Page 7 of Single Mom’s Navy Seals (Claimed by the Alphas #2)

The memory crawls through my chest, an old ache still raw beneath layers of maintained control.

That last mission had been mine to command, and my judgment call had spiraled into chaos.

I’d chosen to rescue one civilian. One life I’d valued above protocol, above everything else.

A life saved, but at the cost of many others, teammates who trusted my judgment and paid for it in blood.

Morales was the only one among the wounded to survive extraction to a hospital.

Still, his career as a SEAL abruptly ended by injuries that should have been mine.

Our SEAL careers had ended, too, just not with medals or ceremonies, but with scars no one could see.

Mine the most. I’d carried that weight heavily, spiraling into a darkness I’d nearly drowned in.

Jax and Cole had pulled me from the brink, refusing to let me succumb to the guilt and shame.

And Morales—he’d never blamed me, not once, though I’d given him every reason.

“I mean, we’ll take the job. But, are you sure it should be us? We aren’t exactly the ideal escorts for a mom and her kid. There must be others. You have endless resources at your fingertips.”

“The second I officially involve anyone else, her location’s compromised again. You three operate off-grid, unofficially. You’re the only team I trust implicitly.”

“All right. Send me the contact number.”

Morales exhales, relief evident even through the phone line. “I’m sending it to you now. Keep communication brief. Check in only after you’ve secured her and the kid. This can’t be traced back to me.”

“Understood,” I reply shortly, already mentally mapping our next moves. Morales had earned this favor a thousand times over.

The line goes dead, leaving behind nothing but the press of silence. I stare at the phone, weighing every angle, every risk. My jaw tightens, tension settling deep in my muscles.

This isn’t just another job. Morales wouldn’t have called unless he had no other choice. And today, the irony hits harder. On the anniversary of my worst failure, Morales is trusting me to succeed where he can’t. To protect where others have failed.

I stand abruptly, slipping the phone into my pocket, shaking off the shadows clawing at the edges of my mind. Walking with purpose, it doesn’t take long before I find my brothers in all but blood. They’re both downstairs in the weapons room.

When I enter, Cole and Jax look up simultaneously from opposite ends of the room.

Cole is sharpening knives meticulously at the long, steel table while Jax lounges back casually, one boot propped up, cleaning a handgun with practiced ease.

Jax’s wavy chestnut hair falls just past his ears, tousled in a way that always looks unintentional but perfect.

His smirk is familiar, cocky, and covers the sharpness in his cheekbones and the shadows under his eyes.

“Get up,” I order calmly, voice level but firm. “We have a job.”

Jax immediately straightens, dark blue eyes glittering with a combination of curiosity and readiness. “What’s going down?”

Cole, silent and watchful as ever, simply slides his knives back into their sheaths, rising fluidly. Both men await my instruction, their attention focused on me.

“Morales called in his favor,” I explain succinctly, grabbing a map and unrolling it on the table. “Witness Protection compromised. A woman and her kid need extraction, fast and secure, from Pennsylvania to Nevada.”

Jax whistles low, the seriousness sinking in. “Government fuck-up?”

“Seems so.” I glance between them, making sure the gravity of this mission registers clearly. “Morales says there’s a mole. No one else can be trusted. Just us.”

Cole nods, arms folded, the tension in his large frame controlled and deliberate. “Any intel on the opposition?”

“Powerful. Mafia-connected,” I say, leaning forward, tracing a deliberate line across the map. “Randal Guerri, the dude tied with the Capacelli Don.”

“Damn, who was dumb enough to get on their bad side?” Jax asks, letting out a whistle.

“The target is his ex-wife, Ava, and their five-year-old son, Eli.” All humor seeps out of the room. “Our job is to keep them alive and deliver them safely to Morales’s safe place in Nevada.”

Jax’s expression hardens, eyes narrowing thoughtfully. “High-risk civilian extraction. Probably gonna be messy.”

“Messy or not, we’re doing it,” I state firmly, leaving no room for discussion. “The woman and child are innocent. They didn’t ask for this. We see it through. No mistakes.”

“Understood,” Cole responds steadily, voice deep and unwavering. He’s a fortress, reliable and unflinching. Exactly what we need.

Jax taps his finger on the table, restless energy simmering beneath his careful exterior. “What's our approach, Liam?”

“Minimal exposure,” I reply immediately, strategy taking shape rapidly in my mind. “We'll drive in, discreetly acquire the targets, and exit quickly. Night extraction. Avoid main roads. Once clear, we’ll establish safe passage west.”

Jax nods decisively. “And the kid? Civilian extractions with children aren’t exactly textbook. I mean, when was the last time any of us actually were even near a kid anyway?”

My gaze meets his squarely, voice firm. “We adapt. Whatever Eli needs, we provide. No question. No hesitation.”

Both men nod, their trust in my judgment absolute. I rely on them implicitly. Together, we've navigated missions no sane person would attempt. This one will be no different.

“We leave immediately,” I order calmly, pulling my keys from my pocket. “Get your gear. Weapons discreet, medical supplies ready. We plan for every contingency.”

Cole and Jax move, the warehouse humming with focused activity. I watch them, confidence settling deeply inside me. Morales entrusted us with a dangerous, delicate mission, and I won’t betray that trust. Ava and Eli are innocent, caught in a violent storm not of their making.

Failure isn’t an option. Not now, not ever. I’ll get them out alive, even if it’s the last damn thing I do.