Page 40 of Rescuing Ally: Part 2

Ethan shifts in his chair, team leader responsibility weighing on his shoulders. “There was a breakdown in?—”

“My fault.” The words come out before Ethan can finish. “I jumped the gun.”

“Explain.” CJ’s flat stare locks onto mine.

The honest answer?

I’m sick of analyzing everything to death while our women suffer. Sick of Hank’s careful variables and contingency plans when what we need is action. Sick of “methodical approaches” and “systematic clearance,” when every second we waste planning could be Ally’s last breath.

The honest answer is that I snapped because I can’t stand one more second of tactical patience while the woman I love is in hell.

“No excuse,” I say instead.

But everyone knows the real story. That I’m coming apart at the seams and taking it out on the person closest to me. That I’ve been picking fights with Hank for three days because doing something—even something destructive—feels better than doing nothing.

That when you’re drowning in helplessness, the easiest target is the man who’s always been your anchor.

Hank’s hands clench into fists. Ethan’s heavy gaze darts between us, reading the fracture lines that started the moment our women disappeared. The way Walt and Blake exchange looks like they’ve been watching a slow-motion car crash, waiting for the inevitable impact.

“Charlie team is suspended from active deployment pending remedial training,” CJ announces, his words hitting like physical blows. “You’ll spend the next week running basic exercises until you remember how to function as a unit.”

Suspended.

The word tastes like ash. While Ally suffers in Malfor’s hands, we’ll be playing training games because I couldn’t control myself for five fucking minutes.

“CJ,” Ethan begins, “if we could just?—”

“The decision is final.” CJ’s tone brooks no argument. “When you can complete a basic hostage rescue without going cowboy, we’ll discuss operational deployment.”

He moves toward the door, then pauses. “Gabe, stay behind. The rest of you are dismissed.”

FOURTEEN

Compromised

GABE

The team files outin silence, leaving me alone with CJ’s judgment. They gather outside—Ethan’s shoulders rigid with command stress, Walt shaking his head, Blake’s fists clenched.

And Hank. Standing apart from the others, staring back at the building with an expression that makes my chest tighten.

“Seventy-six hours,” CJ says quietly, settling back into his chair. “Seventy-six hours since the women were taken, and you just sabotaged your team’s readiness to get them back.”

The words hit like armor-piercing rounds. “I?—”

“You’re compromised.” The assessment cuts through my attempt at explanation. “Emotionally, tactically, operationally. The Gabe I know would never abandon his team in a firefight.”

“The Gabe you know never had to watch the woman he loves disappear.”

“Neither has the rest of your team.” CJ’s voice stays level, which makes it worse. “You think you’re the only one suffering? The only one desperate to bring them home?”

The question hits because I do think that. Have been thinking that. Wrapped so deep in my rage that I’ve forgotten everyone else is bleeding too.

“What I think,” CJ continues, “is that you’re so busy being angry at Hank for not moving fast enough that you’ve forgotten how to be angry at the right target.”

“Hank’s not the problem?—”

“Hank’s the only reason this team functions. He’s your anchor. His planning keeps you alive. His discipline compensates for your impulses.” CJ leans forward. “And now you’re destroying it. Tearing apart the most effective partnership in Guardian HQ because you can’t handle the fact that getting Ally Collins back requires patience instead of explosives.”