Page 105 of Hunted, Season Three

Concern.

Occasionally, Nolan shoots me an adoration flooded glance; however, it doesn’t steady my system.

Doesn’t put it into cruise mode.

No.

It drains me of crucial coolant needed.

Has me shifting between overheating and damn near freezing to death.

Why?

Because they’re the same type of looks main characters from my movies always give their person before they go off and do dumb shit that results in them dying.

I don’t want Nolan to die any more than he wants me to.

And I don’t want him idiotically sacrificing himself to get out of sequels.

I want him for our sequels.

I want him for our spinoffs.

I want him from the first film to the last.

I’m not sure I can do any of this without him.

Iknowhe can.

That’s why if one of us can’t make it out of this, it should be me.

Once we’ve safely parked, we raid Brax’s bag for preferences including the ear protection, strap on the extra bullet resistant vests Post brought, and pair off to begin the mission.

I’ve barely made it two steps away before Nolan is yanking me back to him by the piece of armor and smashing his mouth on top of mine.Our tongues ruthlessly collide, both determined to have the last word.

The last promise.

The last stroke.

I whimper first, a sound he not only labels as a surrender, but one that encourages him to lovingly grasp the back of my neck during his pull away.Our foreheads briefly rest together on a whispered, “I love you, Kipp.Never forget that.”

“I love you too,” escapes in the exact same anxious tone.“You never forget that, Sir.”

His lips gently plant themselves in the middle of my forehead prior to us splitting ways.

Following Brax’s lead, we wordlessly cross the terrain, keeping low to the ground, with me landing in his exact footsteps to prevent accidentally creating additional, unnecessary noises.

I do my best to keep my breathing quiet and pain-filled groans stuffed down.

While the pain killers are technically doing their job, they’re not exactly NOS.

They’re not giving me the advantage I could desperately use right about now.

Our destination to sweep and strike creeps up on us sooner rather than later along with the need to act.

The guard near the back entrance of the stable manages to spot Brax peering his head around the corner the instant it happens.He reaches for his weapon pushing my field partner to swiftly strike him in the face, stopping the action from being completed.The hit bounces the enemy’s head backwards, exposing his throat, an area that the military trained male leading the way takes advantage of.In a single, effortless execution, he jams his knife into the side of it – right at the middle – to the point the tip comes out the other end and then sharply pulls it forward, crimson spraying his face as the attacker desperately gasps for air.His hands fly to his neck to stop the bleeding – a useless effort considering every important artery appears to be severed– splitseconds before Brax plants the bottom of his boot in the center of the man’s chest to kick him elsewhere.

Unfavorably, there isn’t time to comment or compliment the assault.

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