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Dagger rubbed a rough palm over his face, inhaling the humid Venezuelan night air in short, ragged bursts. He stood in the small courtyard outside the makeshift barracks, a strip of cracked concrete, a few potted shrubs, and a dim security light overhead. The moon hung low, bathing everything in a muted glow that did nothing to soothe the turmoil in his chest.

He stared at the curling edge of one leaf, trying to anchor himself. Did I just lose her? The question gnawed at him, fear coiling around his lungs. His conversation, no, argument, with Quinn replayed in agonizing loops, every harsh word echoing in his mind. He still felt the heat of her body against his, yet the bitter tang of her anger lingered on his tongue.

A light shuffle of boots on concrete made him glance up. Flash stepped around the corner, one hand shoved into his cargo pocket. He wore his usual crooked grin, an expression that faltered the instant he caught sight of Dagger’s face.

“Hey, man. You all right?” Flash asked, voice gentler than usual. No glimmering mischief in his eyes.

Dagger forced a tight exhale. “No,” he admitted, scrubbing his hand over the back of his neck. “Not really.”

Flash frowned, his tone losing any hint of teasing. “Aw, shit. What happened with Quinn?”

For a moment, Dagger closed his eyes, picturing her, wet hair plastered to her skin, eyes shimmering with both longing and fury. “We got into it,” he said finally, voice low. “We…” His jaw worked. “We were together. Then I pushed her too hard about Brian. She snapped. Said some…things, said that she might not be able to forget the past and move into the future,” he said gruffly, his eyes stinging. “I walked out.”

“That was ballsy.” Flash let out a low whistle, his hand going to Dagger’s shoulder and squeezing. “Damn. So, what? You think you lost her?”

Dagger’s shoulders sagged, the weight of his teammate’s hand comforting. “Maybe.” The word stuck in his throat. He’d never been so direct about his fears, but he’d run out of places to hide. “I’ve been trying so hard to be gentle, to let her set the pace, but it felt like she was stuck. I couldn’t stand it anymore. So I—” He paused, shaking his head. “I gave her some tough love.”

Flash rocked on his heels. “Even if you do lose her, you walked out on your terms, man. You’ve been showing that girl your easy side for too long. A little tough love goes a long way.”

A hollow laugh escaped Dagger’s chest. “Easy side,” he echoed. “Feels like nothing about this is easy.”

Flash huffed. “I know. But sometimes you gotta force the conversation. Otherwise, you’ll both be drowning in all the what-ifs.” He lifted his chin, studying Dagger. “You love her, don’t you?”

Dagger swallowed, the truth lodged so deeply it hurt to speak. “Seems like forever,” he said, voice betraying him with quiet vulnerability.

Flash’s usual grin softened. “Then you did the right thing. You pushed her to see that you’re here and Brian isn’t. We all loved the guy, and I know what he meant to you, but dead is dead. No coming back from that. I’m proud of you.”

Dagger let out a shaky breath, the tension across his shoulders easing by a fraction. “Feels messed up to say it, but it’s true. Brian’s gone. Quinn can’t keep living like she died with him.”

Flash bobbed his head in agreement. “Exactly. She’s gotta face it.” Dagger knew that Flash would understand. As SEALs, they lost brothers all the time, and maybe that was why it wasn’t easier for Dagger, but he understood the consequences of the kind of jobs he and Brian had.

They stood there for a moment in a companionable silence, broken only by the distant hum of night insects. A wave of conflicting emotions surged in Dagger’s chest, worry, guilt, hope. He hadn’t expected Flash’s quiet support to mean so much, but it did. Maybe I’m not as alone in this as I thought.

Suddenly, his phone chimed. Both men glanced down at it. Dagger fished it from his pocket, eyebrows shooting up when he saw Quinn’s name on the screen.

“She wants me to meet her by the pool,” he muttered, surprise filtering into his voice as he read the terse message. He scrolled a moment, checking for anything else, but it was just a single line. “That’s…weird. She hates the pool here.”

Flash leaned forward, peering at the phone. “Think she wants to talk things out?”

