Page 2 of Deadly Hope (Hope Landing: New Recruits #2)

The cave mouth exhaled sulfur and death.

Axel’s boots slipped on volcanic rock as he raced up the narrow trail, heart thundering in time with distant explosions. The island’s thick air pressed against him like a living thing, heavy with the stink of poison gas … and fear.

“Status.” Ronan’s voice crackled through his earpiece.

Axel tried to respond, but his throat closed. Red spots danced at the edges of his vision. Not now. Please, Lord. Not. Now.

“Axe! Report!”

The jungle blurred. His chest seized. He knew this trail led to the extraction point, knew the team was waiting, but his mind ... his mind was somewhere else. Some when else. Back outside that cave in Kandahar, with the walls closing in and?—

“On your six.” Deke’s warning cut through the static.

Gunfire erupted behind him. The sound should have sent him diving for cover. Instead, his body locked up. He was useless, trapped in his own head while his team?—

Axel jolted awake with a ragged gasp, sheets twisted around him like restraints.

For endless seconds he couldn’t place himself in time or space.

His bedroom slowly came into focus—the gun safe in the corner, tactical gear hung on pegs by the door, late Autumn moonlight painting silver stripes across his cabin’s pine walls.

Hope Landing. His new home.

The bedside clock read 0430. His shirt was soaked with sweat despite the December chill seeping through poorly insulated windows. Perfect. Just enough time to do a quick five miles through the snow before the team’s morning workout. Running helped. Until it didn’t.

But this time, the nightmare clung like the tiny island’s humidity.

Two days since they’d returned, and he still couldn’t shake it.

The mission had been textbook until his brain betrayed him—a simple extraction of a corporate executive’s daughter from an eco-resort turned hostage situation.

The team had adapted, covered his momentary freeze, gotten everyone out alive.

This time.

His phone buzzed—a text from his buddy:

Ronan: You up? Extra fun workout this morning. Christian’s idea.

Axel managed a grim smile. His best friend had changed since they’d joined Knight Tactical, found something like peace working with his half-brother’s team.

Even learned to ice skate, sort of, helping Christian coach those high school hockey players.

The man, who’d once lived for nothing but the next mission, now had roots.

Community. Purpose beyond the next objective.

And a budding relationship with their newest recruit—the gorgeous, brainy detective, Maya Chen.

Meanwhile, he still couldn’t handle a simple extraction without his PTSD turning him inside out.

The team was right. He needed help. The appointment card on his nightstand mocked him—Dr. Olivia Kane, 1400 hours. Specialist in military trauma.

Whatever .

Like anyone could really understand what happened in his head during missions. Much less a shrink who’d never seen combat herself. But he’d run out of options. And excuses. The team, and the larger Knight Tactical Organization, had no intention of letting him escape this.

His phone buzzed again. This time Izzy, their vehicle and equipment expert.

Izzy: Fair warning—Christian’s got something evil planned. Bring spare gloves.

At 0500, the Sierra night was still pitch black, the world outside his window cloaked in an inky shroud. Time to move. To push through. To pretend he wasn’t slowly coming apart at the seams.

Twenty minutes later, his lifted truck’s headlights swept across Knight Tactical’s lot.

The compound’s floodlights punched holes in the December darkness, their stark beams pointing straight down like accusing fingers.

His team gathered in these pools of harsh light, their breath clouding in the pre-dawn chill. Sunrise was still hours away.

Ronan and Christian were setting up what looked like a hybrid obstacle course and combat drill, while Izzy argued with their psyops expert, Zara Khoury about proper cold-weather gear.

Deke Williams, former NFL linebacker, SEAL sniper and hand-to-hand combat specialist, towered over them, calmly drinking coffee while Kenji Marshall, team medic and their backup cyber-expert, stretched nearby.

Griffin Hawkins, sniper, scout, and general man of mystery, stood just outside a pool of light, facing outward, as usual, watching for a threat that wasn’t there.

“There he is!” Christian Murphy’s voice carried across the snow .

The former sniper was Ronan’s half-brother, and a member of the original Knight Tactical operation. Christian and Ronan had only met face to face a couple months back, when Knight Tactical helped Ronan, and the rest of them, bring their fallen teammate’s killers to justice.

The rest, as they say, was history. Admiral Knight, the guiding force behind the small tactical protection business, offered them all jobs in the expanding operation.

