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Brawler crouched beside the crumbling wall of the hospital’s rear entrance, his pulse steady despite the electric tension thrumming through his veins. With a quick twist of his wrist, he removed Beast’s leash. Beast didn’t need the tether in battle. He knew what Brawler expected of him, and he needed to be free to make those decisions.

Flash knelt to his left, the M249 Squad Automatic Weapon, more commonly known as the SAW, braced against his shoulder. As the team’s heavy weapons specialist, he bore the responsibility of laying down suppressive fire to keep enemies pinned and buy time for the others to maneuver.

Flash’s vest was loaded with extra bandoliers of linked 5.56mm ammunition, each belt meticulously stowed in pouches along his sides so he could swiftly reload under pressure. With the SAW’s high rate of fire, he could unleash a relentless barrage, saturating choke points or covering open ground where friendlies were vulnerable. Yet even as he clutched one of the most intimidating weapons in the SEAL arsenal, he moved with the fluid certainty of a predator.

Beast, a coiled storm of muscle and fangs, stood rigid at Brawler’s side, ears forward and eyes locked, waiting for the signal. Once given, Flash would snap into action, unleashing the SAW’s roar to cut through the chaos and protect his teammates, proving just why he was the team’s indispensable heavy hitter.

The hospital’s emergency exit was sealed with a rusted security chain, its lock corroded but still intact. Brawler pulled a breach charge from his kit, and Flash grinned. “What Einstein gave you explosives to play with?”

Brawler glanced down at Beast. “Do you believe this guy?” The dog’s ears flicked in a quick response, a short chuff vibrating in his throat, pure business, no playful spark. “Just stay out of the blast radius, genius.” He slapped the charge against the door and whispered, “Stack up.”

Flash moved into position beside him, pressing tight to the wall, weapon angled high. “Is this far enough, Mommy Hen?”

Brawler chuckled under his breath. He gave Beast a silent hand signal, and the Malinois sank low, muscles tensing beneath his coat, eyes locked on the door. Shoulders rolling forward, Beast braced to launch the second the barrier gave way.

Three… Two… One.

Brawler hit the detonator.

The breach charge blew, sending metal shards slicing through the air. The door ripped open with a groan, smoke billowing from the frame.

A man inside turned toward the blast, too slow.

Beast hit him first.

The sheer force of the Malinois’s impact drove the insurgent backward, his rifle clattering as Beast’s jaws crushed his forearm. The man shrieked, struggling, but Beast was all muscle and lethal intent, his powerful frame pinning him down as his teeth mauled flesh.

Brawler finished him, moved in, firing two controlled shots into the next combatant’s chest. Flash took out another, the suppressed bark of the big gun precise and deadly.

Brawler swept his weapon over the shadowed hallway, noting the flickering lights, the abandoned medical carts, the smell of blood and antiseptic that clung to the air.

At Brawler’s curt hand signal, Beast peeled off the dead insurgent and dropped back into a tight formation, slipping between Brawler’s legs and matching his combat glide effortlessly as they advanced. Each step was fluid, the dog staying low whenever Brawler lowered himself, then pivoting smoothly to keep his flank in line with his handler’s thigh. It was a practiced dance, half combat choreography and half instinctual bond, an unbroken chain of movement that let them move as one, even in the midst of chaos.

“For a big guy, you’re light on your feet, there, Fred Astaire and Ginger.”

Brawler grunted. “Beast doesn’t wear sequins.”

“Who says I was talking about Beast?” Flash’s gaze was laser focused. “Although, I think he could pull them off. You on the other hand?—”

“It’s a good thing I have other people to kill,” Brawler said, deadpan.

The radio crackled.

Tex’s voice cut through, steady as ever. “Brawler, first floor is secure. We’re heading to the second.”

Brawler could hear the gunfire, short, controlled bursts, tactical efficiency in motion. Then, silence.

Tex’s voice snapped back over the comms. “Take cover!” His gut twisted at Tex’s controlled, urgent tone.

A monster growled from above, and the whole hospital shook with thunder.

