Page 31 of Stealthy Seduction (SEAL Team Blackout Charlie #5)

I zzy’s hand was warm in Steele’s, their fingers interlaced. He held on to the moment of peace he felt at getting her back. Safe.

But he knew that the peace was going to shatter the minute they walked through the door of the Blackout base and he had to face not only his CO but all of his brothers that he’d let down.

He was the rock of the team. Nothing shook him.

Until Izzy came along.

Now he was holding his breath, waiting for everything to go sideways.

The moment they were inside, she remembered what he asked of her.

She turned and kissed him with desperate intensity, her hands framing his face like she was trying to memorize the feeling of his skin beneath her palms. It lasted maybe five seconds, but in those heartbeats he tasted relief and gratitude…

and something he hoped to fuck wasn’t goodbye.

“I have to go handle things,” he said quietly when they broke apart.

She nodded, understanding flickering in her amber eyes. “I’ll be in our room.”

Our room.

The words hit him squarely in the chest, a reminder of what he’d fought to protect and what he might have jeopardized in the process. He watched her disappear up the stairs, her posture straight despite everything she’d been through.

A heat that had everything to do with the woman who’d just called his bedroom theirs settled in his chest.

Then reality kicked in, and he turned toward the supply closet.

The cleaning supplies were where they’d always been—industrial-strength disinfectant, rubber gloves, scrub brushes and a yellow mop bucket that had seen better days.

Steele loaded everything into the bucket with the methodical precision he did with everything. He already knew his punishment. He just hoped it was enough.

This wasn’t punishment in the traditional sense; it was reintegration. A way to demonstrate that despite his rogue decision, he was still part of the team, still willing to accept the hierarchy that kept them all alive.

The war room’s lights were on when he approached, armed with the bucket in one hand and the rubber gloves tucked under his arm.

Through the partially open door, he could hear the low murmur of voices—his teammates discussing the aftermath of a one-man op that had gone both completely wrong and entirely right, depending on your perspective.

He entered without waiting for permission.

The room fell quiet. Con sat at the head of the table, his expression unreadable in the way that meant he was either planning Steele’s court-martial or his commendation.

Chase, Mason, and Chickie occupied their usual seats, their faces a mixture of relief and concern.

Dante sat slightly apart from the others, looking like a man who knew he was about to face the music for his own choices.

“Special Operative Hudson Steele reporting, Commanding Officer.” He set the bucket down with a soft thud that seemed to echo in the silence.

“Cipher got away,” Con said without preamble.

“Yes, sir. Target was wounded but mobile. Lost the trail after approximately fifty meters.”

“You don’t miss, Steele. We know why you took that high shoulder shot. How badly is he hurt?”

“Hit him in the clavicle, probably damaged the subclavian artery based on the blood loss pattern. He’ll need medical attention within six to eight hours or risk bleeding out.” Steele kept his voice professional, clinical. “But he’ll live long enough to activate those contingencies he mentioned.”

Con nodded grimly. “And you decided that taking matters into your own hands was worth the risk of global terrorism?”

The question hung in the air like smoke after an explosion. Steele met his commander’s stare directly.

“I decided that leaving Izzy in the hands of a psychopath wasn’t an acceptable outcome, sir.”

“And you dragged Dante into your personal crusade.”

“That was my choice,” Dante interjected from his corner of the table. “Nobody dragged me anywhere.”

Con’s gaze shifted between them, and Steele could practically see the disciplinary calculations happening behind his eyes. In a regular military unit, this would mean dishonorable discharge or possible criminal charges.

But the Blackout teams operated in the spaces between policy and the good of the brotherhood. Their first duty was to their country, but often the lines were blurred when it came to protecting each other.

Yes, Steele had operated in his own interest. Though what he’d done by injuring the terrorist felt like a victory. He’d spilled Cipher’s blood. That had to be a win for Blackout.

The question was whether Con saw it the same way.

“Two months of bathroom duty,” Con said finally, his voice ringing with official judgment. He sliced a look at Dante. “Take Dante with you.”

His teammate gave a light shake of his head, his shoulders slumped in resignation.

Steele firmed his jaw. “Yes, sir.”

“All the bathrooms.”

“Understood.”

“And the kitchen.”

“Copy that.”

“And the pool area.”

“Roger.”

“I’m starting you at two months of punishment, but I can always add on more if you test me.”

