Page 42 of Rescuing Ally: Part 2
“Better than sitting on our asses making plans that get transmitted to the enemy in real time.”
“Look, we’re all frustrated—” Rigel spreads his hands, trying to find middle ground.
“Frustrated?” The word comes out like a roar. I take a step toward him, fists still clenched. “Frustrated is when your coffee order gets fucked up. This is systematic failure on every level.”
“That’s enough.” Ethan stands, movement sharp.
“Is it? Because from where I’m standing, it looks like we’re all real good at talking and real shit at actually doing anything.”
That’s when Hank speaks.
Cool. Measured. Clinical as always.
“We need actionable intelligence before we can mount an effective operation.”
The sound of his voice—that same controlled precision he uses when the world is burning—detonates what’s left of my restraint.
“Actionable intelligence?” I spin toward him, heat blazing through my chest. “We need ACTION. Period. While you’re sitting there analyzing variables, Ally could be dead. They all could be dead.”
“We follow protocol.” Hank delivers each word with military precision.
“Fuck protocol.” The words explode between us like shrapnel. “Six women kidnapped because we didn’t see the infiltration coming.”
Hank’s jaw tightens—the only sign my words hit their target. “Operating without intelligence gets people killed.”
“Operating without urgency gets people killed.” I step closer, invading his space. “But you wouldn’t understand that, would you? Everything’s just another equation to solve.”
“And everything’s just another target to blow up for you.” His voice drops, carrying an edge I recognize. Dangerous territory. “That’s not how we get them back.”
“At least I want to get them back.” The words explode out of me, spittle flying. “At least I’m not sitting here calculating acceptable losses while Ally is being tortured.”
Hank’s eyes go flat, deadly calm. “You think I don’t want Ally back? You think I’m not dying inside thinking about her in that bastard’s hands?”
“I think you’re too fucking controlled to feel anything.” I’m chest-to-chest now, close enough to see the muscle ticking in his jaw. “I think you’ve compartmentalized getting her back into a tactical problem.”
“You’re too fucked up to think straight.” His voice stays level, which makes it worse. “Emotion compromises judgment. Always has with you.”
“Emotion?” I laugh, but there’s no humor in it, just raw violence looking for a target. “You want to see emotion? You want to see what happens when I stop thinking and start feeling?”
The room feels smaller suddenly. Everyone else fades into background noise. None of it matters.
Just me and Hank.
Staring at each other across a chasm that’s been building for days.
“Outside.” Hank’s voice cuts through the static in my skull. “Now.”
“Fuck off.” The words come out like a snarl. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”
His hand clamps down on my arm like a steel trap, fingers digging into muscle hard enough to bruise.
“You want to fight about this? Then we fight. But not here. Not when you’re like this.” His voice drops to that command tone that’s gotten us through a hundred operations. “Get the fuck outside, Gabe.”
“Let go of me.” I try to jerk away, but his grip tightens.
“Move.” He doesn’t raise his voice, doesn’t need to. The authority in it cuts through my rage like a blade. Even pissed off and spiraling, part of me recognizes the hierarchy in our relationship.
I plant my feet, try to resist, but Hank’s got leverage and momentum. He drags me toward the door, my boots sliding against the polished floor.
