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Quinn could feel him watching her.

No, not just watching, searing her with that pale green gaze, making her way too aware of her body, especially her breasts and that hot spot between her legs. She had been doing so well, sitting at this table, trying to ignore the magnetic force field that was Kade Hollis. But her body didn’t know how not to respond to him now.

When she finally lifted her eyes, he was waiting, leaning back against the wall, arms folded, bruised and battered but still unfairly gorgeous. Their eyes locked, and in a movement so slight she might have imagined it, he inclined his head toward the hallway.

An unspoken command.

Her breath caught. Oh, hell.

She turned to David, voice smooth despite the heat licking up her spine. “I’ll be ready in a minute.” She barely registered his response before she pushed back her chair, grabbed her hat and bag, and made a beeline for the man she absolutely couldn’t resist, even if she was still wrestling with all her damn tangled up emotions, beliefs, and revelations.

As she got closer, she noticed the fresh damage, a butterfly bandage on a cut along his chin, bruising along his cheekbone, scuff marks on his knuckles.

She stopped short. “What the hell happened to you? Did you go to war between last night and this morning?”

His lips twitched. “SEAL correction. You should see the other guys.” His gaze glanced to his teammates. Could this man be any more adorable? “Team thought I needed an attitude adjustment.” A flicker of unease slipped over the glow of simply enjoying this man. She didn’t remember ever thinking Brian was adorable.

She frowned, taking in his equally battered and bruised brothers. “Looks like you all got adjustments. I always thought you were trouble, handsome, handsome trouble.” This time his grin was full, and it hit her right in the solar plexus like the punches it looked like he took. Men. Fighting was in their damn blood, especially these alpha males. “Why didn’t you all just piss up ropes and see who could get the highest?”

He threw back his head and laughed. Quinn experienced a fizzing sensation that made her catch her breath. It had been such a long time since she’d seen him laugh like this, and the transformation in him was amazing. There was a lighthearted buoyancy that animated his already breath-stealing features. She wanted more of this. She couldn’t remember Brian ever laughing like that, loud, carefree, utterly unguarded. Dagger’s joy was unshackled, and it stirred something in her she didn’t know she’d been missing.

He expelled the last of his laughter, sending his interested teammates a sidelong glance. They were all staring at them, and she was determined to get the full story. Before she could press him about what happened, he snagged her wrist, the warmth of his fingers branding her skin. Electricity shot up her arm, and damn it, she let him lead her into the hallway, past two doors and into a dimly lit alcove.

Then, he was on her.

Quinn gasped as her back hit the wall, Dagger’s body flush against hers, his mouth claiming hers in a kiss that should have been illegal. Rough. Desperate. Possessive.

Her mind screamed a protest, but her body, her traitorous, weak-willed, melting body, gave in with enthusiastic abandon. Brian had kissed like a husband. Dagger kissed like a searing wrecking ball, an impact that left her reeling, a rupture etched in her bones, and a gravity holding her fast in this disorienting free fall. She grabbed fistfuls of his shirt, pulling him closer, drinking him in like he was top-shelf bourbon after a decade of sobriety.

When he finally tore his lips from hers, she was breathless, her heart trying to escape her ribcage.

Quinn’s heart pounded so hard she could scarcely breathe. Everything about him, his slightly ragged exhale, the taut, sculpted lines of his arms, the flash of wicked heat in his pale green eyes seemed to tunnel her focus until he was the only thing in her world. She swore she could still feel the press of his mouth ghosting over hers and the echo of his body’s tension in her own limbs.

Dagger’s face was so close she caught the faint scent of salt, sweat, and remnants of his cologne. His pupils were blown, those pale eyes darkened to a stormy jade, and the wet sheen on his lips made her stomach clench with longing. A knot of anticipation began to coil deep in her lower belly, competing with the delicious ache ignited by their kiss.

Then, because he was him, he smirked. “I had to run with a hard-on.”

His easy, shameless confession sent a fierce current of awareness zipping along her nerves. She swallowed, her entire body thrumming. She hadn’t realized how stiff her own limbs felt until his teasing words jolted her back to the moment.

