Page 47

“I won’t be alone,” she said evenly. “I’ve got one of the biggest, baddest SEAL teams covering my six.”

“Bree—” His voice faltered, just enough to show the crack. “What if they search you?”

Zorro couldn’t resist.

He leaned in slightly, lips twitching. “Hot pink bikini? It’ll be a miracle if they can even see straight once she walks in. Most women aren’t carrying at the beach.” He paused. “You know. Tactically. ”

Bree smirked. “If they find my gun, I’ll just look at them with wide eyes and say, ‘Oops, did I pack my Glock? Oh, you know those pesky sharks.’”

“Yeah, then she’ll tell them, ‘While you’re rummaging in there, can you find my lip gloss?’”

Bree threw back her head and laughed. “I’m a hot pink weapon,” Bree said, like she was prepping for a beach shoot and a murder.

The men in the room shifted. Blitz muttered something foul under his breath.

Off to the side, Migs and Sanchez exchanged a look. Just a glance. Half a blink. No words at first. Then, as one, they murmured, “Os Americanos.”

Everyone in the room chuckled.

Migs looked at Zorro with an affectionate look on his face. “I hope this tactic makes it into our handbook.”

Bree grinned unfazed. “Let me know if you need help with the wording. Something like beach shoot, now with less sunscreen and more body count.”

Everyone cracked up. Even Joker’s mouth twitched.

Blitz exhaled like it hurt. His jaw flexed once. Twice. “Babe, you’re layers of terrifying.”

She leaned in. “Good. That’s how I know I’ve still got it.”

“Fucking SEAL babes,” D-Day muttered shaking his head. “Fearless SEAL babes.”

Suddenly shots sounded outside. Zorro strode to the window, parted the curtains. He saw people running, emergency personnel down in the street. “She’s picking off the first responders.”

“Snipe placements are likely elevated. She’ll want to control the perimeter,” Gator muttered. “That’s what I would do.”

Professor nodded. “We can map likely perch angles once we see where she's shooting from.” He fist-bumped Gator. “Yeah. We’ll run calculations,” Professor replied, his eyes flicking toward his CO. “We’ve got this, LT. She won’t miss. But neither will we.”

“Good, you two get geared up, armed, and send her and her friends to their maker.”

Gator hugged Izzy. “You be careful, my shadow.”

She smiled. “Always.”

Joker’s voice came low, final. “Then let’s make them sorry they ever walked into this hotel.”

Everly sat between Maritza and Julia, her back to the wall, heart still hammering from the stampede. The ballroom buzzed with panicked murmurs, the air thick with sweat, fear, and the sharp, metallic tang of adrenaline. Yet they were calm.

Maritza sat like a woman on a beach, not a battlefield. Julia’s hands were folded gently around a water bottle she hadn’t touched. Both of them were scanning, calculating, waiting…for rescue?

Everly narrowed her eyes. No. No, it can’t be. She turned toward them slowly, suspicion blooming. “Okay,” she said under her breath, “just to be clear…are you two, by any chance, married to SEALs? ”

Julia blinked, startled. “Yes.”

Everly growled softly. “Of course you are.”

Maritza grinned. “Buck’s my husband.”

Everly turned to Julia, eyes narrowed.

“You belong to…?”

Julia smiled, soft and serene. “Professor.”

Maritza shook her head, already chuckling. “Let me guess…you’re Zorro’s doctor. The one who’s been driving him completely bonkers?”

Everly exhaled sharply. “Guilty as charged.”

The three of them exchanged a look, wry, tired, filled with that strange camaraderie only women in love with impossible men could understand.

But the sound of someone groaning across the room pulled Everly’s focus. A man sat slumped near the wall, cradling a bloodied arm. Another woman had a deep cut across her thigh. Someone else, a teen, was folded into a ball, barely breathing. No one was helping them.

No one was moving. Everly stood.

Julia touched her wrist. “Ev?—”

“I’m a doctor,” Everly said firmly, her voice low but sure. “I’m not watching these people bleed out while I sit on my ass.”

She crossed the room, every step deliberate.

The nearest Black Dawn militant clocked her immediately, raising his weapon slightly. “Sit down!”

Everly didn’t flinch. “I’m a doctor,” she said, loud enough for everyone to hear. “These people are wounded. If you’re trying to make a point to the world, letting civilians die in front of your cameras won’t help.”

The man’s jaw tightened. “Back off.”

“I’m not asking to leave,” she said. “I’m asking for a first aid kit. You’re already in control. This doesn’t change that.”

He stepped toward her and, without warning, backhanded her hard.

Gasps rippled through the room. Everly staggered but didn’t fall.