The air filled with a savage, ripping roar, like the sky itself had split open. The machine gun nest above them unleashed hell, bullets tearing through walls, punching holes in the ceiling, raining debris over them.

Flash pressed against the wall, shouting over the storm. “That’s a big fucking gun!”

Brawler’s mind flashed to the team above. Tex, Dagger, Shark, Bondo, Easy, they were up there, dodging for cover, moving through the carnage. He could see it in his mind’s eye as bullets sparked off tile, rounds chewing through door frames, teammates rolling clear just in time.

Tex’s voice cut in again, sharp with command. “Brawler, where are you?”

Brawler answered. “Just cleared the rest of the first floor. What do you need, LT?”

Tex didn’t hesitate. “Get to that nest and take it out.”

Brawler immediately looked for access and his mouth thinned. The stairwell was blocked by furniture. It would take them way too long to clear.

Flash gestured to a service elevator at the end of the hall. “Sportswear, athletic gear, housewares, anyone?”

“Yeah, a new volleyball net after I get blood all over mine.” Brawler with Beast still between his legs started down the hall.

Flash laughed wickedly, covering their six as he said, “You’re optimistic, big guy. You’ve got twenty pounds on me, but weren’t you the king of the goon squad in BUD/S? They don’t call me Flash for nothing. Gotta catch me first.”

Brawler kicked open the doors, exposing the elevator shaft, dark, hollow, rising into the floors above. “I don’t have to catch you. Beast’s got that covered.”

Without taking his eyes away from their six, Flash said, “Fuck me. Yeah, fur missile one, Flash zero.”

No time for hesitation.

Brawler pulled out Beast’s harness, and Flash made quick work clipping him, securing the powerful dog to his back rig. Beast growled low, sensing the tension. “We’ll go up first. You follow. Break our fall if we slip,” Brawler said casually.

With a bark of mock laughter, Flash secured their lines, then gave Brawler a smirk. “Thank the fuck your Hulk arms never slip.”

Brawler grabbed the edge of the doorframe, swung out, and grabbed the handle of the ladder bolted to the wall. He ascended fast, boots tapping against groaning metal. The air was thick with dust, the deep echo of the gunfire above vibrating through the steel.

The moment they reached the third-floor landing, Brawler swung in, unhooking fast as Flash unclipped Beast, and the Malinois hit the ground running.

The gun nest was just ahead. When they stormed in, the gunner barely had time to pivot.

Beast went first, launching like a missile. His bulk slammed into one of the insurgents, knocking the man clear off his feet before clamping his jaws around his arm and shaking him like a rag doll. The man screamed in pain as Brawler took him out.

The second insurgent swung his rifle. Brawler fired first, three rounds hammering center mass. The gunner tried to bring the big gun around, but Flash dropped him with a clean shot to the head.

Silence.

Brawler activated his comm. “Nest is neutralized.”

Tex came back, “Copy that. Rendezvous with us, then we go get the hostages.”

Brawler exhaled, exchanging a look with Flash. The smart-ass grinned. “Not bad for a big guy and a dog.”

Brawler clapped Beast’s side. The dog’s tongue lolled, eyes sharp, muscles still wound tight.

It wasn’t over yet.

Dagger was sure Joseph Baxter and Lechuza were above them somewhere. It was time for mission success. Brawler took out a ball cap that was a favorite of Baxter’s, crouched down and slipped it under Beast’s nose as he, Tex, Easy, Shark, and Bondo came down the hall in a quick, controlled, predatory walk, telegraphing their lethal intent and razor-sharp focus. Beast was trembling beside Brawler, his head up, his eyes telling them that he’d gotten the scent.

The team moved as one, a silent, methodical force carving through the darkened corridors of the hospital. The air was thick with smoke, gunpowder, and the sharp tang of antiseptic, mixing with the rot of decay.

Beast led the way, the dog’s powerful frame coiled with restrained energy. Brawler followed in the wake of the dog’s quick pace, weapon shouldered. The guys behind them, Bondo still covering their six, the operator’s expression grim.