Quinn blinked. “Excuse me?”

He tilted his head, his expression pure wicked amusement. “Did you know that exercise extends the time between arousal and ejaculation?”

Her lungs stung as she took in a sharp breath. The images that sprang to mind made warmth spread like wildfire across her skin. She couldn’t help picturing him, all hard lines and sinew, running at a punishing pace while fighting off that relentless desire, long, strong strides that only built more stamina. It was intoxicating.

She swallowed again, tongue dry. She was trembling, but she didn’t care if he saw it. “Then, the way you’re built…” Quinn heard the huskiness in her own voice, a low rasp betraying how deeply she was affected by him. “You should be able to go all night?”

She never would’ve said something like that to Brian. Never would’ve felt this wild freedom, this unfiltered hunger curling through her veins. His body pressed against hers, relentless, powerful, taking her to a place she hadn’t dared to imagine in so long. She let the moment linger, let him see the desire she no longer wanted to hide. It felt reckless and freeing at once.

Any residual tremors of doubt over the last few years melted under the sensual pull of this man. She couldn’t remember the last time her entire being felt this alive. It was as if every cell in her body was tuning to his frequency, drawn in by his strength and the promise of pleasure she’d forbidden herself to crave. Yet she craved it now, so fiercely it stole her breath.

A crooked smile tugged at his mouth, both tender and triumphant, as though he sensed how deeply she was falling under his spell. Quinn’s pulse thudded hard enough to make her dizzy. He truly was lethal. For once, she didn’t want to run away from the danger. She wanted to drown in it, just for this moment, safe in his arms and charged by the unquenchable spark burning between them.

He laughed, a deep, rumbling sound that sent another thrill down her spine.

“When the time is right. Hoo-yah, babe.”

She was still trying to get her damn equilibrium back when he asked, “You headed out?”

She nodded, forcing herself to ignore the thrum of want still pulsing through her.

Dagger’s expression cooled slightly. “I can talk to Tex about going with you. I still don’t trust that asshole.”

Quinn clenched her jaw. Of course he’d do this.

“Not happening, handsome.” She stepped around him, but he followed, his arm braced against the wall beside her. “I have plenty of security. You don’t need to play bodyguard.”

His eyes darkened. “I don’t play bodyguard like that DA. I don’t like the thought of you out there without me.”

“Noted.” She crossed her arms. “Still not happening.” This man, in full battle kit, armed and dangerous? She wouldn’t get a damn thing done.

“Quinn—”

“Enough.” Irritation flared in her chest, overriding her shaky knees and lingering desire. “You do not get to micromanage my security, my job, or my damn life. Got it?”

For a moment, he didn’t move, that intense gaze drilling into hers.

Then, to her absolute infuriation, he smirked again.

“Got it, Hell on Wheels.”

She spun on her heel and stalked away before she did something dangerous. Like kiss him again, muttering “Overprotective Neanderthal.” There was more laughter. She didn’t look back. Not because she didn’t want to, but because she absolutely, unequivocally refused to give him the satisfaction.

The SUV rumbled forward, weaving through the bustling streets of Caracas, the city alive with movement. The midday heat shimmered over the pavement, casting waves of distortion against the towering glass buildings, the faded colonial facades, the chaotic sprawl of open-air markets wedged between them. Street vendors called out in rapid Spanish, their voices blending into the symphony of car horns, distant sirens, and the occasional sharp whistle of a traffic enforcer trying and failing to keep order as they flashed past.

Quinn barely registered any of it.

She rested her elbow against the door, her fingers brushing absently over her lips, her mind still trapped in that damn kiss.

She could still feel the rough scrape of Dagger’s stubble against her skin, the heat of his breath, the way his body had pinned her to the wall, unapologetic, unwavering, like he had every right to take what he wanted. Brian’s kisses had always been soft, careful. Dagger’s weren’t careful. They were consuming.

She had let him, knowing that Dagger would never try to control her like Brian had.

Quinn sighed and rested her head against the headrest.

