Page 28 of A Wolf of War
Willow’s voice still rang in his head:No. Don’t. Just… go.
He had. Against every instinct, against the very core of what he knew to be right, he’d walked away.
Now he needed to bleed it out.
Milo stalked down the hall and into the gym room. A punching bag hung in the corner, reinforced with Kevlar lining and bolted directly into the ceiling beams. The first hit came fast, a blur of motion. The next three were lethal combinations, jab, cross, elbow, hook. Hedidn’t stop to tape his hands.
He didn’t need to.
Pain brought clarity.
He saw her face with every strike. Every strike mirrored a moment he wished he could take back. Not because he regretted it; he’d do it all again. No, because he couldn’t stand the look in her eyes when she’d finally realized what he was.
Not a man.
A monster.
She wasright.
By the time his knuckles split open, leaking thin trails of blood down his wrists, Milo was breathing hard. Not from exhaustion, though. It was from restraint; that was the real workout.
Finally feeling like he was back down on earth, Milo leaned against the wall and stared straight ahead, breathing heavily through his nose. It was hard, the return to civilian life. He missed the simplicity of being enlisted. In Delta Force, everything had a chain of command. An SOP. A failsafe.
With her?
No protocol. No backup. Just instinctand obsession. He had executed recon missions in deep cover across three continents. He could hold his breath underwater for over two minutes. He had saved, taken, and changed countless lives.
But Willow?
Her moves were the only ones he couldn’t predict. She was all soft eyes and gentle hands, the kind of variable they warned you about in selection.Don’t fall for seduction,they had said.These women are here to target you specifically.
He had failed those directives the moment he saw her. How could he not? They were fated. Destined. In some ways, he supposed, even doomed.
He turned toward the table in the corner, where his sidearm sat untouched. Old habits died hard. Every piece was cleaned nightly, every bullet accounted for. He picked up the Glock and checked the chamber, even though he knew it was clear. He always checked. Complacency got people killed.
But there was no target to neutralize. Just the unbearable stillness of losing ground he thought he had secured.
He looked toward the door, listeninghard. No footsteps above. No movement. He was alone. Without her, though, he always would be. He could live with hate. Hate was something. Hate meant he still had space in her head.
But this broken woman who barely had fight left? That was altogether different.
He set the Glock back down, tied off his bleeding hands with gauze and vet tape, and then he stood tall, shoulders squared, spine straight. A soldier again.
This mission wasn’t failed.
Just delayed.
15
WILLOW
Willow scanned the room, wide-eyed and silent. She took in the layout, marking exits, trying to suss out weak spots. It wasn’t something that was second nature to her. In fact, she was rarely an observant person.
But in this situation, she’d have to be.
There had to be a weak point. A vent, a cracked window latch, a door with a faulty hinge. Something. Milo wasn’t sloppy, but no one was perfect.
The room itself was beautiful. Every inch was tailored to her comfort, curated down to the oils in the diffuser and the little bird pattern on the bedding. That just made it feel colder, because it seemed so calculated. He didn’t do this just to be kind. He did this to win her over.