Dagger tucked the device back into his pocket, heart pounding a little quicker. “Yeah, maybe,” he said, though a sliver of unease prickled the back of his mind. Still, relief overshadowed it. She’s reaching out. That’s a start.

Flash clapped him on the shoulder. “Then go. I’ll follow in a bit, in case…y’know, it’s bad news.”

A faint smile tugged at Dagger’s lips. “Thanks, man. For everything.”

“Always,” Flash said, stepping aside to let Dagger pass. “But if you two get into round two, try not to break anything.”

Dagger managed a short laugh, though his gut twisted. He nodded and strode off, phone burning in his pocket, mind full of Quinn. The lingering fear that she might still turn him away warred with a flare of hope. Meet me by the pool. Maybe she’d decided she was finally ready to talk.

God, please let this be the moment we figure this out. He picked up his pace, slipping through the heavy glass doors leading to the pool enclosure, uneasy tension rippling through him. The entire wing of the refurbished hotel was quiet at this hour, too quiet for a place that usually hummed with diplomatic staff and visiting military contractors. His every instinct screamed that something was off, but the text from Quinn still glowed in his mind like a beacon. Meet me by the pool.

He paused under a dim overhead lamp, scanning the area. Something still felt off. Too still. Too silent. But hope shoved logic aside. Tiles stretched around the perimeter of a large rectangular pool, the water reflecting the faint glow of a few underwater lights. Shadowy lounge chairs and potted palms lined the edge, giving the place a half-abandoned air. Definitely not a typical rendezvous spot, Quinn hated this space. Why would she want to meet here?

A prickle coursed down his spine. He stepped farther in, searching the darkness.

“Quinn?” he called softly, voice echoing off the high glass ceiling. Nothing. Only the distant hum of an air conditioning vent and the soft slap of water against the tiles.

Suddenly, an arm closed around his neck from behind, wrenching him backward. Dagger’s reflexes kicked in, and he dropped his weight, throwing his attacker off balance. He grabbed for the man’s wrist, ready to break or dislocate if necessary.

Another shape rushed in from the side, trying to tackle him around the waist. Dagger spun, slamming an elbow into the assailant’s face and sending him sprawling. Adrenaline surged, lightning-bright and focused.

He twisted his head, getting a glimpse of the first man’s face in the pool’s dim glow, and recognized the patch on his jacket. Aegis Force Solutions. Langford’s men.

A chill of fear bled into Dagger’s veins. Iif they were here, then Quinn’s text must have been a trap. They have her. He could almost taste the raw panic rising in his throat, but he forced it down, letting cold, lethal training take over. Why?

Two more shadows moved in from behind a row of lounge chairs. Dagger lunged into action with no wasted movement and hammered the old SEAL mantra in his head. He ducked the first blow, then pounded his fist into an attacker’s jaw. The man staggered, cursing.

A second man rushed him, and Dagger’s foot lashed out, sweeping the attacker’s legs. Momentum carried them both off balance, closer to the pool’s edge. The attacker grabbed Dagger’s vest, and they tumbled into the pool together with a jarring splash.

The shock of cool water enveloped him, muffling the world in a watery hush. But Dagger lived for this environment. SEALs thrived where others freaked. He twisted, trapping the man in a chokehold, ignoring the panicked thrashing as he forced water into the attacker’s open mouth.

His heart pounded with a single, driving thought. Quinn’s in danger. That fury propelled him, fueling every savage move. Within seconds, the man’s struggle slackened. Dagger shoved him away, letting the limp body sink. He didn’t know if the guy would drown or if he’d resurface and cling to the pool edge, but it didn’t matter.

Dagger broke the surface, gasping in a lungful of air, water streaming down his face and neck. He spotted two men on the far side of the pool, weapons raised, but he didn’t flinch. He heaved himself out with a swift motion, dropping into a crouch on wet tiles. The second his boots hit the ground, he lunged.

One man stumbled back, trying to retreat as Dagger descended on him, fists raised. Behind him, the other attacker was already pivoting, something metallic in his hand.

Dagger heard the telltale crackle of electricity a split second too late.