The guilt that should have followed wasn’t as sharp as before. It should’ve cut deep. But it didn’t. That scared her more than anything.

That thought twisted something inside her, but she still wasn’t ready to sit with it.

Not yet.

Her mind drifted further, tugged not just by Dagger’s kiss but by the reason it shook her to her core.

Because this wasn’t just about Brian. Or even Dagger.

It went further back.

To when she was ten.

To the tiny white cat with the matted fur and the strange little snore that curled into her lap every day after school. Muffin. Her one friend. Her secret-keeper. The only soft place in a world that rarely made room for her feelings.

When Muffin died, no one had cared. Not her parents, who were too busy climbing ladders of ambition to notice their daughter crumbling. Not the kids at school who laughed when she cried about “just a cat.” That was the first time Quinn learned a cruel truth. No one felt things the way she did. No one cared the way she did. If she let go of her grief, it meant the thing she lost didn’t matter. So, she learned to hold on to pain. To guard it. To wrap herself in it like armor, because grief was proof that something mattered.

So, when Brian died and people told her to move on, to heal, to live again, she rejected it violently. Because moving on felt like forgetting. Like betrayal. Dagger, God, Kade, he was trained to push through grief. To compartmentalize. To carry the mission, not the loss. To her, that looked like erasure .

She had clung to her anger because it made her feel like she was still fighting for Brian. Like his death hadn’t just faded into the noise.

But it wasn’t just that.

It was Dagger .

From the moment she met Brian’s younger half-brother, she’d felt it, a jolt. A spark she’d buried so deep it might as well have been a sin. Dagger was steel-edged, quiet, and too perceptive for her comfort. He had looked at her that first day like he saw through all her carefully constructed smiles and polite charm and wanted what was underneath.

Maybe that was the real reason she pushed him away.

Because he’d always seen her. The part even Brian hadn’t fully known what to do with.

Quinn let out a trembling sigh, closing her eyes against the rush of memories.

She stood at the crossroads of her own emotions, feeling the weight of a thousand unspoken words pressing down on her chest. Could she move past this bitterness? Let go of the ache and resentment she wore like second skin?

Dagger was so firmly grounded in his convictions. For the first time, she wondered: what if I let him in? What if she made amends, not for him, but for herself ?

But the thought was like trying to move a mountain with no hands. Her grief wrapped around her like cold fire. It was easier to stay angry than it was to admit she was scared. That maybe she was just as broken as she’d always accused him of being.

She clung to that fury because it made her feel like she was still whole.

That anger was starting to feel like hollow armor. She wasn’t sure it could hold her up anymore.

Quinn swallowed hard, shifting against the leather seat, forcing herself to focus on something, anything, other than the ache curling low in her stomach.

“Awfully quiet, Quinn,” Langford drawled from the front seat, dragging her back into the present.

She exhaled slowly, rolling her shoulders. “Just thinking.”

“About your boyfriend?”

Her grip tightened on her bag, but she forced her voice to stay even. “No,” she said flatly. “About my work.”

Langford scoffed. “A lot of firms wanted this contract. You were up against some real heavyweights.”

She turned her gaze on him, cool and composed. “You sound like I didn’t work my ass off for this. I?—"

Langford cut her off, “I didn’t say that. It’s just you’ve come a long way in a short time.”

“Short time? I have built and rebuilt this building in my mind since I was seven years old. Every corner, every angle, every single detail has been worked and re-worked.” Quinn sighed. “It seems like forever to me.” She narrowed her eyes. Men like Langford… “I don’t throw sticks and stones. I just hulk smash through the glass ceiling. My vision was a cut above those heavyweights, and I float like a pretty butterfly, but sting like a bee.”

She meant it, too.

When she looked at a blank site, she didn’t see emptiness. She saw possibility. Light at dawn. Conversations over coffee. Quiet meetings and bold declarations. Her buildings weren’t just structures. They were stories.

Hers had always started in sweat, sacrifice, and steel.

