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One brutal elbow, a low pivot, and he slammed the man into the floor so hard the boards split beneath them. Bear’s boot came down on his throat, and bones cracked.

Bear turned toward her, blood streaking his jaw.

“Go,” he said, voice low, final. Behind him, footsteps hammered asmore Black Dawn pounded up the stairs.

Bear was already turning, snatching up his rifle, already moving, bracing for the next fight.

He was fighting for Zorro. For his teammate’s family. For Flint. For the women he’d shielded. For the brothers still clearing rooms and breaching hallways. For the team who had always had his back, and the strangers who didn’t know his name but would owe their lives to it before this day was done.

He was fighting…for her.

She nodded once. Snatched up a second rifle from the fallen man. Then turned.

“With me!” she called, voice sharper than steel. “Now!”

She herded them fast, tight, keeping them tucked into her flank. They ran low, silent, across the pool deck to the exit, away from the chaos and a man who was risking his life into the shadows where survival still waited.

She didn’t look back.

But her heart held onto Bear’s eyes, his solid presence, to everything that she wanted but would be stupid to take.

They dragged Everly to the elevator banks, but they weren’t going anywhere. Migs and Sanchez were already in the control room. They owned the building.

One of the Black Dawn men hissed in frustration, slamming his palm against the panel. “We have to take the stairs,” he snapped in Arabic. “Let’s go. Now.”

They turned Everly roughly, forcing her toward the stairwell, but Zorro stayed in the shadows. His rifle raised, he waited for the moment they slipped, for the second he could break them apart and rip her free.

He tracked them down the hall, silent, predator-smooth.

They moved through the hotel, took a stairwell that led up. His pulse throbbed toward the pool. He followed, waiting until they were up one level before he slipped into the stairwell after them. They were complaining and cursing, their echoes giving Zorro a path to follow.

He heard them exit onto the floor, and he sprinted the last few stairs, checked the hallway before he slipped into it, plastering himself against the wall as Everly and the two men disappeared around a corner.

Zorro’s heart was a live wire as he hugged the corridor’s edge, pulse thudding in his ears.

That last flight of stairs had disappeared beneath his boots in a rush of movement, his body electric with tension.

Every SEAL instinct was turned outward, scanning, listening, hunting, but beneath it, something deeper burned.

Everly.

She was the reason the air felt hotter, the hallway longer, the blood in his veins surging with a fierceness that had nothing to do with adrenaline and everything to do with the woman who had just rounded that corner.

He moved like smoke, body flattening to the wall as her silhouette slipped out of view, bracketed by those Black Dawn thugs. But his gaze locked onto her anyway. It always had.

Even with her back turned, even flanked by danger, she radiated that impossible mix of self-possession and vulnerability.

Her shoulders held tension, but not fear, determination.

Her stride was purposeful, her body taut, her chin high in a way that cut him open every damn time.

She was all angles and fire, a woman who had asked him for a future, couldn’t take his tenderness until he forced her to face him and accept his ultimatum. Give me everything.

But tonight, something about the set of her spine told him she wasn’t just walking beside those men. She was aware he was coming for her, and his heart squeezed

He felt it in his bones, and he wasn’t going to let her down.

He exhaled slowly through his nose, grounding himself to the floor, the wall, the mission, while his gut twisted with a cocktail of protectiveness, fury, and something worse, hope.

Hope that he could keep her safe. That he’d made the right call.

That if he reached her, if he was fast enough, they would have everything that was just a breath away.

Everly, she made him crazy and careful all at once, and his gaze slipped downward, devouring the details that undid him. The sway of her hips. The soft movement of her hair against the back of her neck. The curve of her bare shoulder visible beneath white lace.

Zorro’s fingers flexed against the stock of his rifle.

He had a job to do, and when it was done, he was going to tell her that he loved her, that she was his, and he was hers, and nothing would stand in their way. He was going to take her body, capture her heart, and dazzle her mind.

He followed from a distance, just out of sight, his breath tightly measured, each step taken with the weight of everything he had to protect.

His earpiece crackled. “Target confirmed,” Bree’s voice whispered, calm and deadly. “North quadrant, ballroom interior. Black baseball cap, tactical gloves. He’s holding the remote.”

Zorro’s pulse kicked.

“External threat ID’d,” Izzy added, her voice clipped with wind and purpose. “Side entrance, logistics van. Trigger man confirmed. He’s mine.”