Searing agony jolted through his body, nerves on fire as the Taser’s prongs connected. His knees buckled, muscles spasming. He went down, vision dancing with painful stars, a ragged cry tearing from his throat.

The weapon pinned him in place, current ripping through him in pulses. He collapsed onto his side, chest heaving, arms shaking uncontrollably. Get up, he commanded himself, but his limbs refused to obey. Quinn…

He heard a scuff of boots and forced his gaze up. Three men closed around him, breathing hard. One of them kicked the Taser aside, but the damage was done. Trembling with aftershocks, Dagger’s body felt like a lead weight.

Footsteps echoed behind them. He had just enough time to see Flash step inside the enclosure, scanning with alarm.

No, Dagger thought, cold dread pooling in his gut. He’s walking into the same ambush.

“Flash,” he croaked, trying to warn him. But a brutal heel slammed down on his ribs, driving the air from his lungs. Pain exploded, silencing him.

Flash started forward, eyes flaring with fury. He’d fight, Dagger knew. SEALs don’t run. But then one of the men pressed a muzzle to Dagger’s temple, lips curling in a silent threat.

Flash froze, shock and rage twisting his features. The man with the gun flicked a glance at a cohort, voice taut. “What do we do with him? The boss said just this guy.” He jerked his head at Dagger’s prone form.

The second man shrugged, arms crossing over his chest. “We’ll let the boss decide,” he said, glancing from Flash to Dagger.

Dagger could barely breathe, let alone fight. His mind reeled with the realization that Langford had taken a personal vendetta to a deadly extreme, kidnapping Quinn, setting a trap, now threatening to kill a United States service member. What the hell is this man’s endgame?

He struggled to move, but his limbs felt like stone. Stay awake, he ordered himself. Stay alive. Quinn needed him. If she was still alive at all. The horrifying thought lashed his gut, fueling a new wave of desperation.

But pain and exhaustion dragged at him. The last thing he saw before darkness began to press in was Flash’s wide-eyed fury, fists clenched at his sides and the gun still pressed to Dagger’s skull.

Brawler rounded the back corner of the compound with Beast trotting just a step ahead, the Malinois’s ears pricked as though catching the tension in the air. Brawler had decided to let Beast roam off-leash for a few minutes, let him stretch those legs. But the instant he heard muffled shouts and saw movement near the dimly lit parking lot, every hair on the back of his neck stood up.

He froze, eyes narrowing. Five men. One had Dagger slung over his shoulder, limp as a rag doll, unconscious or worse. Another shoved Flash, who was bound, toward a waiting SUV. Even from across the distance, Brawler recognized the cold fury radiating through Flash’s rigid stance.

Brawler’s pulse kicked. What the hell is going on?

He took a slow step forward, letting the faint glow from a nearby lamp reveal more. The SUV’s passenger side door was open. Inside, Brawler glimpsed Quinn’s unmistakable curls and a grim-faced Langford. Alarm crackled through him. Son of a ? —

When the guy hefting Dagger dropped him carelessly into the hatch, Brawler’s anger erupted. He eased Beast sideways, shielding the dog in the shadows. We’ve got one shot.

Just then, the hatch guy spotted Brawler. The muzzle of a pistol rose, spitting fire. Adrenaline pumped through Brawler as he dropped into a crouch. “Get him,” he snarled under his breath.

Beast was a blur, muscles coiling like a spring. A second later, the man with the gun howled as jaws clamped onto his arm, driving him to the ground in a savagely efficient takedown. Shots fired wide, zinging harmlessly into the night.

The guy in the passenger seat yelled for them to move and slammed the SUV’s door. The engine roared and the vehicle lurched forward, Flash, Dagger and Quinn trapped inside. Brawler sprinted forward, shouting into the darkness, “Breach, breach!”

The SUV’s taillights vanished around the corner, leaving only scorched rubber on the pavement and a churn of dust in its wake. Fury flared deep in Brawler’s gut. Langford had them all.

He skidded to a stop beside the man Beast had taken down. “Release!” he barked, and Beast dropped the man’s arm instantly, teeth bared in a low growl. Brawler grabbed the gasping henchman by the collar, yanking him upright.