Cornell had tried to break her. The architecture program was a brutal, unrelenting grind, fifteen-hour studio days, sleepless nights buried in drafting paper, models held together by bleeding fingertips and coffee. The dropout rate was high. Only the obsessed survived.

She had survived.

She’d graduated with honors. She’d fought for that degree, tooth and nail, because she had known even then that she wanted to build things that mattered.

But Brian had never acknowledged that.

Not once.

He’d watched her work herself to the edge of collapse, and instead of lifting her, he’d quietly, skillfully clipped her wings. Why stress yourself out, baby? You’ve already made it. He’d smiled while saying it, patient and sweet and so damn controlling. She hadn’t seen it then.

But she saw it now.

It hurt.

It was a hard, bitter pill to swallow that the man she’d loved, the father of her children, hadn’t wanted her to succeed. He had wanted her tethered . To him. To the boys. No dreams that lived outside the walls of their home. No ambition that didn’t serve his image of a perfect life.

He’d taken her identity.

When he died, she hadn’t just lost her husband, she’d lost the scaffolding he’d built around her. Even if it had been a cage.

No wonder she’d crashed so hard.

She hadn’t known who she was anymore.

But then, warmth bloomed in her chest.

Dagger.

His voice echoed in her memory, steady and quiet: You worked your ass off for that degree. You were made for more than just being someone’s wife.

He had seen her, even when she was too angry, too grief-blind to see herself.

He had never asked for anything in return. Never demanded. Never pushed.

He’d just… waited.

Held her strength inside him like a secret, carrying it until she was ready to take it back.

Maybe, just maybe, she was.

Langford smirked but didn’t push.

The SUV rolled to a stop at an intersection. Beyond the gates, the skeletal frame of her embassy rose like a promise.

She had fought like hell for this contract. For the right to shape something not just functional, but meaningful. A place where diplomacy would breathe. Not just a fortress, but a future with a bridge to a country that was struggling .

Despite the storm raging inside her, she felt… steady.

The SUV passed through the checkpoint, tires crunching against dry earth as the vehicle pulled forward into the active construction zone.

Cement dust. Heated metal. The scent of sparks on steel.

Her arena.

She stepped out of the SUV and squared her shoulders as the sun beat down. Her gaze fixed on the rising beams of steel and glass, her bones, her vision.

This place would be built.

Just like her.

She could already see it in her mind, the glass-paneled facade gleaming under the Venezuelan sun, energy-efficient and modern, the sustainability features seamlessly integrated into the design. Solar panels, rainwater harvesting systems, temperature-regulating green spaces. Not just a fortress. A hub. A place of diplomacy and function.

Langford exhaled beside her. “Lot of work left.”

“It’s a blank canvas,” she countered, already envisioning the final form. “A damn good one.”

The SUV rolled to a stop, dust settling around them. Ahead, the beams rose to the sky, the bones of her masterpiece, and a thrill went through her, her creative energy pushing her out of the vehicle, eager to meet the resident project director and unveil her vision to someone who was going to make it a reality.

As she stepped onto the site, the sun was relentless against her scalp. She donned her floppy hat, the heat pressing down like an unforgiving hand, and sweat was already slipping down her back beneath the light dress she wore. The faint scent of diesel and hot metal clung to the air, mingling with the earthy, sunbaked scent of exposed dirt.

Piper McDonald stood near the trailer, arms crossed, her sharp blue eyes scanning the perimeter like she expected trouble at any moment. The trailer behind her was a sun-faded prefab unit with dented siding and a warped screen door that creaked on its hinges. A humming generator sat beside it, cords trailing toward the building like veins feeding its lifeblood. A rusted fan churned lazily in one open window, barely stirring the thick heat that clung to everything.

Two of Langford’s men loitered near the steps, one half-distracted, thumbing his phone, the other looking in the wrong direction entirely.

Piper’s eyes narrowed. “Hey,” she snapped, not even raising her voice. “Eyes on the perimeter, gentlemen. That phone won’t save your ass if something goes sideways.”

Both men straightened immediately, the one with the phone awkwardly shoving it into his pocket.