And so, after three years, he and Ronan and their friends were a team again, only this time, they only took the jobs they wanted to.

And the Admiral and his team made certain they had only the best resources.

A win-win. If it weren’t for the dark storms that attacked him without mercy. Or warning.

Christian blew on his gloved hands, sending a cloud of fog into the air. “So, puppies, ready for some real winter training?”

The obstacle course looked brutal—ice-slicked walls, frozen rope climbs, precision shooting stations. Good. Physical challenge was better than lying in bed, drowning in memories.

“Born ready,” Axel called back, forcing confidence into his voice. The lie tasted bitter, but it was better than admitting the truth—that one of the best special operatives in the business was terrified of his own mind.

Zara caught his eye, her intel officer’s instincts too sharp to miss his tension. But she just tossed him a pair of tactical gloves. “Christian’s determined to prove Navy boys can handle mountain winters.”

“Please,” Ronan scoffed, “we invented winter warfare.”

“That’s not what I remember from BUD/S,” Kenji commented mildly. “Didn’t you complain about the pool being too cold?”

“The water was fifty-eight degrees! ”

Christian made a face. “Maybe we should call you kids the Ice Princesses.”

Ronan’s half-brother was a decorated SEAL, as were the six of them, but the man had a strange sense of humor.

Ever since Admiral Knight had offered them positions in his security outfit, there’d been a running gag between the original team, Christian, and his former special ops teammates, and Axel and Ronan’s squad.

The original crew kept coming up with stupid names for Axel’s squad …

and Axel’s peeps kept shooting them down.

Kenji flexed his slender surgeon’s fingers in his thick gloves. “Naming the team’s a serious thing. We’ll let you old dudes know when we’ve hit on the right thing.”

Christian grinned, a hard, scary expression if you didn’t know the man. “Whatever you need to tell yourself, pup.”

“For Tank!” Deke raised a fist, shouting the slogan that preceded every morning workout since the team had joined Knight Tactical.

“For Tank,” Axel and the others shouted back.

Losing their friend and teammate to murder three months ago had shaken them all to the core. But Tank’s sacrifice had brought them all back together and given them purpose again. And a home.

He’d forever miss the big man. And he’d be forever grateful.

“Let’s do this,” Ronan shouted, breath fogging in the bitter cold.

A white object whizzed toward Christian’s head. He ducked with an enviable grace. The snowball sailed straight past him, and hit Deke in the ear. The big man roared, tearing off after Ronan. “Come back here, little man.”

The rest of them laughed as they drifted toward the equipment.

The easy banter continued as they warmed up, but Axel felt the weight of their concern. They’d seen him freeze up on that island. Seen what happened when his PTSD took control.

They’d also seen him push through it, finish the mission, get everyone home safe. But for how much longer?

The powerful beams of light caught the frost on the training equipment, turning everything to diamonds and steel. Just like this team—beautiful and brutal and absolutely necessary to his survival.

Now he just had to survive asking a stranger to help him put his head back together.

“Let’s fire this up,” Christian called out. “First round: two-man teams, full gear. Let’s see how you handle tactical problems in subzero conditions.”

Axel checked his watch. Eight hours until his appointment with Dr. Olivia Kane.

He’d done his research—of course he had.

That’s what operatives did. Know your target.

Know your terrain. But the woman’s website photo had caught him off guard.

Dark red hair swept into a casual knot, intelligent green eyes that looked right through the camera, and a subtle half-smile that suggested she saw more than she let on.

Not cute. Devastating. The kind of beautiful that made men stupid.

His sisters would’ve smacked him for even thinking like this. But it wasn’t about her being a woman. It was about those eyes. They looked like they could strip away pretense, see past his walls, read the truth he’d spent years burying.

And that could mess with his plan.

In and out in one session. All he needed was the woman’s endorsement that he didn’t need serious treatment. That would get Ronan and the rest of the Knight Tactical group off his back. One session. In. Out.

All he had to do was prove he could still function. Still contribute .

Still belong.

Without a shrink.

“Time hack,” Ronan announced. “Three, two, one ... execute!”

Axel moved into position, letting his body take over while his mind cataloged the course. He could do this. One evolution at a time. One breath at a time.

Just like therapy would be. If he could make it through the door.