According to the blueprints they’d studied with meticulous intent, the ICU wing was above them, locked behind reinforced doors. Dagger took a quick peek. “The insurgents set up a barricade near the ICU doors,” he said.

Flash exhaled, tapping Brawler’s shoulder. “You know, big guy, sometimes I wish we had a damn elevator.”

Brawler smirked, gripping the railing as he hauled himself up the stairwell. “Well, let’s go. I need that fucking net.”

Dagger didn’t know what they were talking about, but Flash grinned, flipping Brawler a quick bird.

The top of the stairwell exploded in gunfire, rounds punching through plaster and old medical signage. Between blasts they cleared as fast as they could. Easy pulled out bolt cutters to clear the chains, then they breached fast.

The moment the doors blew, Brawler rolled a flashbang down the hall. It detonated with a sharp crack, throwing out a searing white blast.

Then they moved in hard.

Beast hit first, lunging through the smoke, his teeth clamping down on the nearest guard’s thigh, dragging him down with a wet scream.

Brawler followed, firing tight bursts into the chest of another, shredding him before he could recover.

Flash pivoted, dropping a third combatant with a single round to the head.

Tex snapped, crisp and cool as ice. “Get to the hostages.” Resistance was nonexistent as they purposely glided down the corridor. Beast made a beeline to the first door with a lock. Easy already had his sledge out, and one heavily muscled shoulder swing later, the shattered lock dropped into pieces.

Dagger kicked in the door, rifle sweeping the dimly lit room. Joseph Baxter sat slumped against the wall, bruised, dehydrated, and down but not broken. The kid had the lean, wiry frame of someone built for speed, but right now, he looked like he’d been through a hurricane and barely crawled out.

His dark brown eyes, bright with mischief and cocky bravado, were shadowed with exhaustion, but there was still a glimmer of fire in them. His left eye was swollen shut, his lip split, but the real story was in his battered knuckles, busted up, bloodied.

The kid had fought like hell.

Dagger took in the curly mop of dark hair, now matted with sweat and dirt, the way his chest rose and fell heavily, every breath a reminder that he was still standing, still here.

The moment the SEALs stepped in, he pushed himself upright, shielding his eyes from the sudden light.

Then his gaze locked onto them.

Baxter might not have recognized their faces, but he knew that stance, those steely eyes, that gear, and that meant only one thing, a SEAL lover if Dagger had ever seen one.

A slow, incredulous grin spread across his battered face.

"Hoo-yah! Fucking SEALs," Baxter rasped before they could say a word. His voice was rough, but the attitude was still intact. "I knew something was going down when I heard all that lead flying."

He let out a wheezing laugh, his teeth flashing white against bruised skin. "Fucking A. Now I can cross ‘SEAL rescue’ off my bucket list."

Flash snorted, stepping closer. “Man, you should’ve put ‘Win the Lottery’ on there instead. Would’ve had better odds.”

Baxter snorted, shaking his head. Even beaten to hell, the kid had swagger. “Nah. This? Way more fun.”

Tex motioned. “Can you walk?”

Baxter cracked his neck, rolling his shoulders, the movement stiff but determined. “Might be ugly, but I ain’t dead yet.”

“Good,” Dagger said, stepping up and slinging the guy’s arm over his shoulder. Baxter didn’t resist, but he sure as hell wasn’t about to lean too much.

The kid still had pride.

“One down, one to go. Let’s find that CIA operative,” Tex ordered.

Supporting Baxter, Dagger’s teammates cleared the rest of the ICU methodically, silent takedowns, clean kills, minimal noise.

Then they reached the last door. Lechuza’s cell. The only one with a padlock. Fucking animals , Dagger thought, bracing himself for the elite assassin’s condition.

Brawler stepped forward, his body coiling for an explosive breach, his combat instincts driving him to kick in the door and tear through whatever hell was on the other side.

Flash grabbed the back of his vest and yanked him back. Hard.

Brawler staggered, his head snapping toward Flash, surprised as hell, not because of the resistance, but because of who it was coming from.

Gone was the humor and the snark.

The weight of that silence hit like a punch, stopping the whole damn team in their tracks.

Even Tex blinked, caught off guard.

