Page 65 of Brawler
Brawler would hate to be the person on the other end of that line.
He pushed to his feet, ignoring the sharp pain in his side and at the top of his leg, forcing his voice to work. “She’s not just some egghead grad student we stumbled across,” he told Tex roughly. “She’s a fucking hero.”
The words hit like a grenade. The men went still, their eyes shifting to Emily, then back to him.
Tex didn’t answer right away. The silence stretched, heavier for the weight of what Brawler had just said. Then he gave a single nod. “We move double time. No one gets left behind.”
Emily blinked hard, her throat working. She said nothing, but when her gaze lifted to Brawler’s, there was no more dull distance. Only something raw and unguarded that nearly buckled his knees. Oh, fuck…after all of her frantic energy and the way she touched him, could he hope…could he? Could he hope that she’d fallen for him too?
Beast brushed against his leg, Emily’s eyes held his, and his brothers shifted restlessly at his back. It all pressed into him, weight and wonder both.
He turned away, snapping his rifle back up. “Let’s wrap this up and go get these fuckers.”
They moved, the whole team pushing hard toward the ridge, the weight of what had just shifted between them pressing heavier than the jungle heat.
The ridge narrowedinto a ragged trail, vines clawing at their gear, boots sinking in damp leaf mold. Every man’s pace was clipped and silent, weapons shouldered, eyes scanning. Beast prowled low beside Brawler, head swinging like a radar dish.
Emily kept close, jaw set, breaths sharp with effort. She hadn’t complained once. Not about the heat, not the mud, not even the weight gone from her back. Damn if Brawler wasn’t right. She was a hero.
Flash caught the look that passed between them, that flicker of raw grief and stubborn fire in Emily’s eyes. Pixie power, for sure. But it was more than that. She’d given up blood, and Flash respected the hell out of her for it.
He dragged his gaze to Brawler. God, it was a relief just to see the man upright, bleeding but steady. Flash anchored himself to that presence, the calm in Brawler’s stride, the unshakable way he carried his rifle. Every step, Flash pulled some of that steadiness into himself, trying to patch over the hollow gnawing at his chest.
But his body betrayed him. His lungs wouldn’t catch, his legs burned, vision sparking at the edges. Flash was used to being the fastest—BUD/S instructors had timed him with disbelief,nicknaming him Flash before the trident ever gleamed on his chest. Now he was sucking air, knees threatening to buckle, chest hitching.
Tex finally called a short halt, brutal pace slowed for water. Flash bent double, hands braced on his thighs, dragging breath like he’d run a marathon. Sweat stung his eyes.
Brawler dropped back, his voice low, rough. “What the fuck is going on with you, man?”
Flash blinked, but the jungle bent wrong around him again. That pulling, stretching sensation, like elastic time tugged taut, about to snap. Whispers slid under his skin. Pressure coiled around his ribs. It was another push. Final, brutal, unrelenting. The jungle itself felt like it was forming up for a showdown, and he knew in his bones either he would win, or it would. If it did, he wasn’t coming back.
“They’re after me,” he muttered. His eyes darted to shadows only he seemed to see. Brawler stiffened beside him. “They’re coming…and I’m losing focus, man.”
His hand shot out, clamping Brawler’s vest, knuckles bone white. His voice cracked. “Promise me…you’ll see my mom if I don’t get out of this.”
Brawler’s eyes darkened, his grip steady as a vice. “What you’re fighting?” He let out a hard breath. “I can feel it, Flash, but I don’t know what you should do. There’s desperation in it and purpose.”
“I know.” Flash swallowed hard, meeting his gaze. His voice shook. “Do you know how special you are? How you read people? How you hold this team together without saying a word? Operating with you has been a goddamn privilege.”
“You sound like you’re checking out. Cut that shit out,” Brawler hissed. “Special? I’ll fucking give you a ride on the short bus straight into my fist.”
Flash barked out a laugh that was more cough than humor. Pressure wrapped him tighter, whispers brushing his skin, determination scraping at his bones. “I…saw my dad,” he whispered. Twister’s head snapped up, tracking him.
Flash shoved upright, moved a few paces away, leaned his forearm against a tree just to keep from falling. His voice cracked open. “In the sky. When I was falling. I saw her. I swear to God. She was there. She saved my life. For real. I didn’t have enough air left to pull my chute.” His breath hitched. “She…she lifted me high enough so I wouldn’t die.”
“Time to move,” Tex barked, and every one of them hopped to it.
Flash moved, too, as if through quicksand.
Brawler’s eyes flicked his way, reading it in an instant. “Hang in there.” Of course he understood. He always did. But understanding wasn’t going to do Flash any good now. He was running out of time.
15
Gray playedat the edges of Flash’s vision, sweat sliding hot down his back. Each step was a fight to keep his legs moving, to keep the world from tilting into black.
Fifteen minutes later, they crested a low rise. The canopy thinned, opening into a scar of torn earth where the jungle had been chewed away. The scent of smoke clung low, acrid and bitter.
The crash sites.