Blood filled her mouth. She tasted copper and fury.

She looked up at him, slowly, then she took a step forward.

Her voice dropped, soft but razor-edged.

“You’re already in power. Everyone here is afraid of you.

What does it cost to be a human being now? Let me help them.”

There was a pause.

Then, behind the man, another insurgent, older, less wired with adrenaline, grunted something in Portuguese. The first man hesitated, then snarled as another man shoved a battered first aid kit into her chest.

“Make it quick.”

Everly didn’t thank him. She turned, knelt beside the first wounded man, and set to work. Behind her, Julia and Maritza closed in like sentinels, one handing her gauze, the other keeping quiet watch, ready to move when their men came to collect them. Everly had no doubt.

Bailee crouched behind a fire suppression panel, Glock trained on the hallway, her breath a steady rhythm in her chest.

She’d taken down two already. The third was hunting her. She didn’t know how many more were coming, only that she was one mag away from being out of options.

The stairwell door exploded inward.

She pivoted, weapon raised until she saw the figure moving through the smoke.

Solid. Controlled. Shadow and fury wrapped in muscle.

Bear . Standing tall, gun up, eyes sweeping the perimeter like a sentinel born of stone and storm. He was the most terrifyingly beautiful thing she’d ever seen, with Flint at his heel, silent and deadly.

Three Black Dawn fighters stormed the hallway.

Bear didn’t blink. He went low and fast, two shots to the chest, one to the throat, pivoted left and swept the last man’s legs with a savage kick.

Carlos bolted, and Flint launched like a black blur, landing on him with stunning power, jaws locking onto his arm and wrenching hard. Bear finished him off with a headshot.

Silence followed—only breathing and blood.

Bailee lowered her weapon and stepped out.

Their eyes met and for one breathless second, the world stilled . “Hey,” she said, voice hoarse but steady.

“Hey,” he rumbled, tone so low it trembled in her ribs.

They didn’t run. Didn’t rush. They just stepped into each other’s gravity. But before they could speak again, Bear’s head snapped toward the stairwell.

“More incoming,” he said. “Can’t go down.”

She nodded. “Rooftop. The pool’s up there?”

“Only option.”

They moved. Together. Up two flights, barely breathing. Flint led the way.

The rooftop door burst open under Bear’s shoulder. He swept the space, cleared. For now.

Bailee leaned back against the concrete ledge, chest rising fast, adrenaline making her limbs feel like fire.

Bear turned toward her, weapon up, but his eyes, those ancient feral eyes, never left her.

Something broke loose inside her. She stepped into him and grabbed his vest in both fists.

“I knew you’d come,” she said fiercely, her voice shaking now.

He didn’t smile. Just nodded once. “Always.”

More footsteps below. “You stay here,” he ordered.

She shook him slightly, her voice rough. “Don’t you dare get yourself killed. The Great Spirit can’t have you yet.”

He inhaled, deep and sharp, like her words had struck something hollow and sacred. She reached up, touched his jaw, her thumb skimmed the scar near his chin. That strong, unshakable jaw. That face she tried not to need.

The footsteps paused, there was swearing, then orders to go up. They were out of time.

“We have unfinished business,” he murmured, the edge of it fraying with emotion. Her eyes burned. But her mouth lifted in defiance. “So not happening,” he said. “Get your beautiful ass moving.” His smile was slight. Savage. Flint growled low beside them.

Just like that, the moment vanished, and he was gone.

Quietly. Barely audible over the wind. She closed her eyes and whispered, “ T?a?ka??i? , watch over them. I know I don’t deserve it, but please…keep them…please, keep him breathing.”

A prayer in her native tongue. One she hadn’t spoken in years. Maybe it wasn’t polished. Maybe she didn’t even know if she believed it anymore. Her hand came up, almost without thinking, brushing the words off her lips like ash.

She didn’t even remember deciding to say them. They’d just… risen.

But it came from her bones where Bear had settled against her will. How was she supposed to process that…or him?

The moment Bailee disappeared into the access hallway, Bear turned back toward the stairwell. He could hear them coming, boots slapping, orders shouted in clipped bursts of Portuguese. At least four men, maybe five. Tactical stack.

“Bear, sitrep,” Joker’s voice came through his comm.

“Working the problem, LT.”

“You need back up?”

“No, I have Flint and Bailee. You focus on getting these fuckers. I’ve got Bailee, and Zorro’s family.”

“Copy that. Don’t you die, you son-of-a-bitch,” Zorro’s voice crackled through the comms. Bear chuckled.

Flint bristled beside him, a low growl rumbling deep in his chest. Bear dropped into a crouch, his weapon raised, his focus narrowing to pure instinct.