Flash stood rigid, his jaw locked tight, hands steady, but his eyes burned with something close to rage. Not reckless but controlled. Cold.

That wasn’t just SEAL discipline.

That was personal.

Brawler frowned. Flash wasn’t just stopping him. He stopped all of them. It was crystal clear to Dagger. The unspoken line in the sand that Flash had just drawn crackled with tension.

When he spoke, Flash’s voice was low, firm, and edged in something raw. “This isn’t like Baxter,” he said quietly, but there was no mistaking the steel in his tone. “She’s been brutalized. I’ll take care of this. I know what to do.”

As the silence stretched, Dagger’s gut twisted. Flash was right. He knew exactly what they were about to find, there was no hesitation. No uncertainty. Had he seen this before? No. Had he lived it? Dagger studied him, something sharp lodging in his ribs. Flash had always been the smart-ass, the guy who never took anything seriously unless it was taxes and combat. But there was nothing light in his eyes now. Flash wasn’t just making a battlefield call. It was personal knowledge.

Something in his past had prepared him for this exact moment.

Tex watched Flash as time ticked. Their leader was as sharp as hell, and he knew when to give them rope and when to pull them back. All of them had relationships with women, and all of them cherished each one. Dagger gritted his teeth. Whether Quinn liked it or not, he was hanging heavily in her corner, but he wasn’t going to disappear. Anger surged through him, building with each beat of his heart. His nephews needed his support. Then, slowly, their LT nodded and stepped back.

“You take the lead, Jae.”

Flash had seen a lot of shit in his time. War zones, torture cells, cartel pits, blood-soaked hellholes where the strong died just as easily as the innocent.

But this woman?

She was different . He registered her stillness first, no trembling, no shrinking, and she grabbed him by the balls.

Lechuza was propped against the wall, naked except for the bruises on her skin. Flash should have noticed her body first, and yeah, he did, in a way only a man could, but this wasn’t about her abused flesh, and the professional part of him detached from the man through sheer will. The dim, flickering light revealed the cracked, grime-streaked walls and the faint drip of water echoing from somewhere deep within the building, a grim reminder of the decay that surrounded them.

This woman needed him on another whole level, and he would rise to that need like a winged hunter on a dark gust of wind. The long, lean lines of muscle, the deep sun-kissed tan of her skin, the impossible contrast of it against the filth around her spoke of strong Indigenous roots, of a heritage steeped in warriors and survivors. A legacy that had endured centuries of battle and blood. Amid the stale odor of dust and lingering sweat, something shifted in the vicinity of his heart, and for a moment, his professional detachment crumbled.

She didn’t hunch or try to cover herself, but her nakedness was just part of the wholeness of her, no modesty, no shame, only courage–just a raw, compelling defiance. It was easy to see that her dark nipples were pierced. Just another indication of her heritage–ownership, autonomy, and control over her own body. Her rebel heart ignited a craving that demanded he find and know every piece of her.

But what really stopped him cold, brought him back from that spellbound spiral, her eyes. Big, amber-gold, catching the dim light like burnished metal, sharp as a blade. The way her eyes locked onto him made his gut clench in a way that made him sit up and think, something important was happening.

Outside the jungle was hushed as if admiring the moment between them, agreeing with his assessment as the rain pattered softly against the broken panes. The retort of Bondo’s suppressed weapon showed them that chaos waited beyond this room.

Flash had seen men in her position before, their eyes hollowed out, shattered beyond repair. But not her. No, Lechuza was still watching, still hunting. He knew that look. It was the same one he saw in the mirror before a fight. Like the owl she was named for and the frogman oath he bled red, white, and blue, she had the kind of gaze that saw everything, missed nothing. Even in her weakest moment, she was assessing, calculating, cataloging threats.

His throat went tight, something dark and sharp twisting in his chest. Fuck. Danger in a beautiful, compelling package, and his professionalism slipped again. Even like this. Especially like this.

