Chapter 15 #3
Bones stayed low between Skull’s legs, eyes tracking everything.
Blair followed with her weapon up, heads on a swivel, moving toward the garage bay.
The ground between the gate and the main building was a stretch of gravel and oil-stained dirt that might as well have been a spotlight if you didn’t know how to move in it.
Blair surprised him by matching Skull and Bones’s rhythms, body low, strides fast but economical, a quiet, collected vector of intent.
He felt that twist in his chest again. Hated it.
Suddenly, one biker stepped out, head swiveling, hand on the pistol at his hip. Breakneck exhaled, squeezed, cut him down. The second jerked back inside, Skull taking him out before he could utter a word.
Breakneck kept his scope trained on his teammates, tracking movement in measured sweeps. Skull and Bones moved through the space with quiet efficiency, clearing corners, checking shadows. Blair moved with them, her pace controlled, her attention forward.
The bay was nearly clear when something shifted at the edge of his vision.
A man eased along the inner wall of the garage, staying tight to the structure, careful with each step. He held a pistol low, moving slowly, deliberately, his focus fixed on Blair’s back.
Breakneck adjusted his aim and squeezed the trigger.
The suppressed shot struck the biker in the head, pink mist sprayed against the concrete. He dropped without a sound, collapsing against the wall before sliding to the floor.
Blair halted, then turned just enough to register the body. She gave a brief nod, already moving again.
Breakneck waited a moment longer, confirming there were no other heat signatures, no delayed movement. When he was satisfied, he keyed his mic.
“Clear,” he said. “Ice, move.”
Ice’s voice came through, clipped and calm. “We’re hitting the pit. All callsigns hold position.”
On the far side of the main house, Ice’s team engaged the men around the fire pit. The suppressed shots were faint, almost lost in the night air. Breakneck watched figures fall one by one, the firelight flickering as bodies crumpled into the dirt.
The compound was quiet again, as if nothing had happened.
Inside the house, no one stirred.
“East is clear,” he said. His ribs burned with every micro-adjustment. “Garage is quiet.”
“Brown, Skull. Barricade the exit into the bay. Brown, front and center for stack. Skull, you and Bones will be pivoting to the rear, hold the door, and get us some live ones for interrogation. Let me know when you’re ready to move.”
Breakneck stayed on overwatch, scanning windows and doorways, ready to call anything that shifted out of place.
“Door’s secured,” Blair said as she, Skull, and Bones regrouped at the corner of the garage, then moved along the exterior wall, breaking apart.
Skull and Bones slipped around the structure toward the back of the house, while Blair headed toward the front door for breach, meeting Ice and the rest of the team as they cornered the structure.
Skull’s voice came through the comm. “In position, Ice.”
“Copy,” Ice responded.
He knew what Ice’s next command would be.
Before the words finished, Breakneck was already moving.
He slid backward off the ridge, let gravity carry him down the incline.
Every jolt sent a stab of pain through his torso, but he rode it, used the momentum to get to his feet at the bottom.
He covered the last few yards at a run, keeping low, weaving through the shadows until the clubhouse bulked up in front of him, dark and close.
He swallowed once, hard. He hoped Marques was still alive. Still in there. Hold on, man, we’re coming.
Blair tilted her head slightly, listening in on the same feed. He watched her shoulders tighten.
“Break, we’re at the door,” Ice said. “We need you in the stack.”
He could feel the heat of bodies, the sharp scent of gasoline, spilled beer, and motorcycle oil. Voices from inside, muffled by the walls. Laughter. Shouting.
Boomer shifted and caught sight of him. “Goddamn ghost,” he muttered. “One second he’s whispering in our ears, next second he’s breathing on my neck.”
Breakneck ignored him, sliding into place behind Blair.
Up close, her scent hit him again. Magnolia. Leather. Heat. It cut through the smoke and the stench and settled into him like something claiming space it had no right to take.