Dante made a sound that might have been a stifled groan, but Steele felt nothing but relief washing through him. Cleaning duty. Two months of scrubbing toilets and mopping floors in exchange for Izzy’s life and his continued place on the team. It was the bargain of the century.

“Understood, sir,” he said. “We’ll get started immediately.”

Con’s expression softened slightly. “For the record, the shot you took was exemplary. Four hundred thirty meters, crosswind, moving target with a hostage in close proximity. I couldn’t have made it.”

He swallowed hard. “Thank you, sir.”

“Don’t thank me yet. You’ve got sixty days of explaining to your girlfriend why you smell like industrial disinfectant.”

Steele couldn’t help the grin that tugged at his mouth. “I think she’ll understand.”

Twenty minutes later, he and Dante stood outside the first bathroom on their punishment rotation, armed with rubber gloves and enough cleaning supplies to sterilize a small hospital.

Knowing the state of the base bathrooms, they’d need it.

The door bore a handwritten sign that read “Property of Chase and Chickie - Enter at Your Own Risk.”

“Two months won’t be so bad.”

“Is it worth it though?” Dante pulled on his gloves with the resigned air of a man facing a very unpleasant afternoon. “I’ll tell you right now, Steele—I’m not doing the second floor. The single guys’ bathrooms are absolutely disgusting.”

Steele considered the question seriously. Sixty days of cleaning duty seemed a small price to pay to clear his record and fix the damaged relationship with Con and the team.

At the end of the day, Izzy was safe, and that made everything else worth it.

She was upstairs in their room, alive and unharmed because he’d chosen her over orders, over protocol, over everything he’d been trained to prioritize.

He pushed open the bathroom door to reveal what could generously be described as a biohazard. “Were we ever this gross?”

“I wasn’t.” Dante followed him inside. “I don’t know about you.”

They both laughed, then immediately groaned as the full scope of their punishment became clear.

“You know what?” Steele rolled up his sleeves and reached for the heavy bristle scrub brush. “It’s completely worth it.”

And it was. Every minute of the next hour spent on his hands and knees, every chemical burn from the disinfectant, every moment of this ridiculous punishment was worth it for the knowledge that Izzy was safe upstairs, probably writing in her journal or researching her book, alive and whole.

The love of his life.

“Next bathroom.” Dante hefted the bucket with obvious reluctance.

“Copy that,” Steele replied, already thinking about the moment when he could shed these rubber gloves and go upstairs to the woman who’d called his room theirs. “Let’s get this done.”

* * * * *

Izzy stood at the window, arms wrapped around herself, staring at the sprawling lawn of the Blackout base. Every small bump or footstep she heard in the house had her nerves crackling.

What was happening downstairs with Hudson? If they kicked him off the team, she would never forgive herself. Taking away his team would be like stripping away his very essence. He was Blackout.

A soft knock sounded on the door, and she whipped around, heart lodged in her throat. “Y-es?” Her voice cracked. She cleared it and tried again. “Yes?”

The door opened, and a face popped around it. “Can we come in?”

She waved for Alyssa to enter, and the rest of the ladies spilled into the space. Izzy drew in a breath so deep she felt her ribs expand. Steele wasn’t the only one with a betrayal. She had broken a code between friends by leaving. By putting those creases of worry on their faces.

“I’m so sorry.” The words came out as a whisper.

In measured steps, Alyssa crossed the room and faced Izzy. Their gazes locked, and Alyssa let out a quiet cry as she threw her arms around her.

“Oh, Izzy! Thank god you’re okay! You scared us so bad.”

She wound her arms around her dear friend and held on tight. “I know I scared you all. I’m so sorry.”

Alyssa stepped back, giving Izzy a chance to sweep her gaze over the others in the group. Sophie, May and Kennedy all stared back at her with grim expressions.

Alyssa, always the ambassador, took control of this meeting. “Izzy, we need to talk.”

She nodded. “Go on.”

“You betrayed our trust,” Sophie said immediately.

May nodded. “We thought we were friends.”

“We are!” A sharp sting poked at her conscience.

Kennedy’s deep brown eyes held a trace of hurt. “You didn’t trust us to tell us what was happening.”

She spread her hands. How to make them understand? “I did it for all of you. He was going to kill everyone!”

Alyssa bowed her head, dark hair swinging forward to conceal her face. To Izzy’s dismay, she sniffled. In the gray light coming through the window, she caught the glimmer of a tear dropping from Alyssa’s eye.