Her back shifted slightly, and that’s when he saw the ink against her delicate, mottled ribcage. A Chakana, the sacred Incan Cross, the kind of shit that wasn’t just decoration but a mark of something deeper. His mouth went dry, and the man he was burned with more than simple, empty desire. Across her shoulder blades, a pair of wings. Not delicate feathers. Not soft. They were bold, black, edged in shadow, wings that looked like they were meant to tear through the dark and take flight. Just like her.

Flash swallowed hard, his jaw flexing as the distant clamor of the outside world faded into a heavy, oppressive silence. He needed to get her out of here. Now.

But he also needed to be careful.

Because this wasn’t just a rescue.

This was two predators meeting in the dark, and her talons were still sharp as shattered obsidian.

Flash stepped into the shadowed room, his hands loose yet every sense on high alert, his heart pounding in quiet defiance as he surveyed the ruined space. His voice, so much softer than anyone on his team had ever heard, broke the oppressive silence.“Lechuza,” he said, low and deliberate. “We’re American military. We’re here to—” He paused, the words “home” and “rescue” not quite fitting the truth of the moment. “Set you free.”

For a long, suspended moment, she didn’t move or breathe. Her eyes, steady and unyielding, fixed on his as if measuring every scar and every secret strength hidden beneath his calm exterior. In that silent exchange, Flash felt the weight of her challenge, a silent affirmation of two equals meeting in the dark.

“Warriors always come for their own.” Her eyes traveled across his hulking teammates, the reinforcement of their creed. No man left behind. It resonated with each and every one of them. “That’s fitting. I accept your offer,” she replied in a voice that was both resonant and cool, a tone that spoke of battles fought and losses endured. Flash crouched to meet her gaze. The sailor known for sharp wit now stood bare before her unflinching courage. “You’re safe now,” he said, voice thick with a promise that cost him something to speak.

Her response was soft, tinged with melancholy and wisdom, “Safety is an illusion, and promises are empty until fulfilled.” Those words stung him, not with anger, but with the shared understanding of a lifetime of struggle.

A low murmur rippled through the team, and even in the dim light, Shark’s whispered “SEAL babe” drifted on the air. Flash only nodded, knowing that such labels could never capture the depth of her.

From his pack, he drew out a well-worn T-shirt and a pair of cotton shorts, more than just fabric. They were a token of refuge in the wreckage, a rare emblem of care in a broken world. Gently, he offered her the garments, giving her the choice to take them.

Her eyes never wavered from his as she regarded the articles of respect, a silent, grateful acknowledgment that spoke louder than words. She blinked, and slowly, with deliberate grace, she took them from him, her warm skin brushing across his fingers. She clutched them for a second. This wasn’t about modesty, Flash realized. It was about power. About choice. She slipped into the cotton, pulled the excess waistband snug around her narrow waist and tied a knot with quiet defiance. Then she looked at him, never breaking eye contact, as the fabric slid over her skin. It was all about reclaiming control.

He trembled at the power in her, the quiet, coiled confidence behind her eyes. She was a predator in the purest sense. Somehow, this, this was intimacy. Raw. Uncompromising. Battlefield-born. But it wasn’t brotherhood. It wasn’t lust. It was something rarer. Recognition.

She stood in her pain, wrapped in dignity, claiming space like it was her birthright. He’d never met a woman who held herself like that. He’d never met anyone who had.

It shook him. She shook him. Not her beauty, not her strength, though both were formidable. It was the quiet, electric truth that she might be his equal.

Bracing one hand against the rough wall, she pushed herself up. Each measured move she took was a testament to her strength, a quiet defiance against the pain that threatened to overwhelm her. Yet after only a few steps, her strength faltered, and she collapsed.

Flash was there in an instant, catching her before she could hit the unforgiving floor. For a long, heart-stopping moment, he stabilized her, his grip firm but impossibly gentle, protective without being threatening. As he held her, their eyes met in a profound exchange. Hers shone with silent gratitude and relief, while he burned with fierce determination to honor this woman with every step he took out of this hellhole.

In a voice barely above a whisper, he said, “I’d be honored to carry you.” He felt her fingers twitch lightly against his sleeve, a delicate, unspoken acceptance that confirmed his every unvoiced hope. Slowly, she nodded.

