Page 69 of Brawler
The team moved as one, boots tearing through the brush, rifles up, their silence louder than any order.
Beast’s hackles bristled, his body shaking with fury as he surged ahead, nose down, pulling hard at the leash of command.
They ran toward the sound. Toward their brother. Toward the fight. Toward the woman they had all fallen for, Brawler the hardest.
They stopped at the churned-up earth. Someone had fought and fought hard.
Emily. Flash.
Brawler’s gut seized, dread twisting like barbed wire. He forced his voice steady. “They took them. Flash and Emily.”
Tex’s jaw locked, his breath hissing sharply through his nose. “Our brother and our Shortcake?” His voice was low, lethal. “No. Goddamn way.” He turned, eyes sweeping the team. “Lock and load, boys.”
Then he bent to Beast, voice dropping to a growl. “Track.”
The Malinois bristled, nose to the dirt. His teeth flashed once, sharp and feral, before he surged forward on the scent.
The SEALs followed, a wall of silent resolve moving through the trees until the camp came into view.
It was crawling with men.
“What’s the plan?” Dagger asked, his gaze focused on the compound as if he could kill every man there with just his eyes.
Brawler stripped off his pack, handed Easy his weapon, and met Tex’s eye. “I’m going to berserk-run to them, and you’re going to cover me.”
Tex looked at Twister.
“It’s a graze, minor,” Twister shrugged.
Tex looked at Bondo. The big man nodded without a word. Shark, too, already moving into the trees with his rifle. “Hoo-yah,” Tex said. “That’s my never quit man.”
“Damn straight. No fucking way anyone is going to save Emily but me.”
Tex’s voice came low, steady, unbreakable. “On my order.” Behind him, his brothers raised their rifles, blood in their eyes. “You get to Flash and our Shortcake,” Tex said, deadly and absolute, “and we’ll sling lead until no one is standing.”
Brawler glanced down at Beast. The dog’s amber gaze burned, hackles raised, as if promising in a language older than war that nothing would survive what was coming.
Her hand sliddown to her boot, fingers closing around the familiar hilt. Idiots. They hadn’t even bothered to search her. Hadn’t tied her. Thugs, smugglers, whatever they were, they’d underestimated her.
Emily tugged the knife free, steel glinting in the dim light of the tent. Six pairs of battered eyes tracked her every move.
She crouched beside the first Marine, slicing clean through the ropes binding his wrists. “You’re free. All of you. When Flash’s team hits this camp, you’ll want to be ready.” Her voice was low, urgent, steady.
The Marine didn’t waste time with thanks. He flexed his raw wrists, then leaned in close, voice a gravelly whisper. “Ma’am, we don’t run. Not without you.”
Her chest tightened, but she nodded once, slicing through the next set of ropes. They moved fast, silent and efficient, bloodied but lethal.
Professionals.
Emily might have been the one with the knife, but together, they were going to walk out of this hell alive.
Emily turned back to Flash. He lay sprawled in the dirt, face pale, utterly still. Her chest clenched. She smoothed her hand through his sweat-soaked hair. “You’re not dying here. Not on my watch.”
She rose, knife still in hand, and shoved the tent flap aside.
Her breath caught.
Gunfire cracked like thunder outside. Men shouted, weapons barking, and through it, oh God, through it, she saw him.
