Page 1 of Rescuing Sophia

ONE

Blake

The familiar scentof gun oil and sweat hits me as I stride into Guardian HRS headquarters. My boots echo on the polished floor, matching the pounding of my heart. Another day, another mission. I live for this.

I spot Gabe and Walt near the coffee machine, heads bent close in conversation. Gabe’s shoulders shake with silent laughter at something Walt said—probably another terrible joke.

“Morning, ladies. Gossiping already?” I stroll in with a smirk.

“Well, if it isn’t the pretty boy of Charlie team.” Gabe’s head snaps up, grinning. He clasps my hand in a firm shake that turns into a quick, one-armed thump against my back. “Thought you might be too busy admiring yourself in the mirror to grace us with your presence.”

“Unlike some people, I don’t need hours to make this look good.” I shove him playfully, gesturing to my face as Walt rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, yeah, we get it. You’re God’s gift to women.” Walt hands me a steaming cup of coffee. “Drink up, Casanova. We’ve got a big day ahead.”

The bitter liquid burns down my throat, grounding me. I savorthe moment, this easy camaraderie forged through blood and bullets. These men are more than teammates; they’re brothers.

Hank and Rigel join us. Rigel, a seasoned Navy SEAL new to our team, is eager to prove himself and earn his place among us.

“Any idea what this meeting’s about?” Rigel’s gaze darts between us.

“Probably another milk run. Rescuing kittens from trees, that sort of thing.” I shrug, feigning nonchalance despite my burning curiosity.

“Don’t let Blake fool you. He’s as eager as a virgin on prom night to find out what’s going on.” Hank claps Rigel on the shoulder, snorting.

Our laughter ceases as Ethan, our team leader, rounds the corner. His face displays its usual stoic mask, but a glint in his eye sends a shiver of excitement down my spine.

“Alright, children,” Ethan’s voice carries the weight of command, “playtime’s over. CJ wants us in the briefing room. Now.”

We fall in line behind Ethan, our steps in perfect sync. The playful atmosphere evaporates, replaced by focused intensity. This is what we’re made for. This is who we are.

The briefing room buzzes with activity when we enter. CJ stands at the head of the table, his presence commanding even in stillness. Sam and Mitzy flank him, their faces unreadable, but it’s the fourth person who catches my attention: Forest Summers, the big boss himself.

This must be serious.

My gaze sweeps the room, cataloging details out of habit: tension in CJ’s shoulders, a slight furrow between Mitzy’s brows as she taps her tablet, and Sam’s fingers drumming an impatient rhythm on the table.

We take our seats, the scrapes of chairs piercing the loaded silence. I lean back initially, projecting casual indifference even as every nerve in my body stands at attention. The presence of these heavy hitters tells me this is far from our usual op. Sensing thegravity of the situation, I shift forward, elbows on the table, giving CJ my full attention.

“Gentlemen, let’s recap what we know about Sentinel.” CJ’s voice cuts through the quiet like a knife. His gaze sweeps over us, a reminder of our mission’s gravity.

“As you’re all aware, Sentinel is more than just a simple organization,” Forest says, his massive frame dominating the space. “It’s a network that’s been giving us hell for months now.”

My pulse quickens. Sentinel. The boogeyman of the underworld. We’ve brushed up against their operations before, always coming away with more questions than answers.

Mitzy taps her tablet, and a holographic display springs to life above the table. The familiar web of connections, names, and locations floats before us, now grown with new threads connecting pieces of the puzzle we’ve been struggling to solve.

“Let’s go over the structure again,” Mitzy says, manipulating the display. “We’re dealing with nine distinct entities, each headed by an individual we’re calling a Sentinel.”

The hologram shifts, highlighting nine figures. Eight remain frustratingly blank, but one face stands out in sharp relief: Jonathan Greaves, the bastard we cornered on that yacht rescue, the one who slipped through our fingers.

“Thanks to the intel gathered during the Jenna Marlowe case,” Sam continues, “we’ve identified the Ninth Sentinel, Jonathan Greaves. His specialty, as we know, is human trafficking.”

My jaw clenches, a familiar rage burning in my gut. Human trafficking. The lowest of the low. Memories of the yacht op flash through my mind—the terrified girls, the stench of fear and desperation. Jenna clinging to my brother when he rescued her. The way Sophia looked at me, her expression bouncing between hope and distrust. I rescued her, and I still can’t get the way she clung to me out of my head.

Sophia. The name echoes in my mind, stirring up feelings I’ve been trying to bury. Focus, Jackson. This isn’t the time.

“Unfortunately,” Forest’s deep voice pulls me back to thepresent, “Greaves is still in the wind after the yacht raid. Finding him is our top priority.”

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