“Let’s see how tough you are,” Brawler muttered, shoving the man toward the figures racing to his call. The captive wasn’t going anywhere. Brawler would make sure of it.

He cast one last glare into the darkness where the SUV had disappeared, rage pounding in his temples. Beast at his side, hackles up, mirrored his tension. Langford was a dead man.

Brawler barged into the conference room, shoving the captured henchman so hard the man stumbled and crashed into a chair. The room was already brimming with tension, Twister, Shark, Bondo, and Easy stood like living barricades around the table, while Tex paced at the head, radiating rage. Emma hovered near the corner, eyes like violet flames, barely restraining her own fury.

The prisoner tried to stand, but Easy hooked a hand under his elbow and yanked him upright, only to slam him back into the chair. Brawler felt an animalistic snarl building in his throat, everything in him screamed for justice, for retribution. They took Dagger and Flash. The thought made his blood roar.

“What the hell is going on?” Tex demanded, voice deadly calm but threaded with violence.

The guy mumbled something unintelligible, refusing to meet anyone’s eyes. Emma slammed her fist on the table, rattling the metal. She leaned in, getting right into his face. “You don’t want me to lose my patience,” she snapped. “Because if I walk off in disgust, you’ll be left here alone with Dagger and Flash’s brothers.” Her hand gestured to the assembled SEALs.

Brawler stepped closer with Beast at his side, the dog stiff with pent-up aggression. He growled, barked, and the man flinched away. Twister, Shark, Bondo, and Easy all closed in around the prisoner, forming a ring of intimidation. The man paled, clearly realizing that Emma’s warning wasn’t an idle threat.

“Answer,” Tex growled. “Now.”

The prisoner swallowed. “Langford…he’s got a deal going.”

Emma’s eyes narrowed. “With whom?” She radiated a controlled fury that reminded Brawler of a loaded gun, seconds away from firing.

The man hesitated, lips parting in a sullen grimace. Brawler tightened his grip on the prisoner’s shoulder, nails digging through the fabric, a silent promise of pain. “Tell her what she wants to know,” he said, voice low, “or I’ll cut you loose and let Beast here use you for a chew toy.”

He made a subtle hand gesture. Beast, already keyed up, launched into vicious snarls, snapping his jaws inches from the guy’s leg. The prisoner yelped, clutching his injured arm as he tried to lean away from the dog’s lethal teeth.

“All right!” he gasped. “Herrera! Miguel Herrera!”

Emma stiffened. “Herrera is dead. He?—”

“Drone,” the prisoner said, a sly note creeping into his voice. “Langford bugged the room. He warned Herrera. The drone strike never touched him. He was long gone.”

“Where is it!” she lunged at him, grabbing his shirt.

“Under the conference table. He’s going to know that you—” She punched him hard. “You should have told us that right from the beginning, you sorry piece of shit.” Emma erupted in a string of curses fit to match any sailor when she found the bug. “How did this escape the sweeps?”

He winced as he smirked, licking the blood from his split lip. “He removed it. He’s cagey and studied your routine.”

“That’s on me,” she whispered. “Hear this, Langford, you fucking traitorous bastard. You made a big mistake messing with us. We’re coming for you.” She dropped the bug and grounded her heel into it.

Ignoring the call, the prisoner continued, “Herrera…he wants to make an example of that architect woman. Show the locals what happens when they invite Americans to build new embassies. Dagger…Herrera’s got a personal score after losing Ramos.”

Brawler’s jaw clenched so hard it hurt. Ramos. That was Herrera’s cousin, the sadistic warden they’d dealt with once before. So, this was all about revenge on a SEAL. Dagger had been the unlucky target.

“Flash?”

“We were only supposed to grab Dagger,” the man added hurriedly. “But your other guy got in the way. That’s it, I swear.”

Brawler didn’t even realize his temper had snapped until his boot connected with the guy’s chest, driving him onto his back. The chair screeched across the floor, tipping with a loud bang.

