Page 48

Yet he was shaking inside. She’d touched him.

Bailee. In the middle of chaos. In the middle of blood and sweat and steel.

Her fingers had grabbed his vest like she didn’t want to let go.

Her voice had cracked when she whispered that prayer, the one she didn’t think she deserved to say. The one that had unmade him .

Her thumb had brushed the scar on his jaw like it was something precious . Now she was gone again. Bear didn’t know how to put that moment back in the box.

The distance between them, the silence she always held like armor, had been the only thing keeping him level. Keeping him sane. He didn’t think he could survive her up close. Not for long. Definitely not forever. He exhaled once, sharp and silent. Focus. Fight. Later.

The first Black Dawn fighter crested the stairs.

Bear fired.

A clean burst at center mass. The man dropped before his boot cleared the top step.

The second came fast behind him. Flint launched without command, a black streak of death and precision, latching onto the man’s rifle arm and dragging him down hard. Bear moved in, fired once to finish him, then pivoted right as a third emerged from the shadows.

Close range. Too close. They grappled, hard. Bear slammed the butt of his weapon into the man’s throat, heard the wet crack, and twisted away just as the fourth emerged with a blade.

Bear caught the arm mid-swing, wrenched it back, drove his elbow into the man’s jaw with such force the impact echoed off the concrete. He was a warrior. But his soul ?

It was unraveling. The whole time, her voice still echoed in his ears. “The Great Spirit can’t have you yet.” God, he wanted to believe her. Wanted to believe he had a future outside of all this blood. But that meant believing in something he hadn’t let himself want in years.

Her.

Another shot rang out.

Bear reloaded without thinking, back-to-back with Flint now, bodies scattered, boot steps finally falling silent again.

He turned toward the rooftop door, breathing hard.

Bailee had gone to protect the civilians, and Zorro’s family was up there. He would make damn sure there was still a world left to bring them all back to.

After checking on Bear, Joker stood over the radio, which rested on the hotel desk that had been dragged to the center of the room. Around him, the team circled like coiled energy.

D-Day—the man could’ve been a goddamn architect—was sketching floor plans across the desk blotter, marking exits, probable placements, movement arcs.

Zorro stood behind D-Day, watching the sketches come to life in ink and intent, his fists clenched so tight his knuckles ached.

Every second that passed made the silence in his chest where Everly belonged deafening .

His family, his brother and nieces. But Bear had Bailee and his family.

He would be there. He would make a difference. He had to believe it.

He held onto his sanity. If he let the panic rise, if he cracked even a little, he wouldn't stop until the whole hotel burned. So he locked it down. Steel on steel. He would find Everly. Bear would protect his family He would have them back. There was no other acceptable outcome.

His brothers were counting on him. Their lives, their backs, their wives and future plans, all of it rested on this op going clean.

So he let his fury bleed into focus. Let his fear become the blade.

He wasn’t the medic today.

He was the executioner.

“Rafael, this is our quickly formulated plan,” Joker said. “Gator and Professor are already on the snipers. I’ll call for movement once we’ve neutralized the rooftop.”

A beat of static. Then Leite’s voice crackled through, calm, clipped, resolute. “Once again, we’re in your debt. Understood. BOPE is positioned for breach. The moment we’re clear, we will move on your command. Tell your men…” A pause. Then something quieter, heavier. “Make it hurt.”

Joker gave a grim smile. “That’s the plan.” He turned to Migs and Sanchez. “Your two guys, control room. They’ll lock down elevator access, kill their ability to move reinforcements from the summit floor. No surprises. No exits.”

“Copy that,” Migs said, already loading mags. He looked at Sanchez. “Let’s do this.” They left the room.

Joker glanced toward Bree. “One of our operators’ wives, Bree, is an FBI agent. She will infiltrate in full bikini weapon mode. She IDs the guy with the detonator if he’s inside. Otherwise, she waits, and on my mark, she takes out the guards inside.”

“Your team’s tactics are…unconventional. But effective,” Leite said dryly.

Bree tied her hair back, calm as glass. Every man in the room shifted, trying not to look directly at her.

Blitz looked like he might rupture an artery but gave her a reassuring look.

He believed in her completely. Zorro couldn’t imagine how he was handling his wife going into such a dangerous situation.

It took trust and courage to allow her to do her job.

Joker kept going. Smooth. Focused. “Izzy’s former CIA is going external. She’ll scale down from the roof to the street level. Look for fallback operatives, any outside kill switches, or remote triggers. She ends them before they blink.”

Izzy nodded, cool and deadly. “They won’t see me coming.”

“Once the explosive threat is neutralized,” Joker said, “we move.” He swept a glance over the core strike team, Blitz. D-Day. Buck. Zorro. “We sweep the lobby. Drop every guard still breathing.” Then his eyes locked on D-Day. “You disarm those fucking door charges.”

D-Day cracked his neck. “Piece of cake, LT.”

