Page 79 of Brawler
Kevin’s smirk slid back into place. He brushed her off with a smarmy wave of his hand. “I assure you, this doesn’t concern you. Your…emotional attachment to certain Navy personnel doesn’t make you relevant here. So why don’t you leave the business of State to those who understand it?”
The SEALs bristled as one. Shark took a step forward, but Tex’s arm shot out, keeping him in check. Brawler’s fists curled, his jaw grinding audibly.
Before Kevin could form a reply, the air in the lobby shifted. They turned to find Ambassador Clay Towson, tall and commanding in a dark suit, security detail at his back, standing there. The staff snapped upright like schoolchildren caught gossiping.
Towson’s gaze locked on Kevin Hall. “Did I just hear you dismiss Dr. Maddox?” Towson’s tone was soft, lethal. “That’s unfortunate. Not only is she a formidable lobbyist, but she is my daughter. She cut her teeth on diplomacy.” His gaze sharpened. “Consider your future prospects…adjusted.”
Kevin’s color drained so fast it was almost comical. “Ambassador…sir…I didn’t realize.”
Brawler stood silent, grim satisfaction rolling through him like thunder, and he could feel it all in waves from his brothers.
Shark grinned like a great white. “You insulted the wrong person this time.”
“This is very out of the ordinary,” Kevin stammered, sweat already glistening at his temple. “Protocol is what I follow, and I did that.” Kevin swallowed hard, already digging his grave with both hands.
Not giving him time to regroup, Towson didn’t miss a beat. “Why don’t we talk to Eleanor and work this all out.”
He straightened, clasped his daughter’s arm with quiet pride, and turned to the SEALs.
“Gentlemen. Let’s not waste another second. We’ll go directly to the secretary’s office.”
“Sir,” Tex said, giving him a sharp nod.
Towson’s presence cut through the marble-and-glass lobby like a ship’s prow through water, and the whole building seemed to fall in behind his wake. Suits parted, aides scrambled to clear hallways, even the guards who’d been hovering anxiously fell into step to escort the group.
Shark moved past Hall, sleekly honed with a quiet menace, shoulder bumping him hard. His voice was low, almost companionable. “We’re going upstairs now,” he murmured. “Try to keep up.”
Kevin was left scrambling to catch up. His throat bobbed as the elevator doors slid open. He stepped inside last, boxed in by seven lethal operators, a furious wife, and daughter, and the man whose respect he’d just torched.
The ride up was silent except for the hum of machinery, heavy with the promise that the real reckoning hadn’t even begun.
17
Flash braced himself.Like a tide rising too fast to outrun, the black surged again. Sound built in layers. Cannon fire. Drums. Men shouting with American accents, young and raw.
His gut clenched. A different war was coming.
The black tide broke, and he was standing in smoke.
Cannon fire thundered across a harbor, each blast rattling his bones. The acrid stench of powder clung to the back of his throat. His ears rang with the crash of splintering wood, men shouting orders over the chaos.
He looked down, naval jacket, heavy wool, musket at his side, cutlass in his fist. His body swayed with the roll of a ship under fire. The deck pitched, slick with blood and seawater.
He caught a flash of movement beside him, familiar even here. Easy. Dressed like him, buckskin swapped for a naval coat, a tricorn hat askew, black curls tied back in a queue at the nape of his neck. He grinned, wild and fearless, swinging his cutlass like he’d been born to it.
Flash saw it, the tendril. Thick as a tree root, flowing between them, flexing even under strain. It tethered them as surely here as it did in the real world.
Easy’s voice rang out, sharp and certain. “They won’t take what we fought for. They’ll never take it, those black bastards of their twisted dark god. Stars and stripes!”
The shout cut through cannon fire. Men around them echoed it, blades lifted, the flag whipping high above the ramparts through smoke and flame. Torn, scorched, but unbroken. Through the Veil’s strange filter, the stars and stripes weren’t just fabric. They burned with light, holding the shadows at bay.
“Boarders!” someone bellowed, and men surged forward.
His SEAL instincts screamed movement. Close the gap, control the deck, protect the flank. He slashed, parried, fought side by side with Easy. A cutlass rang against his blade, sparks flying. He shoved hard, driving the enemy back, but in the man’s eyes he saw it again, the shadow. Not a soldier, not an officer. Something riding him. Feeding him.
The ship shuddered. Smoke stung his eyes. He lunged, caught the man’s shoulder, shoved him back into chaos.
His stomach clenched.The War of 1812.He knew it. A second fight for independence. Britain came back to reclaim what they’d lost, testing a fledgling country’s will to stand.