Quinn’s brows lifted faintly. Typical . Tex would’ve chewed ass if any of his men acted like that. She’d seen them all in that bar, cool, controlled, hyperaware. They wouldn’t just have her and Piper’s back. They’d have every person on this site cataloged by posture, movement, and threat level. Each one carried that quiet intensity, those steely eyes that didn’t miss a damn thing.

Dagger’s world was different. Sharper. Stricter. Unforgiving.

Somehow…comforting.

Every glance measured, every shift noted. She’d felt it, the weight of their awareness. Not just suspicion, but protection.

Dagger’s protection.

She hated how much she trusted it, trusted him , even now.

Still, Piper’s presence made Quinn feel a little steadier. The woman didn’t miss a beat either.

Her auburn hair was twisted into a no-nonsense bun, her khaki shirt neatly tucked into a slim military green skirt, boots planted firmly like she belonged to the land itself. She was compact, built for efficiency, and carried herself with the ease of someone who had spent their life in male-dominated fields and learned how to thrive in them.

She had been masterful in negotiating Quinn’s contract back in DC, had the kind of backbone that waded through bureaucratic bullshit and streamlined the process. They hadn’t always seen eye to eye, but there was mutual respect there.

“Hey. How did you sleep?”

“Fitfully.” Quinn’s voice was rough. That dream still lingered, leaving her mouth dry and her skin hot.

Piper nodded, like she already knew. “Well, we’re heading into the deep end of the pool, so welcome to the madness.”

Quinn smirked. “I thrive in madness.”

Piper snorted. “Yeah, I saw that last night. It’s clear you and your brother-in-law have some things to work out.” She paused, then added with a shrug, “I made an offhand comment because, well, the guy is fucking gorgeous. So, just ignore me and focus on what you need to get you through. If you ever need to talk, I’m here.”

Of course she would have to be that kind. Disarming, direct, and impossible to dislike. Quinn smiled, her earlier flicker of pettiness melting away.

She had kissed Dagger.

Judging by the way he looked at her… it was clear he couldn’t see anyone but her.

Inside the trailer, the air was cooler, the hum of a generator working to keep it that way. The scent of paper, ink, and stale coffee greeted her, mixing with the faint metallic tang of dust carried in from outside.

Gabriel Rojas, their resident project manager, was already at the table, flipping through paperwork. The man was broad-shouldered, built like an old-school linebacker, but had the steady presence of someone who’d weathered war, loss, and chaos, yet still had steel in his spine and empathy in his eyes." He looked up as they entered, giving Quinn an easy nod.

“Hell of a project you got here,” he said.

Quinn dropped her bag onto the chair, unzipping the portfolio case. She pulled the blueprints from her bag, fingers briefly hesitating. The weight of them was more than paper and ink. It was proof. Proof she’d survived, rebuilt, clawed her way back. Proof that voice in her head had been right, not the one whispering she might not be ready, but the one that sounded maddeningly like Dagger, steady and unshakable. You can do this, Quinn.

“This is more than a project,” she said, smoothing her palm over the plans. “This will be the most advanced embassy in the region.”

Her fingers traced the structure, outlining the reinforced entry points, the underground tunnels, the security features woven seamlessly into the aesthetics. It was a fortress without looking like one, inviting, open, but untouchable.

Gabe whistled low. “Damn. I’ve seen a lot of embassy builds and none of them ever looked like this. This isn’t just functional. It’s... alive. Like the building is reaching out instead of closing in.”

“That’s why we chose her,” Piper said.

They spent the next hour combing through logistics, security concerns, the inevitable delays that came with construction in a volatile region. When Langford’s name came up, Quinn forced herself not to roll her eyes.

They took a break outside, sitting on stacks of concrete slabs, eating lunch from pre-packed containers. Sun-warmed chicken empanadas wrapped in foil, lukewarm soda, and gritty wind that blew dust into everything. The slab beneath her thighs was hot, the sweat trickling down her back making her itch, but still, it was satisfying.

Gabe took a long gulp of water, then glanced her way, brow lifted, voice easy but direct. “So, what’s your story, Miss Cole?”

