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She dropped to a knee and snatched a jagged rock from the dirt, the slick surface biting into her palm. Flash said something, maybe a warning, but the surge of adrenaline drowned everything else out.
“Get away from him!” she shouted, voice cracking like thunder against the hush.
She slammed the rock into the attacker’s skull. The man reeled with a guttural curse. Flash spun and delivered a brutal follow-up strike that sent him sprawling.
But the victory shattered in seconds.
Figures erupted from the trees, half a dozen, maybe more, rifles raised, boots pounding through the muck. Herrera’s insurgents, eyes wild and faces painted with mud.
Quinn’s breath caught in her throat. She raised her trembling hands, heart hammering. Flash’s pistol was nearly empty. They were surrounded.
Cold dread slithered through her, but beneath it curled something hotter,defiance.She didn’t want to go quietly. But common sense screamed louder. If they fired now, they’d be slaughtered.
Rough hands seized her arms, wrenching her upright. Flash fought like a man possessed, but a rifle butt slammed into his ribs, driving him to his knees.
Quinn twisted, shouting, “Dagger!” but her voice was swallowed by mocking laughter.
The world lurched around her as they were dragged deeper into the jungle, shoved forward through choking vines and slick, uneven ground. Each step pounded with a single, desperate thought,hold on… just hold on… Dagger will come for us.
Then she heard it, Langford’s voice, smug and venomous, echoing through the trees. “We have your teammate and your lady love. Give up, Dagger. It’s over.”
But Quinn’s fire sparked hotter.That flicker of flame deep in her gut tethering her to Dagger.
It wasn’t over.
Not even close.
Not untiltheysaid it was.
The jungle pulsedwith heat and threat, dense with the scent of wet bark and the iron tang of blood. Somewhere behind him, Dagger could still hear the ghost-echo of Quinn’s scream, ripped from her throat as they dragged her away. He’d had zero choice. With Flash and Quinn in the clutches of Herrera’s men, he gave up. Wanted to smash that smug grin off Langford’s face, but instead he let them zip-tie his wrists again.
The weight of her scream pressed against his ribs like a vice, each breath shallow and sharp. Sweat trickled down his spine, but the chill inside him was glacial. Every vine, every tree, every rustle of leaves was suddenly too loud, too alive, like the whole rainforest was holding its breath, waiting for him to detonate.
Then Langford spoke.
“Funny thing about your brother, Hollis.”
The words sliced through the heavy air like a blade, sharp enough to gut. The tone of Langford’s voice told him his words were going to hurt.
Dagger went utterly still. Every nerve in his body snapped taut. His breath turned to ice. Focus tunneled. He could feel Quinn’s energy echoing in the space she'd just been, like heatlingering after fire, like a phantom tether stretching between them even now.
The air thickened, heavy with threat. The storm was already here. It lived in his chest. She and Flash came into view, but Langford’s voice carried that smug, mocking cadence that made Dagger want to bury him six feet under and salt the earth. He shoved him past her, her eyes wide and whiskey dark…with her love. He gritted his teeth, seeing nothing but his future there, their future, and something in his chest unraveled, even as Langford continued his taunt.
“He wasn’t even supposed to be on Herrera’s radar. You know that, right? But someone had to let Ramos know he wasn’t State Department. That he was, in fact, a government agent.”
Something inside Dagger cracked open, deep, ancient, and ice-cold. His blood turned to liquid nitrogen. A roar started in the back of his skull, building behind his temples. A hurricane forming behind his eyes.
Langford chuckled. “Oops. The secret is out.”
Behind him, Quinn’s sharp inhale cut through the thick hush of the jungle. He didn’t even have to turn. He could feel the way she froze, the way her body leaned toward the sound, needing the truth even though it burned.
Langford wasn’t done. Of course he wasn’t. He leaned in, his words coated in poison. “Ramos was thrilled to get rid of him. That fucker tortured Brian himself. Your brother didn’t just die, Hollis. He bled out slowly. Helpless. Tendons in his arms sliced so he couldn’t even fight back.”
Dagger’s throat closed. His vision shimmered, not from tears, he was too far gone for that, but from rage.
“One hour,” Langford added, almost gleeful. “That’s how long it took. A mercy kill in the end.”
Dagger’s hands curled into fists, fingernails slicing his palms. His heart slammed against his ribcage, fast and hard and hollow. The roar in his ears was deafening.