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Beside her, Dagger chuckled low under his breath and gave her a sidelong look, half apologetic, half amused. The kind that said,Welcome to my world.
“To think,” he murmured just for her, “you thought I was the dangerous one.”
She grinned, biting her lip. “I stand corrected. Clearly, it’s the one with the pencil.”
His eyes lingered on her for a beat too long, affection buried beneath all that tough-guy restraint, a warmth only she seemed to unlock.
Quinn realized something else in that moment. For all their bravado, this team wasn’t just elite operators…they were family. Dagger’s family. Now maybe, hers too.
But then the energy shifted. The guys noticed her for real, not just as a bystander, but as someone who had joined them in combat a few days ago. Concern flickered in every set of eyes, even behind the banter.
Twister stood. “You good, Quinn?”
Brawler straightened, actually looking sheepish, which might’ve been a historical first.
Flash gave her a lopsided grin. “Glad you’re back in one piece.”
Shark offered a respectful nod. “Anything you need, you’ve got us.”
Tex’s gaze was sharp but kind. “You up to continuing your mission, Quinn?”
Quinn held his gaze, then lifted her chin, not in arrogance, but with that fire that had carried her this far. “Hoo-yah. I am.”
That earned a reaction.
Cheers, smirks, a few whoops. Even a low whistle from Flash.
But Dagger… he just watched her with something entirely different in his expression. A quiet pride. A reverence. A flicker of something deeper than words.
She swore, in that exact moment, he looked at her like she could command the world.
14
Brawler didn’t move much,but his gaze drifted to Quinn. She stood near Dagger, white-knuckling a tablet like it was the only thing keeping her upright. Her bandaged arm had to be screaming, he’d taken a bullet or two in his time, but the woman held her ground. He respected that. Hell, he admired it.
The conference room had shifted from nonsense to laser focus, the air thicker with tension than coffee fumes. Brawler sat low on the couch, one boot braced on the edge, leg bouncing restlessly while Beast sprawled beside him, head on his paws, tracking everything like a shadow.
Shark tapped on his tactical computer, Flash spun a knife like it was fused to his fingers, and Bondo stood behind Tex, arms folded, biceps flexed under his shirt. All business now. Easy and Flash were poring over aerial photos of the embassy site, red-penning weak points and potential breach angles. Twister was double-checking his medical pack, lips tight with focus.
The door opened, and Emma Sutherland strode in like a scalpel, sleek, cold, precise, dressed in black tactical gear sharp enough to cut glass.
Brawler wouldn’t mind hitting that. She was exactly his type, blonde, built, big tits, and an ass that wouldn’t quit. Those violet eyes were the bomb.
“We’ve confirmed another intel packet this morning,” she said, brisk and efficient. “There was a drone strike overnight outside San Fernando. ISR shows significant structural damage, secondary explosions, and thermal body signatures consistent with insurgent casualties.”
“I love it when you talk dirty,” Brawler growled, earning chuckles from the team.
Emma’s gaze narrowed to a blade’s edge. “Miguel Herrera is presumed dead.”
Silence dropped. Hard and cold.
Brawler felt it echo through the team, jaw clenches, subtle nods, that grave relief warriors knew too well. Butpresumedwasn’tdead.SEALs didn’t domaybe.SEALs didno pulse.
She wasn’t relieved. Not completely. Dagger noticed. Of course he did.
Emma shifted into secondary threats and construction progress updates. Brawler half-listened. His mind was already spinning through routes, fallback plans, threat trees. That was his job.
Then her words caught his attention. “Construction resumes today. We’re back on schedule.”