Page 29 of Provoking Bryan

“I’m going,” Bryan said firmly, crossing his arms.

Sara didn’t look up. “No, you’re not.”

“You can’t do this alone,” Bryan insisted, his tone steady but unyielding. “The extraction team has headed out again. There’s no one else—at least no one close enough to help in time. You need me.”

She straightened, her sharp gaze cutting to him. “Bryan, this isn’t a medical mission. It’s infiltration. It’s danger around every corner. You’re not trained for this.”

He stepped closer, his dark eyes locked on hers. “I’m trained for a hell of a lot more than you think. And you said yourself that the cartel uses underground medics. That’s my in.”

Sara pressed her lips together, her jaw tightening. “It’s too risky.”

“And what about you?” Bryan challenged, his voice dropping lower. “You’ve been shot at, ambushed, and nearly blown up in the last week alone. You think I’m just going to sit here and wait for you to come back—or not?”

Her silence was telling. For all her sharp words and iron will, there was a crack in her armor—a crack he intended to widen, not to hurt her, but to remind her she wasn’t alone.

“We do this together,” Bryan said, his tone softening but losing none of its strength. “You trust me, right?”

Sara’s eyes flickered, the vulnerability there gone as quickly as it appeared. “Yes.”

“Then let me help,” Bryan pressed, stepping into her space. The tension between them sparked like static electricity, the unspoken emotions simmering just below the surface. “Would you let me do something this dangerous without you at my side?”

For a moment, he thought she might argue. But then she exhaled sharply, nodding once. “No, but you follow my lead.”

“Deal,” Bryan said, a small, triumphant smile tugging at his lips.

The cartel’s stronghold was a sprawling compound hidden deep in the jungle, its weathered walls lined with barbed wire. Bryan’s heartbeat quickened as he and Sara approached, their cover story rehearsed to perfection. His medical bag felt heavy in his grip, not from its weight but from the gravity of what they were about to do—and the weapons in the false bottom.

Sara glanced at him, her voice low as they neared the gate. “Remember, you’re a doctor they called in to take care of their wounded. Don’t say more than you need to.”

Bryan nodded, his jaw set. “Got it.”

The guards at the gate were predictably surly, their eyes narrowing as they took in Bryan’s clean clothes and medical bag. One of them barked something in one of the regional dialects, and Bryan’s rusty knowledge of the language kicked in just enough to catch the gist.

“He’s asking who I am,” Bryan murmured to Sara.

Sara stepped forward, her tone clipped but authoritative. “This is Dr. Mena. He’s here to treat your wounded. Let us through.”

The guard hesitated, his gaze flicking between them. Then, with a grunt, he waved them in.

Bryan kept his expression neutral as they entered the compound, but his mind was racing. The air here was different—heavy with sweat, fear, and the sharp tang of antiseptic. Makeshift beds lined one side of the courtyard, occupied by men with various injuries. Some groaned in pain, while others eyed Bryan and Sara with suspicion.

“Over there,” Sara murmured, nodding toward a corner where several men stood talking in low voices. “Start working. I’ll gather intel on the Cartel’s operations.”

Bryan’s stomach churned as she slipped away, but he focused on the task at hand. Moving to the nearest injured man, he introduced himself in the same language as the first guard, histone calm and professional. The man grunted a response, and Bryan got to work cleaning and stitching a deep gash on his arm.

Time moved strangely in the compound, each minute stretching into what felt like an hour. Bryan kept his movements steady, his hands sure, but his thoughts were never far from Sara. He caught glimpses of her now and then, her figure blending seamlessly into the shadows as she moved through the compound, downloading crippling viruses to destroy their information hub. It wouldn’t stop them but it would put a dent in their ability to do much of anything until their systems could be restored.

She was in her element here—focused, sharp, untouchable. And yet, Bryan couldn’t shake the nagging need to ensure she was okay.

“Doctor,” a sharp voice cut through his thoughts.

Bryan turned to see a man approaching, his dark eyes cold and calculating. He carried an air of authority, the kind that made Bryan’s stomach tighten.

“We’ve heard rumors,” the man said in English, his tone casual but laced with suspicion. “Americans sticking their noses where they don’t belong. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”

Bryan forced a calm smile. “I’m here to treat the wounded. Nothing more.”

The man’s gaze lingered on him for a long moment before he nodded. “Good. We’ll see.”

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