Joker nodded once. “I’m counting on it. After that, BOPE floods in. We regroup, and we push as one toward Batista.” There was a pause. The kind that holds breath.

Zorro stepped forward, voice low, thick. “What about the hostages?”

Joker looked at him. Then Buck. D-Day. Blitz. Bree. Izzy.

He nodded toward the women. “They give the signal. We don’t move until they say it’s safe.” His voice dropped to steel. “We save them. Every last one.”

Zorro crouched beside the gilded column just off the mezzanine, Blitz tight at his side, both watching the marble floor below like it was a stage and Bree was about to detonate it.

Which…wasn’t far from the truth.

She strolled into view like she’d wandered off the cover of Tactical Vogue .

Two scraps of hot pink clung to her curves in bold defiance of common sense and combat protocol.

Her heels clicked against the polished stone with the confidence of a woman who knew men would follow her into hell and ask to carry her beach bag.

Sunglasses perched high on her head, she was tapping at her phone with idle focus, thumbs swiping like she had nothing better to do than conquer Candy Crush .

Zorro shot a look at Blitz, whose jaw was clenched so tight it might crack.

“She’s gonna give me a goddamn aneurysm,” Blitz muttered.

Zorro smirked. “You say that like she hasn’t done it before.”

Below, Bree paused just outside the ballroom doors, phone still in hand, one hip cocked. The guards took notice. Immediate notice. Zorro clocked it…five seconds and three barrels dipped just slightly, their trained discipline unraveling with every click of her heel.

“ Halt! ”

Bree ignored them completely, her thumbs in motion.

“She’s good,” Zorro murmured, grinning.

Two of the insurgents approached fast, one snatching the phone, the other grabbing her arm none too gently and dragging her toward the ballroom.

She frowned, eyes narrowing behind her oversized sunglasses.

“ Ugh . You made me lose. I was this close to winning a color bomb and thirty minutes of infinite lives. Do you know how hard that is in a bikini?” Then she focused on them.

“What’s happening here?” she demanded, affronted. “This is not the spa.”

The leader snapped, “Lock her inside before the rest of these animals lose it!”

As the doors clanged shut behind her, Blitz leaned his head against the stone and muttered through gritted teeth, “I'm fucking marrying that woman… fucking again. ”

Zorro let out a low whistle. “Not if she kills you first.”

Blitz didn’t smile. Just stared at the door like it held half his soul. “Yeah. Worth it.”

Bailee shoved through the rooftop access door, lungs burning, Glock gripped tight, her fingers still tingling from Bear’s hot skin. She swore she could taste his heat on her tongue.

The sun hit her like a blow, hot, blinding, open. She squinted and chaos erupted.

Three Black Dawn operatives were already on the pool deck, weapons raised. Tourists screamed, scattering across lounge chairs and umbrellas. Staff were ducking, crawling, clutching children. The crack of a rifle echoed like a thunderclap.

She didn’t think. She moved . Bailee dropped to a knee and opened fire. All her shots center mass and accurate. But there were more.

She pivoted, adjusted, and fired again. Another man dropped with a grunt.

But they were spreading, advancing toward a family clustered together, an elegant blonde, a Hispanic man, a younger woman, and a man who shielded her body.

She ran to them. “Move!” she shouted. Damn if that older man didn’t look familiar, but she had no time to place those expressive eyes.

She caught a flash of movement, she turned and dropped another man.

“With me.” Her order was clipped as she covered their fleeing backs while running with them to the heavy wooden bar.

Bailee surged forward, snapping off another shot, then ducked behind a poolside bar. Her cover was thin. Her clip? Thinner.

Outgunned. Outnumbered.

But not out. Not yet.

She yelled to the huddled civilians, “ Move! Back against the wall! Stay low!”

She pulled out her clip. Dammit, four shots left between these people and the Black Dawn bastards.

She leaned out and fired again, pop, pop, dropping another man as his rifle clattered into the pool with a splash.

Behind her, the stairwell erupted with fresh gunfire. Flint growled, the sound feral, thunderous. Bear was still fighting down below. Buying her time.

They were fighting like hell.

When the next wave came, she wouldn’t be able to stop them, but she gripped her Glock’s textured handle. Two shots would have to count. She was taking as many of them with her as she could. Gun up. Spine straight. Eyes locked on the next breach point.

This wasn’t about survival anymore. This was about holding the line. Whatever it took, whatever she had left, Bailee was going to give it.

This time the prayer wouldn’t come. Could she pray for her own salvation after she had shunned her people, her way of life, and her family’s legacy, expectations, and disappointment?

If she died here, there would be no way to make amends or find something that had been missing—the warmth of Bear filled her up without even trying.

There would be no more time to explore the man who fascinated her. Who aroused her.Who made her wonder what lived behind those riverstone eyes, smooth and steady, worn by time but unbreakable. Eyes that could wear her down the way water eats into rock. A force of nature. A quiet, enduring storm.

She was a fool, and she may soon be a dead one.