“Get him out of here,” Tex barked, fury flashing in his eyes as Emma picked up the radio, pausing as she watched Easy haul the prisoner up, shoving him toward two Marines who had come running at Brawler’s earlier shout. They seized the prisoner in a vice-like grip, dragging him from the room.

Emma muttered another curse and pressed the radio closer to her mouth. “Lechuza,” she repeated, voice taut. “Come in. Where are you?”

Brawler watched her, blood pounding with an urgency that made Beast whine in agitation. Dagger, Flash, Quinn, their enemies had them. Brawler vowed it silently, his hand resting on Beast’s head, the dog’s tension mirroring his own.

Langford was done.

Quinn’s wrists burned where they’d been bound, and her lips still felt raw from the tape. The men yanked her out of one SUV at some cramped, dimly lit transfer point, hooking up with more of Langford’s men. Her heart hammered, a disbelieving rage building in her chest. She could barely process how quickly things had spiraled.

Then she saw Dagger.

She’d frantically tried to look behind her, but Langford kept shoving her forward. Shock spiked through her, white hot. For one heart-stopping moment, she thought he might be dead. No, please, no…

One of Langford’s goons tried to hold her back, but she wrestled free with surprising strength. She dove forward, catching Dagger, sliding to the dirt with him, cradling his head protectively against her. He was unconscious, but his chest rose and fell in ragged breaths. Anger, blistering, primal, pounded in Quinn’s veins, but his skin was warm, and he felt so good against her.

“Touching,” Langford mocked, standing over them. The dim glow from a single floodlight in the deserted lot played across his face, highlighting his sneer. “Very heroic, Quinn.”

“Fuck you, David,” she spat, voice shaking. “You piece of shit. You were contracted to protect me.”

“You tell him, Quinn,” Flash said with a scoffing laugh. The guy next to him elbowed him in the ribs.

Langford shrugged, his weapon resting easily at his side. “Herrera pays better.”

Flash, bruised and bound just as she was, was hauled out next. He staggered but stayed upright, glaring at Langford. “You goddamn traitor.”

Langford didn’t react to the insult. Instead, he motioned to one of his henchmen, who stepped forward and gripped Dagger’s collar, ready to drag him away. Quinn’s arms tightened instinctively around him, and she bit down on a startled cry as they wrenched him from her grasp.

Her vision blurred at the edges, maybe from tears, maybe from rage. Then Dagger stirred. He came awake with a jerk, snapping from unconsciousness into that lethal readiness she’d seen on so many missions. Even battered and half-helpless, he was dangerous. The tension in his lean body practically vibrated under the floodlight.

He lunged for the closest attacker, and a slide racked, a gun pointed directly at Quinn’s head. She went still, pulse pounding so loud it drowned out the hushed nighttime sounds. Dagger froze mid-struggle, swallowing a furious curse as he glanced between Quinn and the muzzle pressed to her temple.

Langford smirked. “A bullet through her brain ends her. Cooperate asshole.”

A murmur of voices from the men around them and the droning of nighttime insects were the only sounds. Quinn’s breath caught in her throat when Dagger slowly eased back, eyes never leaving her face. Despite his injuries, bruises blooming across his cheek, a cut on his brow leaking blood, his pale green gaze locked on hers, filled with a fierce promise.

We’re getting out of this. She could almost hear him say it. A wave of raw hope flooded through her. If anyone could fight for her freedom, it was Dagger and Flash.

“Sorry I got you into this,” Dagger said, voice low with regret, his eyes fixed on Flash.

Flash, forced to his knees by another gunman, grinned through blood-smeared lips. “Wouldn’t want to be anywhere but at your back, buddy.”

Langford made a derisive noise, lip curling. “You SEALs…” he sneered. “All that bravado. In the end, you’re just meat for Herrera’s grinder, and I’m going to make sure of it.”

He stepped closer, the barrel of his weapon pressing hard against Quinn’s temple. She didn’t move, didn’t breathe, but she felt Dagger tense like a coiled spring.

Langford’s voice dropped, thick with malice. “I heard everything. That little bug I planted picked up more than intel. It picked up all your pathetic secrets. Teammates weeping over fatherhood and your women. All that sentimental crap.”