From a distance, Dagger watched, stunned into silence. Even Tex murmured, “Hell of a way to set wheels in motion,” a low tribute to the transformation unfolding before them.

With careful, deliberate movements, Flash lifted her, cradling her gently against his chest as though she were the very embodiment of everything worth fighting for. Every step he took was a quiet vow, a promise that even in a world where safety was a fleeting illusion, he would be her steadfast guardian.

“Incoming,” Bondo shouted from his defensive position. The team surrounded the hostages like a wall, and the moment they stepped into the main hallway, gunfire erupted, sharp bursts cracking through the humid air.

Flash instinctively shielded Lechuza’s body with his own. His arms tightened around her as he ducked, her weight pressing against his chest, the heat of her bare skin searing against his forearms. His protective instincts roared to life, primal and absolute. She was vulnerable, exposed, and in his arms, which meant she was his responsibility. Her shield. His to keep safe, nothing but concrete reality for him and his brothers.

Brawler slammed into cover behind an overturned gurney, bullets shredding the walls above his head. Flash dove beside him, setting her down, his SAW already snapping to position, letting the big gun talk for him. Every time he squeezed the trigger, it was for her, Baxter, and the team he loved. Every enemy that fell was one less threat between them and survival.

Baxter had barely cleared the doorway when an insurgent fired from an alcove, catching him off guard. He stumbled, his weakened legs giving out beneath him, hitting the tile hard.

“Jesus Christ,” Baxter groaned, blinking up at the ceiling like he was questioning all his life choices.

Dagger yanked him up by the collar. “Thank him later. Move your ass.”

Baxter coughed out a laugh. “You could at least?—”

Dagger didn’t wait. He just hauled the guy over his shoulder like a damn sack of rice and took off down the hall.

“Give me your sidearm,” Lechuza said, her eyes narrowed and determined. He pulled his Glock from his holster and set it in her hands, then he scooped her up, his grip unwavering. He could feel the faint, ragged rise and fall of her chest, the delicate tremor in her limbs.

Her fingers curled slightly against his sleeve, gripping just enough so that he knew she wasn’t giving up.

Good. Flash ducked another round, her body curled into his chest, a pistol firm in her grip. Despite everything, she was still hunting, still ready to fight. His gut clenched with something sharp and intense. Yeah, that’s exactly what she was. A fierce owl. His fierce owl. “Hold on,” he murmured, ducking another shot. “It’s go time, búho feroz .”

Brawler covered their six, laying down fire as the SEALs pushed through the last of the resistance. Beast lunged at a fighter trying to get an angle on Tex, taking the bastard to the floor in a snarl of teeth and power.

The team tore down the stairwell, boots hammering against concrete, gunfire snapping in the confined space. Brawler and Beast led the way, juggernauts tearing through resistance like a wrecking ball. Flash moved just behind him, keeping his body curled around Lechuza, shielding her as best he could while Easy picked off stragglers trying to regroup.

Dagger and Tex were on their six, moving with the fluidity of men who had carried dead weight before. Dagger had Baxter slung over his shoulder, hauling the former DSS officer down four flights of stairs like he weighed nothing.

Flash glanced back and muttered, “Still think we should’ve taken the damn elevator.”

Baxter wheezed from where he was draped over Dagger’s back. “Yeah? Maybe if it wasn’t a damn bullet magnet.”

“Everybody’s got to be a critic.” Lechuza laughed softly and Flash's heart flipped over. She laughed at his joke. Nice.

Bullets rained from above.

An insurgent leaned over the stairwell railing, rushing to angle his rifle down. Bondo didn’t stop running, just fired mid-stride, the burst sending the bastard over the railing and he fell to the floor below.

They were getting boxed into a kill zone, and there was only one thing to do. Lechuza gripped his vest in preparation, bracing herself to be part of her own rescue. Bullets pinged off metal so close to Flash’s head, he heard the zzt of the passing lead.

“Get off the fucking X,” Tex said in that calm, commanding tone that meant everything was about to speed up, go door kicking, pipe hitting loud.