Page 208 of Rescuing Ally: Part 1

One only she ever gets to see.

On his heels comes Hank, who steals my breath on sight.

Sharp-eyed. Deliberate. The kind of man who doesn’t need to raise his voice to be obeyed—because you’d never risk disappointing him.

He steps in just behind Ethan, moving like the space already belongs to him. He doesn’t posture. Doesn’t glare.

He assesses.

His calm gaze sweeps the room like a tactical scan, his mind always three steps ahead, calculating angles no one else has even considered. While Ethan might carry the title of Charlie team’s leader, there’s no mistaking who commandsourdynamic. In the quiet moments. In the bedroom.

He commands me.

His gaze lands on me at the counter, and for a breath, something unreadable flickers across his face—too quick to name. Then he elbows Walt lightly, muttering something under his breath that makes the other man smirk.

But Hank’s eyes never really leave mine.

Not for long.

And that heat under his calm? That low-simmering dominance just beneath the surface?

It tells me everything.

I belong to him.

Ever the medic, Walt’s eyes sweep the room the moment he steps inside—cataloging exits, injuries, moods. It’s instinct. Habit. Protection coded into his DNA. But the second he sees Malia, all that trained vigilance softens into something warmer.

Fiercer.

The man may patch bullet wounds without flinching, but Malia?

She’s his pulse.

Despite her snark, I’ve seen the way she orbits him without even realizing it.

And I’m starting to suspect Walt isn’t just sunshine and sarcasm. There’s a glint in his eye when he watches her. A quiet command tuckedbehind the warmth.

Yeah, I don’t think their bedroom dynamic is anywhere near vanilla.

“Tell me you saved me one of those chocolate croissants,” he calls out, voice easy—but threaded with expectation.

“You do realize sugar’s not a food group, right?” Malia shoots back, but her hands are already moving, plating two croissants without thinking.

He grins. Knows exactly what she’s doing.

And that look he gives her in return? It’s hotter than hot. Molten doesn’t do it justice.

Blake strides in—calm, exact, every movement economical. That sniper’s stillness clings to him, honed from years of waiting for the perfect shot. His gaze sweeps the room, absorbing details most people would miss without ever appearing to look.

But the moment his eyes find Sophia, the whole world shifts.

That lethal intensity melts in an instant.

And in its place?

A smile. Bright. Boyish. Devoted.

Like the most dangerous thing in the room just became the softest.

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