Quinn’s heart stuttered.

Langford smiled, cold and hateful. “When we get to Herrera, she goes first.” He shoved her forward, hard. Pain flared in her shoulder, but she bit it back, refusing to give him the satisfaction.

“Then we’re going to take out every single one of them. One by one. I’ll use them, kill them, and film every last second for Herrera. He likes to watch, you know.”

Flash snarled, fury cutting through the blood on his face. “ Fucker ,” he snapped, lunging forward, only to be dragged down by two guards gripping his arms.

Langford laughed, his voice dripping with mockery. “I’ll wipe every one of teammates and your women, all your brotherhood crap, from the map.” He laughed again. “All for one… one for all, right? What a beautiful little tragedy.”

Flash met Dagger’s eyes, jaw tight. “He’s a dead man walking. Doesn’t even know it.”

Dagger didn’t answer, but his glare said everything. Cold. Lethal. Final.

Then the side door of a dingy cargo van slid open, and they drove. Then switched vehicles again. She caught a glimpse of their surroundings. A derelict industrial complex, broken glass crunching underfoot and an acrid smell of burned chemicals lingering in the heavy air. Another ride, this one looking less comfy. Her heart sank. They were clearly being shuffled around to avoid detection.

“Load ’em up,” Langford barked. “We’re behind schedule.”

They jammed Flash inside first, then forced Dagger to follow. Their eyes met, one heartbeat’s worth of reassurance.

Langford sneered from the open door. “Everyone in. Move!” he snapped at his men.

Quinn felt the beat-up van rock on its suspension as the goons clambered in around them. Then the door slammed shut, plunging them into a stale darkness lit only by a single dangling bulb. Outside, an engine roared to life. The vehicle lurched forward, jostling Quinn and banging her knees against the metal floor.

“All for one,” Langford repeated snidely from the front, “one for all.”

She wished she could spit at him. Instead, she focused on the pulse in Dagger’s neck, on the anger blazing in Flash’s eyes. We’re alive. We fight. We’ll make them pay. She inhaled, letting that razor-edged hope fuel her battered spirit as the van rumbled into the night.

Lechuza froze mid-step, her body going still as stone. The whisper in her earpiece was faint, distorted slightly by static but unmistakable.

“Flash…taken. Langford…Herrera.”

Her breath caught. Cold rage surged through her bloodstream, precise and piercing, as if her body instinctively recognized the threat before her mind could fully process it.

Flash. Taken. By him .

Her jaw clenched, teeth grinding so tightly her molars ached. Herrera. That bastard. The man who’d stripped her bare, mind and body, and tried to break her in every way that mattered. The horror Flash had dragged her back from. Now… Flash was in his hands.

“No,” Lechuza said, voice low and deadly.

That was all.

Bagh, walking ahead through the dense jungle undergrowth, turned sharply. His eyes lit with vindication at her tone. Ryū, silent and steady as always, inclined his head in solemn understanding. Neither of them asked for clarification. They didn’t need it.

“We hunt,” she said, her voice hard and sharp with purpose. “My brothers, we move now.”

The jungle around them buzzed with life, crickets chirping, cicadas humming, the thick, wet scent of earth and moss hanging heavy in the night air. But all Lechuza could hear was the echo of Herrera’s name and the image she couldn’t shake, Flash, bloodied and bound, surrounded by ghosts from her nightmares.

Not him. Not the one man who had pulled her broken body out of a hellhole and never once looked at her like she was weak. He had carried her, clothed her, stood between her and every threat, and never once asked for anything in return. He had given her back her dignity when she hadn’t even known she’d lost it.

Now he was the one in chains.

Her fists curled tightly at her sides. She would not let Herrera have him, not Flash, not Dagger, not Quinn, not anyone else. She had bled on jungle floors for less righteous causes. But this? This was justice wrapped in vengeance.

Bagh checked his rifle, expression grim and focused. “Coordinates?”

“They’re moving northeast,” she said flatly, eyes scanning the thick trees beyond. “Langford’s men are with him. That means Herrera’s playing a longer game.”

