Chapter 5
The team moved with the quiet efficiency of men who’d done this a hundred times. Packs cinched, weapons checked, water rationed out. The air pressed close and wet, insects starting their shrill chorus in the canopy above in a world that was almost too alive.
Brawler adjusted the strap on his ruck, fatigue biting sharp behind his eyes, sweat already sheening his skin.
He should’ve slept harder, but his body refused to settle, keyed up with the weight of responsibility and with the lingering ghost of a touch.
Her hand on his arm. Small. Warm. Steady in a way he hadn’t expected.
Her palm had been a little rough, a rasp of grit against his skin that stuck with him longer than it should have.
Now, sitting cross-legged on her pack like she owned the jungle floor, the firecracker was feeding his war dog bacon jerky from a torn ration packet. Beast was practically melting, big head in her lap, tail smacking the dirt in bliss while she scribbled notes in her weather-beaten journal.
Something twisted in his chest, irritation for sure, but there was more threaded in. Something softer.
She’d thanked him last night, her palm brushing his arm in a way that had lit his skin like a live wire.
He hadn’t known what to do with it then, and he sure as hell didn’t know what to do with it now, watching her turn Beast into a spoiled prince.
He lived in a world where contact was restraint, control, violence.
When it came without force, when it came with intent and gentleness, it wasn’t under his control.
Usually, unexpected touch set his nerves screaming.
A woman leaning too close in a bar, fingers sliding where he didn’t want them, that kind of contact brought up defenses, his body primed to shove back, to reclaim his space.
But Emily’s hand hadn’t rattled him. It had steadied him, anchoring instead of jarring.
That scared the hell out of him. It wasn’t just touch that had caught him off guard. It was her touch . One brush of her hand and she’d affected him in a way no one ever had, and now every nerve in his body was tuned to her without his permission.
His gaze caught on the curve of her wrist as she wrote, the swing of red hair slipping loose against her cheek, the easy curve of her mouth when Beast nudged her for more. All of it tugged at him, sharp and relentless, like his body had already decided what his mind refused to allow.
God, he’d thought he understood attraction: stacked blonde, soft body, a swelled dick, and fucking until the pressure released.
Simple. Controlled. That was what he knew.
That was what worked. Brawler realized he’d narrowed his world down by design, built his life around privacy, around protecting himself, but more than that, protecting his brother.
Anything beyond it was risk. She was risk, already throwing him off balance hours after meeting her.
But this was alien, unnerving. It hit him in places that he didn’t know could react this way.
More than a pulse low in his body, it surged in his chest, in his gut, in the raw center of him.
She made him want to go deeper, past skin, past climax.
Not just to take, not just to burn it off, but to soothe everything all at once.
To ease the jagged edges inside him in a way no one ever had.
Her pen stilled mid-word. Slowly, she lifted her head.
Her eyes weren’t polite green or pretty green.
They were alive, flecked with amber fire, and the way they locked onto him made his chest ache.
For a breath, she didn’t smirk or fire off some smart-ass line.
She just looked at him, wide open like she’d felt the weight of his stare all along, as if the jungle had fallen away and there was only this pull between them.
Her mouth parted, the smallest catch of breath breaking the silence, and it hit him like another live wire, raw, real, and just as dangerous.
He felt helpless, and fuck, he hated that shit.
This shortcake pixie was making him want more than that narrowed world, pushing him to feel, to reach for things he’d denied himself.
His gut told him she was different from anyone he’d ever met.
She could become…important. Hell, who was he kidding?
She already was. His body knew it, his senses knew it, and deep down, his stubborn, locked-down mind was afraid she carried the key to it all.
Brawler grunted and bent to snap the final clip on his ruck, trying to breathe around her presence. This diminutive woman, who felt more like a giant. Pretended not to care. Pretended he didn’t notice the way the others were already smirking, waiting for the implosion.
Of course Flash’s voice crackled over comms, hushed like a nature documentary. “There she is, the fairy queen in her natural habitat, domesticating the K9 unit with salted pork while melting the frontal lobe of the operator formerly known as Brawler.”
Raw from his thoughts and the growing ache, Brawler’s growl was immediate. “Flash.”