She dabbed her mouth with a napkin. “You already know my story.”

He gave a short shake of his head, eyes narrowing slightly like he was seeing past her surface. “I know your paper trail. Doesn’t mean I know you, and I like to know the people I’m working with.”

She let out a breath. “Cornell. Worked at a few big firms before I got tired of building someone else’s vision. Started Cole Innovations.”

Piper nodded “Big risk.”

“It wasn’t a risk. I knew what I wanted.”

Gabe smirked. “Outside of work?”

She hesitated. “I have two boys.”

Piper’s eyebrows lifted. “Didn’t peg you as a mom.”

“Most people don’t.”

Gabe grinned. “I got three. Mean little devils.” He finished off his empanada. “What does your husband do for a living?”

“My husband worked for the State Department,” she said softly, then hesitated, her gaze dropping to her hands. “Actually… he was DSS. He died in the field.”

Gabe’s expression shifted instantly, his demeanor sobering. “Damn,” he murmured. “I’m sorry.” He looked over at Piper, and Quinn met her eyes, then went back to Gabe’s. “That’s…” He rubbed a hand over his jaw, searching for words. “I don’t know what I’d do without my Maria.”

Quinn nodded faintly. Her voice was steady, but the ache behind it was unmistakable.

“He died here. In Venezuela.”

Gabe went still. “That’s heavy.” He exhaled, shaking his head. “Now you’re here. Building an embassy on the same soil where he gave his life…”

The silence was a tribute, a quiet honoring of sacrifice and resilience. Gabe’s eyes met hers again, this time with something deeper, respect, empathy, awe.

He briefly squeezed her hand. “You’ve got more guts than most men I’ve ever known, Miss Cole.”

Quinn flinched. The sound was deafening. The first shot shattered the afternoon calm like breaking glass. She jolted, the breath yanked from her lungs. A second shot ripped through the air and a third, impossibly loud. Her ears rang, panic clawing at her ribs. The impact was like a hammer strike, sharp, hot, sudden. The force spun her sideways, pain blooming like fire beneath her sleeve. Her hand flew to the wound, fingers slick, trembling. She’d been shot. The thought spiraled like a siren in her brain.

Piper yanked her behind rebar, Gabe scrambling with them, but Quinn’s vision narrowed, panic tunneling her thoughts. This couldn’t be happening. Not here. Not now.

Chaos erupted.

Everything slowed. The noise faded. It didn’t feel real not until she saw the blood on her hand. Her blood. A deep, terrifying crimson, warm and wet between her fingers.

Shock slammed into her. Her knees gave out before she could scream, the rebar at her back the only thing keeping her from collapsing completely.

She could have died.

The thought punched through the numbness, sharp and cold. Her breath hitched as panic clawed up her throat. Where were the gunmen? Where were Langford’s people? Why weren’t they firing back?

She twisted her head, scanning wildly through the chaos, but the scene was worse than she’d realized, no return fire, no flanking maneuvers, no counteroffensive. Just her, Piper, and Gabe ducked behind steel rods while men in black tactical gear advanced with chilling precision.

They were sitting ducks. Vulnerable. Unarmed. Exposed.

The mercenaries Dagger’s team had dismissed? They weren’t just incompetent. They were gone. Nowhere in sight.

Dagger was right. If he saw this, if he ever found out just how unprotected she’d really been, he’d lose his mind.

He would’ve never forgiven himself. Not if she’d bled out here, on this scorched ground, in the same country where Brian had died. Not if her boys had lost her too.

A sob rose in her throat, swallowed by the pounding in her ears. The world tilted again, her vision tunneling. Ezra. Elijah. She saw their faces, small hands reaching for her, heard the echo of their laughter.

I can't leave them. I can't die here.

But her body was already giving out, lightheaded, limbs heavy, pain surging with every heartbeat. Her hand slipped from her arm, fingers curling weakly in the dust.

Sirens wailed in the distance, but they sounded miles away. A voice shouted her name, Piper’s, maybe, but it barely registered.