His hand brushed her shoulder as he took his spot. She went still for a heartbeat, then leaned into it, just enough to tell him she felt it, that she took something from the contact. Steadiness. Reassurance.
The realization landed hard. She trusted him at her back.
That knowledge twisted something fierce and unfamiliar in his chest. The ease of it, how effortlessly she reached for him, lit a spark he immediately tamped down, sharp with envy. He’d come into this op doing what he always did, stepping into the role he knew best. Shield. Cover. Control.
He mattered to her. The truth of that scared the hell out of him.
They were locked into this operation together for the long haul. Proximity would build trust. That was how collaboration worked—it was necessary. Optimal. He understood that.
Because if she leaned on him now, she would do it again. Next time, he wouldn’t know how to step away without hurting her or himself.
He’d thought the op was dangerous.
This, whatever this was, felt worse.
The look she’d given him after he dropped the biker in the bay still churned in his gut. He’d done his job. She’d just been in his crosshairs. That was all it was supposed to be.
But his mental state was fraying.
How the hell could he be someone’s anchor when he was in freefall himself?
He hated that she was doing this to him, hated how her scent, her stillness, her quiet acknowledgment cut straight through his armor. Hated that a single unconscious gesture from her carried more weight than the op, the danger, or the discipline he lived by.
He’d be a fool to hang himself out to dry.
He bent his head toward her ear, voice barely a breath. “It’s overwatch, not foreplay. You preserve the peace. I remove threats.”
She gave him a brief, assessing look over her shoulder. “So all this time you’ve just been teasing?” The air between them charged, her mouth tipping at the corner. “You look like a man who expects the last word,” she said lightly. “Good luck with that.”
Breakneck forgot how to breathe. His mind scrambled, discipline barely holding as he dragged his focus back to the op, away from the woman who was more dangerous to him than anything on the ground tonight.
She wasn’t a battle. She was a fucking war, and as a SEAL he was never out of the fight, but he was losing ground here. Blair went toe-to-toe with him, and his usual counters failed against her particular brand of sass.
“Blow it, Boom Boom,” Ice ordered, voice low.
Boomer stepped forward, planted a small charge at the base of the door near the lock, another near the hinges. He moved back into position, hand curling around the detonator.
Breakneck forced his focus away from Blair to the door, the wall, the angles. He tried not to think about the fact that he would lose sight of her the second that barrier came down and they went inside.
“Ayla,” Ice said. “Confirm basement routes.”
“There’s only one access stairwell on the schematic,” Ayla replied. “Right inside the main hall.”
“Copy,” Ice said. “We move fast. On my mark. Three…two…”
Breakneck’s chest pulled tight. He could hear Blair breathe, feel the minute tremor in her muscles that matched what he was trying to crush in his own.
“…execute, execute, execute,” Ice said.
Boomer hit the trigger.
The charge went off in a white, concussive flash.
The door shuddered, then blew inward, splinters and smoke fanning into the room beyond.
Breakneck’s world dissolved into movement and noise.
He followed them in.
For a heartbeat, he saw Blair ahead of him, framed in smoke and chaos, moving with Tier 1 operators like she had done it her whole life.
Then she turned the corner, and he lost sight of her.
The bottom dropped out of his gut, and he grabbed Kodiak’s arm as he passed. “Keep your eyes on them,” he said.
“Of course, brother,” he promised.
Breakneck hit the nearest wall, took a knee, weapon up, heart slamming like artillery, and realized too late that he was breathing too fast. He forced it slower, forced his mind to slot the information back into patterns.
He listened.
Gunfire. Shouts. The harsh bark of commands.
Blair’s voice came through his earpiece, clear and calm.
“I’ve got left.”
He closed his eyes for the span of one breath. He would never admit it to anyone, not even himself, but the sound of her voice in that moment was the only thing keeping the edges of him from coming apart.
He shifted to cover the doorway, taking the angle that would keep anything from flanking them. He had so much he wanted to protect, the least of all, his heart.