Page 1 of Captivating Nash

Chapter One

Nash

Undisclosed Location

Three Years Ago

Nash Maddox moved silently through the dense underbrush, the oppressive heat of the jungle pressing down on him like a weight. His face was streaked with sweat and dirt, camouflage paint smudged from hours of maneuvering through the hostile terrain. Every muscle in his body was on edge and coiled tight, as he led his team along the narrow path. They had one objective—exfiltrate the captured operative before dawn broke. It was supposed to be a straightforward mission.

But nothing about this felt straightforward—there had been too much classified information, not enough solid intel, but the order had been given to go, so they had gone.

In the dim glow of the moon, Nash signaled a halt, raising a clenched fist. The night was alive with the sounds of the jungle—distant animals, the low hum of insects—but something was off. His instincts, sharpened by years of combat, screamed at him that danger was closer than any of them knew.

The extraction point was supposed to be just beyond the ridge, but their intel had been sketchy at best. For all Nash knew, they were walking into an ambush. He scanned the tree line ahead, narrowing his eyes, every nerve in his body humming. His senses, honed by years in the field, picked up on it—movement. A shadow that didn’t belong.

He tapped his earpiece. “Heads up. Possible hostiles at two o'clock,” he murmured into the mic. His voice was calm, controlled. His team knew what to do.

One by one, the men took cover, fading into the darkness like ghosts. Nash crouched low behind a tree, his weapon raised, finger resting on the trigger. His eyes tracked the figure moving through the shadows ahead. It was a scout, maybe more than one.

They know we’re here.

The tension in the air was suffocating, but Nash thrived on it. The adrenaline sharpened his focus. He lived for moments like this—the razor-thin line between life and death, where one wrong move could mean the end. His heartbeat was steady, the sound of his own breath loud in his ears.

He made the call. “Ghost, flank left. Jinx, on my six.”

Ghost, his sniper, slipped away, silent as death, while Jinx, his second-in-command, fell into position behind him. They moved with the fluid precision of men who had trained together for years, each one trusting the other with his life.

As they advanced, Nash kept his eyes fixed on the scout. A twig snapped to his right, just a hair too loud, and Nash knew they were out of time.

The night erupted into chaos as they charged the building where the operative was being held. They burst through the door; the stench hit him first—blood and death.

Inside, slumped against the wall, was the operative. Dead. A single bullet to the head, execution-style. The cold weight of failure settled in Nash’s gut. They were risking their lives for nothing.

“Damn it,” he muttered to himself, crouching beside the body. Then into the comm unit he said, “We’re too late. Out. Now. Everybody head to the extraction point.”

Gunfire tore through the jungle, echoing off the trees. Nash rolled to the ground, aiming and squeezing off three shots. The scout went down, a clean hit. Nash ducked behind cover as bullets whizzed past, the muzzle flashes lighting up the dark like staccato bursts of lightning.

“Contact! We’ve got tangos closing in!” Jinx shouted over the roar of gunfire, his voice crackling in Nash’s ear.

Nash gritted his teeth, his mind racing. They had to push through, or they’d be pinned down. His team was good, but they were outnumbered, and the enemy knew the terrain. He fired again, taking out another enemy before they could get a bead on him.

“Move!” Nash ordered, breaking cover and sprinting toward the ridge. He heard the rest of his team fall in behind him, the rhythm of their movements perfectly synced despite the chaos.

The extraction point was close now, but so were the enemy reinforcements. He could hear them—more voices, boots crunching through the undergrowth. He needed to get his team outnow.

As they neared the ridge, a deafening explosion ripped through the air, shaking the ground beneath them. Dirt and debris flew everywhere, the blast knocking Nash off his feet. His ears rang, but he forced himself to roll back to his feet, scanning the area. An IED—another one of those hidden traps.

“Everyone up?” Nash barked, his voice sharp despite the ringing in his ears. He heard the grunts of affirmation through his earpiece.

But before he could regroup, the air around them erupted again—this time with the unmistakable sound of helicopter blades chopping through the air.

Reinforcements were coming, but they weren’t friendly.

A spotlight blazed through the treetops, slicing through the dark like a white-hot blade. Nash cursed under his breath. Their window was closing fast.

“Get to the extraction point! Now!” he commanded, his voice carrying over the chaos. He turned and covered his team, laying down suppressing fire as they made their move.

The enemy was relentless, closing in fast. Bullets ricocheted off the rocks and trees around him, the air thick with gunfire and smoke. Nash could feel the sting of a graze along his shoulder, but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t.

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