Page 36 of Raven (Golden Team Army Special Forces #5)

36

Cyclone

We weren’t supposed to be here this long. What was supposed to be a grab-and-go op had turned into five days of ducking machete-wielding men in the jungle, dodging trackers with too many dogs and not enough conscience, and rationing protein bars until Faron threatened to eat his boot.

And now? We were in a damn pit.

A literal, dark-as-hell, smells-like-sweaty-death kind of pit.

“You okay?” I whispered.

“Define okay,” Faron grunted beside me. “If okay means I’m covered in what I hope is mud and thinking about faking my own death to avoid having to tell the guys what we landed in, then yeah. Peachy.”

“Shh,” I said, tilting my head toward the top. Voices. Close. Angry.

We held still. Waited. Let the bastards pass.

When it went quiet, I boosted Faron up. He scrambled, grunted, and disappeared over the edge. A second later, he reached down and yanked me up like we were pulling each other out of hell.

We hit the jungle floor running, branches slapping our faces, thorns catching our sleeves, every muscle in my body screaming from exhaustion.

And then— we saw them.

Four nuns. Dirty, exhausted, terrified.

And one?

One wasn’t terrified at all.

She stood with one hand on her hip, the other holding what looked like a homemade spear. Her habit was half torn, her eyes sharp and full of fire.

“Well,” she drawled, “it’s about damn time you showed up. I was starting to think we’d have to rescue you. ”

I blinked. “Who the hell are you? We heard there were three nuns.”

She grinned, teeth white against her sun-kissed skin. “Sister Jude. And if you try to tell me to be quiet, I’ll stab you with this stick.”

Faron muttered behind me, “Oh hell. Cyclone’s in trouble.”

And yeah. I was.

Because I’d just risked my life to rescue a nun with a mouth like a sailor… and a face that might actually make me consider going to church.

* * *

Jude

Three weeks of hiding in this godforsaken jungle, living off rainwater and the small amount of food we carried in our bags. My knees ached, my feet were blistered, and I was fairly certain something had taken up residence in my habit.

So when the tall, muscle-sculpted man with camouflage war paint and a rifle showed up? Yeah, I was ready with the sarcasm.

What I wasn’t ready for… was him.

“You’re sister Jude?” he asked, blinking like I’d just told him I moonlighted as an assassin.

“That’s what the name tag says.” I jabbed the stick at the ground. “Now, unless you’ve got food or an airlift hidden in your cargo pants, move it. I’m not dying in a jungle because the special ops guy can’t keep up.”

He stared at me like I’d sprouted wings.

The one with the beard—Faron, apparently—snorted. “Cyclone, she talks more than you do.”

“I don’t talk that much,” Cyclone muttered, clearly already regretting every life decision that led him here.

We moved fast. Or at least, they did. The other sisters stayed quiet, frightened, clinging together. I kept a close eye on them, but I didn’t hover. Hovering didn’t keep people alive. Moving did. I looked at the sisters. “We have to keep up with the men or the bad guys’ll catch us.”

“We know we are just so tired. We’ve been running ever since you found us.”

That’s because the bad guys are after us. I explained all of this to you. You are all young, I know you can keep up with me. Now let’s go.”

“You always this mouthy?” Cyclone asked after about an hour of slogging through the vines.

I glanced at him. “You always this sweaty?”

His jaw ticked. Oh, this was gonna be fun.

We pushed forward, ducking under low branches. Cyclone took point, clearing the way with precise movements. The guy was a machine—tactical, efficient, and zero-nonsense.

Except when he looked at me.

Then there was something… different.

The nuns were behind him, and I was behind them. The other guy was last.

“We’ll need to make camp soon,” he said quietly, pulling me aside. “The others are fading.”

“You think I can’t see that?” I snapped.

He held up a hand. “I’m not criticizing. I’m looping you in.”

That threw me off just enough to pause.

“You looped in the nun with the stick?”

His eyes flicked to the spear I was still clutching. “You seem like the one most likely to stab me in my sleep. I figured I’d stay on your good side.”

Despite myself, I chuckled—just a little.

He looked pleased with himself.

And for a split second, I forgot where we were. Forgot the danger, the exhaustion, the stench of fear that had clung to me for weeks.

I just saw him.

Cyclone, the name suited him.

And the way he was looking back?

Yeah. I had a bad feeling about this.

Not about the mission.

About him.