“You’ve lost control, man,” Flash pressed, voice pitched like a commentator.
“Of your Beast and your inner beast. She’s running circles around you, getting inside your head, swelling your dick with her cute pixie charm, and going beast-mode with your Terminator doggie.
You’re fucked in layers. Fucking layers.
Like a tactical baklava of bad decisions. ”
“Shut. Up . Flash. Before I find a trash heap and make you part of it.”
Tex didn’t even lift his head from where he sat adjusting his sling. “Flash, stop antagonizing Brawler into killing you. The brass would frown on that.”
Emily, oblivious, scratched behind Beast’s ear.
“Good boy. That’s right, sit. You like that bacon, huh?
” She scribbled something in her notebook.
“Subject exhibits protective loyalty, preference for female handlers, and responds positively to small doses of nitrates.” She shot Brawler a look that made him want to do something reckless and stupid.
Stupid in his world always… always …got you killed.
Brawler muttered before he could stop himself, “He’s got good taste.”
Flash hissed with delight. “He said it. He admitted it. Pack it up, boys. Brawler’s officially down bad for the jungle pixie.”
Bondo ripped open a protein bar, glaring. “Flash, I swear to God, one more word and I’m stuffing a mag in your goddamn pie hole.”
Unbothered, Flash licked peanut butter off his thumb. “Make it a full one, cowboy. Can always use more ammo.”
Tex sighed. “Stop flirting, the three of you. We’re not dragging your bodies out if you kill each other. I’ve got dibs on Beast’s rations and Brawler’s whiskey stash.”
Emily looked at Beast like she was genuinely consulting him. “Did you hear that? Someone’s going to die. Who’s a good boy? Who’s going to inherit all the snacks?”
The laughter from the guys was affectionate, and he wanted to punch them all, the smug, married bastards.
Flash leaned back, seemingly calm and serene, but Brawler didn’t miss the dark circles beneath his eyes or the coiled tension thrumming just below the surface. His mind flashed back to the jump.
Twister had examined the oxygen feed on Flash’s rig, and he’d found a small puncture that had destabilized the air. A lot of the guys dismissed Flash’s ramblings as hypoxia, but Brawler couldn’t shake the unsettling thought that something real had happened to Flash up in the atmosphere.
“Beast’s living his best life. I want to be reincarnated as Emily’s field journal.” Flash’s grin was too quick, too sharp. Brawler knew the look…cover, and one that was starting to fray.
That was it. Brawler snapped open a pouch from his own MRE, dumped the meat chunks into Beast’s collapsible bowl, and set it down hard on the dirt. “Here. Eat like a warrior.”
Beast lifted his head, eyes flicking between Emily’s hand and the steaming pouch. The hesitation cut deep. Brawler felt it like betrayal. Finally, with one last hopeful look at Emily, Beast padded over and settled by his bowl.
Brawler exhaled through his nose. Pride reclaimed. Barely.
Emily wrote another line, lips twitching. “Subject demonstrates torn loyalties between the big bad operator and scientist. Ration hierarchy remains under review.”
Brawler snapped Beast’s harness on once the dog finished, giving Emily a look sharp as a blade. He’s mine.
She gave him a grin, her eyes dancing. Christ, she was turning his dog into a traitor and him into a fool, and he couldn’t seem to stop it.
“On your feet. We’re moving,” Tex said, the humidity thickening, cicadas shifting pitch, and distant bird calls going silent. The stillness closed in around them, dense as the heat, as if the jungle itself held its breath as they passed.
Emily capped her pen, slid the journal into her pack, then rummaged around. “Damn, running low on SD cards. How is that possible?” she muttered, almost to herself.
Brawler froze for half a second, the words digging in. He didn’t say anything. Just jerked his chin at the trail. “You’re with me, Shortcake.”
The line moved through the undergrowth, boots quiet, eyes sharp. Emily kept pace, her pack straps digging into her shoulders, the weight familiar now. She wasn’t about to fall behind, not when the men around her carried it like second skin.
She walked alongside Brawler, careful not to crowd him or Beast. This was their office, the jungle their corridors, and she had enough respect to know when she was in someone else’s workplace. Still, it was her workplace too, at least for now, and she’d be damned if she shrank in it.