“Copy,” Joker’s voice came, low and controlled. “You have a green light. Execute.”

Two heartbeats later, Bree said, “Detonator’s down. We’re clear.” Moments later, Izzy sent her verbal confirmation.

Zorro’s jaw clenched.

Joker came back on. “All callsigns execute. Go loud.”

Down below, gunfire erupted. Zorro didn’t need confirmation. That was Blitz and Buck in the lobby. D-Day was moving toward the doors. BOPE was ready to breach.

The operation was underway, and he was exactly where he needed to be.

The hallway curved ahead, two floors below the rooftop pool. It was one of the service wings, a food court, vendor carts, the level where Javi and the girls had gone for snacks.

His heart pounded once, hard. This was it. His family was close. Everly was within arm’s reach.

The corridor ahead twisted, voices bouncing off the walls—Everly’s captors, agitated now, spooked by the gunfire and rerouting her upstairs on foot. One pushed her harder. She stumbled, caught herself, still silent.

Zorro moved with them, staying in their shadow. Calculated steps. Controlled angles. His weapon steady.

His whole body was tense, locked and ready. If the girls were nearby, if his kid brother was here?—

He didn’t let himself finish the thought.

Every second carried the weight of everything he couldn’t lose.

His comms popped again.

“Charges cleared,” D-Day confirmed. “Lobby’s open. BOPE is free to enter.”

The stairwell door blew open behind them, voices shouting. The heavy rhythm of combat boots. A child’s cry.

Zorro whipped around the corner and saw Bailee and his family.

She was backlit by chaos, rifle raised, stance wide, moving like fury incarnate. She herded everyone to cover, shielding them with her body. His father had his arm wrapped around his mom, dragging her behind a tipped sofa table.

Zorro’s whole world spilled into that hallway. Alive. Breathing. Terrified, and here.

The Black Dawn operatives dragging Everly froze.

One grabbed Everly harder. The other turned toward Bailee, weapon lifting. But she took him out cold. He sprawled onto the cold marble.

Zorro didn’t wait, stepping into the open, his weapon raised, eyes cold.

The remaining guard radioed, but his voice ceased when he fired twice . Both rounds center mass. The man was dead before he hit the tile.

Everly broke free, stumbling back toward the nearest cover.

Gunfire exploded behind him, from the hallway. The mayday had gotten through. More Black Dawn operatives stormed in with weapons blazing.

Zorro dropped, returned fire. His eyes scanned, locked.

Javi, crouched behind the Icee vendor cart, body shielding the two little girls pressed tight within the circle of his arms. Dani was across the corridor with their parents and Bailee, crouched behind the low furniture of the sitting area, already returning fire. The space was too open. Too exposed.

As the Black Dawn fighters bore down on them, a roar filled the hallway.

Bear’s voice tore across the floor like thunder, “Flint, attack!”

A blur of black muscle and teeth launched forward, growling low and savage. Flint went for the nearest threat, jaws locking onto the nearest guy’s forearm, dragging the man down like a hammer from the sky.

Bear followed, guns blazing, his rifle barking rapid fire in clean bursts. Two men dropped before they even understood where death came from. The rest ran for cover.

Zorro shouted, hoarse and desperate, “Javi! Move!”

But Javi was already wavering, blood seeping from his side. Fuck, his brother was hit.

Before he could do or say anything, Bear saw it. Saw the girls. Saw his brother shielding them with his very life.

He never hesitated, moving fast, a fluid surge of muscle and will, covering the distance between them like it meant nothing. He dove. One hand grabbed the first girl. The other caught the second mid-slide. His rear plate caught the round meant for her.

Javi dropped hard. Blood splashed across the tile.

Bear shouted, spinning mid-drop to shield the girls with his body, rolling once, still clutching them tight. Another shot cracked through the air.

Flint yelped. Went down. Bear’s agonized growl filled Zorro’s ears even as he crawled over both girls, arms around them, blood seeping from his ribs. But he didn’t move. He didn’t speak. He just shielded them.

Zorro screamed. The world narrowed. He surged forward, but before he could make it more than two steps, a bullet ripped into his left side, just beneath the vest. He gasped, sharp, guttural, staggering back against the wall as the pain bloomed like fire through his chest. He dropped to one knee.

His vision doubled. Everything inside him screamed to get up.