Ryū stepped beside her, calm but ready. “What’s our game?”

Lechuza looked forward, every movement coiled and lethal. “Justice.”

They moved as one, ghosting into the trees, weapons drawn, silent and sure-footed across the damp terrain. She didn’t know how many they’d have to kill to get Flash back, but she’d count them one by one.

He didn’t know Ryū or Bagh. But they were hers. Now? By proxy, they were his too. Flash had saved her, now she would return the debt in blood.

No one touched what belonged to Lechuza and walked away breathing.

Not Langford. Not Herrera. Not this time.

Dagger seethed, his anger fueling his determination, but not overshadowing it, his head pounding and mouth tasting like blood and bile. His arms were bound tightly behind him, wrists chafed from the flex-cuffs, but the low thrum of voices and the smell of dirt and sweat told him everything he needed to know.

He blinked through the haze just enough to see them both a few feet away, Quinn slumped beside him, blood on her lip, eyes glazed but conscious. Flash was next to her, crouched awkwardly, breathing through clenched teeth. His face was bruised, but his eyes flicked toward Dagger immediately.

Dagger gave a slow nod, subtle, practiced. We’re getting out of here.

No one spoke. Not with Langford’s men too close, pacing, smoking, checking gear. But SEALs didn’t need words.

Dagger flexed his wrists behind him, rolling his shoulders to test movement. The flex-cuffs bit harder into his skin, but his mind was already searching for angles. He made eye contact with Flash again and flicked his chin.

Plan forming.

Flash responded with a slight dip of his head, then slowly shifted his position behind Quinn, keeping his movements slow, natural, non-threatening.

Dagger turned his head toward Quinn. Her eyes met his. Fear. Fury. But deeper, trust. He’s going to get us out of this.

With quiet precision, he began to work his wrists closer toward Flash’s. It was tight, awkward, but every inch mattered. SEAL training ran bone-deep, and Flash picked up on what he was doing instantly. They maneuvered carefully, nudging, twisting, until their cuffs touched.

It was primitive, desperate teamwork, but it worked. One final shove, and the flex-cuffs buckled. Plastic snapped with a faint crack.

Freedom.

Dagger didn’t even think. He surged forward, slamming his shoulder into the closest guard’s knee just as Flash rose, scooping Quinn into his arms without hesitation.

It was to their benefit that Herrera wanted them alive. Someone shouted, but Flash was already running. They didn’t call him that for nothing. That fucker was fast.

Dagger spun, snatching a sidearm from a stunned attacker’s holster, fingers wrapping around cool steel. He fired three precise shots, one center mass, one to the head of another man, the third dead mass as chaos exploded.

Langford’s voice screamed somewhere behind the melee. “Get them! Don’t let them, shit!”

Dagger fired again, driving the rest of Langford’s men into disarray. They scattered, ducking for cover, firing wildly into the jungle. It was all he needed.

“Cease fire,” Langford shouted. “We need them alive or there’s no payday!”

Dagger turned and sprinted into the dense underbrush, vanishing into the shadows after Flash and Quinn.

Branches slapped against his face, sweat pouring off him, heart pounding in perfect sync with his bootfalls. The jungle swallowed the gunfire behind him, replacing it with the sharp buzz of insects and the crackle of leaves underfoot.

Ahead, a flicker of movement, a flash of Flash’s silhouette carrying Quinn through the trees.

Dagger grunted, pushing harder, staying low. He caught up just enough to give a sharp hand signal— stop, regroup, listen.

Flash glanced back, slowing slightly. Quinn clung to him, dazed but alert, her arms wrapped tightly around his neck.

Dagger slipped beside them, checking for pursuit. Nothing yet, but it wouldn’t last. He jerked his hand into a new signal— split formation, fallback trail, move fast.

Flash nodded and pressed forward, angling them toward thicker cover.

Dagger exhaled hard. They were alive. Free.

But this wasn’t over.

He tightened his grip on the pistol, green eyes scanning the darkness. Langford thought this was a trap. He’s about to find out what happens when you corner a couple of SEALs. He’d show him what brotherhood was all about…the hard way.