a brow, locking eyes with Brawler. “Lucky it was you taking a cheap shot instead of Beast.”
Brawler didn’t let himself crack a smile. Not this time. “You dumb bastard,” he muttered. “You think we wouldn’t have your back?” Dagger’s expression didn’t change, but Brawler saw the flicker of something in those pale green eyes. Guilt. The air in the room shifted. The team felt it. No one moved. SEALs didn’t do heart-to-hearts. Didn’t sit around unpacking emotions like some damn self-help group. No, they fought.
Then Tex walked in.
Their long-suffering LT stopped short, his sharp gaze sweeping the scene. Dagger on the floor, Brawler still coiled tight, the rest of them standing like an audience waiting for their popcorn to arrive.
Tex exhaled, unimpressed. “If you’re done getting your aggression out, we’ve got PT in five. I’d rather you beat each other senseless after my workout, not before.”
Silence.
Then, a guy poked his head in. “Sir, Miss Sutherland needs to speak with you.”
Tex’s gaze flicked to Bondo. “You take them through PT.”
Bondo’s slow grin spread. “How many miles, sir?”