Her sweet children. They’d lose her the same way she lost their father without warning, without goodbye.

Then her phone buzzed in her pocket.

Dagger.

He knew.

He would be coming.

God, she needed him.

Dagger felt the phone slip in his damp grip, his pulse thundering. Quinn’s name flashed on the screen, but the call never connected, just rang until it went to voicemail. His lungs felt constricted, like someone was pressing an iron bar against his chest.

He tried one more time, and again, nothing.

His voice was unsteady when he turned to Tex. “She’s not picking up.”

Tex’s phone was at his own ear, worry etching lines into his otherwise composed features. “The team at the site just confirmed. She’s at the hospital. She took a round.”

Dagger didn’t remember racing outside, but there he was, sprinting across the cracked pavement, ignoring the curious looks from Marine guards at the entrance. His heart hammered so violently he half expected it to burst out of his ribcage. A primal urgency seized him. Quinn was hurt, no, shot , and an image of her bleeding out, alone, tore at his sanity.

By the time he reached the SUV, Easy was already in the driver’s seat, ready to go. The rest of the team scrambled into vehicles behind them. Dagger wrenched open the passenger door and practically dove inside, slamming it shut.

“Go,” he barked, the word coming out raw, half order, half plea.

The ride blurred around him. One second, they were pulling out of the lot, and the next, they were weaving through the congested Caracas traffic. He barely heard the honking horns, the screech of tires, or the curses thrown their way. Cold sweat trickled down his neck, but all he could think was She’s hurt. She’s hurt and I wasn’t there.

It triggered something deep, a protective rage that simmered, the kind of anger that made his vision narrow and his blood pound loud in his ears. He wasn’t just a SEAL in that moment. He was a man who had lost too much already. The memory of Brian ripped through him. No. Not again. He couldn’t lose her, too. He refused.

The words Quinn had spoken earlier came back to him, unbidden: I always thought you were trouble, handsome, handsome trouble. At the time, it had been a jest, a teasing little acknowledgment that maybe they were finally getting somewhere. Something in her tone had softened around the edges, just for a moment. He had heard it, the warmth, the undercurrent of humor that was so uniquely her . He’d been desperate for that spark to return, for the hurt between them to fade, even if it took time. Now, that chance felt perilously close to slipping through his fingers. He’d lost his brother to this place. He wasn’t going to lose her, too. Not to incompetence. Not to chaos. Not to fate. SEALs didn’t lose. They took ground, held the line. But this wasn’t about mission. This was personal. This was war and his battlefield was her heart.

They reached the hospital in record time, the SUV skidding to a halt with a squeal of tires. Before the vehicle was fully stopped, Dagger was ripping open the door. Tex hollered, “Wait—” but Dagger was already gone, boots pounding on the asphalt.

He vaulted the curb, ignoring the startled yelp of a nurse hurrying inside. A lethal, singular focus consumed him. Find Quinn. Make sure she’s safe.

The glass doors to the emergency entrance slid open too slowly for him, and he nearly collided with them in his haste. The sterile, fluorescent-lit hallway came into abrupt focus, stretchers, white-coated staff, the smell of antiseptic, and the stale undertone of fear that always clung to hospitals. He hadn’t been this close to panic since that day two years ago, when he’d lost Brian.

Everything blurred, becoming the memory outside the prison where he’d first heard the words, Cole didn’t make it. That same helpless fury, the same sense of failure, threatened to drown him now.

Somewhere behind him, Tex’s voice rose, urgent. “Dagger, stop! You’ll?—”

He barely registered the words. There was no stopping. Every second counted.

He rounded a corner and spotted Langford, standing near a nurse’s station. The man’s expression was pinched, his lips forming words, but Dagger didn’t care what he was saying. Something in his posture sent Dagger’s rage skyrocketing, as if Langford’s presence alone was enough to confirm his conviction that this man wasn’t good enough to provide the kind of security she needed. He’d left Quinn vulnerable. Langford’s men hadn’t done their damn job.

He lunged forward, fists clenching, the edges of his vision tinting red. Langford’s eyes widened, and he lifted his hands as though to placate or defend himself. “She’s all right?—”

No. Not good enough. Not after what she’d been through. Not when Dagger had come so close to losing her. There was a savage, merciless part of him that demanded retribution, that demanded blood.

But just before he could drive his fist into Langford’s face, two massive impacts slammed into him from behind. Bondo and Easy tackled him, knocking the wind out of his lungs.

He hit the tiled floor with a growl, arms straining to reach Langford, to land at least one punishing blow. The primal fury took control, and he roared, “Get the hell off me!”

Bondo’s deep voice cut through, breath ragged. “Dagger! You can’t?—”

Easy tightened his grip on Dagger’s wrists. “You’re not thinking. Stop!”

But reason was as distant as the flickering overhead lights. All he could see was Quinn, hurt, hospitalized, maybe fighting for her life. A fractured thought seared his mind. She might not make it. She might die, just like ? —

He bucked under them, muscles tensing in a desperate attempt to break free. He wanted to kill someone, to tear apart anything that threatened her.

“Kade.”

Her voice was softer than he’d ever heard it, trembling on the edge of exhaustion and pain. It pierced through the roaring in his head like a beacon.

He froze, breath caught in his throat. Easy and Bondo felt the change and loosened their hold.

Slowly, Dagger turned his head to see Quinn standing nearby, her arm bandaged. His eyes locked on the crimson stain blooming beneath the white bandage. For a moment, all he saw was red, rage, terror, regret, blurring together in a haze of helpless fury.

She looked too pale, her eyes sunken with exhaustion. But she was alive.

He wrenched himself free from his teammates, stumbling up to his knees, feeling like the floor was shifting under him. She extended her good arm, pushing softly past Bondo and Easy. A trembling hand grazed Dagger’s cheek.

“I’m all right,” she whispered, her voice cracking.

The world slammed back into full color. His eyes stung. He swallowed hard, overcome with relief, he wrapped both arms around her waist and pressed the side of his face to her belly, his chest heaving at the feel of her warm skin. She was here.

Her hand went over his head so gently, his throat contracted. The sob tore him to shreds. Without speaking, he rose to his feet, arms wrapping around her gently, unsure if he’d hurt her if he held too tight. But she clung to him, her fingers curling in his shirt, breathing him in as if that alone grounded her.

Dagger shut his eyes and pressed his forehead to hers, letting out a shaky exhale. Relief hit him like a tidal wave, so overwhelming his knees threatened to buckle. His heart pounded from adrenaline, but beneath that wild thrum was an ache of gratitude and love and fear, all tangled into one raw, consuming emotion.

He tightened his hold, burying his face in her curls, inhaling the faint scent of antiseptic mingling with something purely Quinn. So many times he had imagined being able to hold her like this again without anger, without distance. But not like this, not with her arm bandaged and her eyes clouded with pain.

A part of him wanted to rage at the universe, to scream that it wasn’t fair. Another part wanted to drop to his knees and just weep that she was still alive, still with him. No amount of tough exterior could shut down that sheer wave of relief.

Her hand slid up, gently cupping his jaw, stroking the bristle of his beard. “I’m okay,” she repeated, more certain this time, voice still shaky but with an attempt at reassuring him. “It was just a graze.”

He swallowed again, nodding. His voice, when he found it, was hoarse. “Hell, Quinn… I?—”

She shook her head, cutting him off, her own eyes glimmering with tears she refused to let fall. “I know,” she murmured. “I know.”

In that moment, the hospital corridor stilled around them. No one moved. Tex, Bondo, Easy, even Langford, all stood by, quietly witnessing the raw intensity of two people who had almost lost everything in a single gunshot.

Dagger wanted to say a thousand things. He was sorry, he was furious, he was terrified but his throat was too tight. Instead, he just held on, his arms wrapping protectively around Quinn’s waist, letting the thunder of his heart calm one beat at a time, anchored by the feel of her body against his.

She was safe.

They might not have a perfect future mapped out, but she was here. In that moment, it was all that mattered.