Chapter 41 #2
“I am not objectifying our operators,” Blair said dryly. “This is a professional environment.”
“Too late,” Boomer muttered. “Damage done.”
She risked a glance between her fingers. The armory was way too small for these types of big men.
Breakneck stood near the weapons rack, half geared, his plate carrier still unbuckled, sleeves rolled up as he checked the tension on his harness. Calm. Focused. Entirely too competent to be fair. He watched, mouth curving just slightly as he raised his brows.
“Relax,” he said. “We’re decent men. Mostly.”
“Speak for yourself,” Skull murmured. Boomer shoved him.
She dropped her head. “You say that like it’s a selling point.”
He shrugged and went back to work, movements efficient, practiced. Watching him gear up was like watching someone step fully into their element, every strap tightened with intention, every piece of kit exactly where it belonged. There was no showmanship in it. Just readiness.
Preacher glanced over and smirked. “Careful, Blair. If you keep staring, we’re going to have to charge admission.”
“I’m assessing operational preparedness,” she shot back. “I don’t objectify operators.”
Breakneck flicked a look at her then, eyes warm with something that wasn’t teasing. “You’re good,” he said quietly. “We’re green across the board.”
She nodded, business snapping back into place. “You’re up first?”
“Preacher and I,” he confirmed. “Air’s steady. Wind’s cooperating. Should be clean.”
“Should,” she echoed.
He met her gaze, the moment stretching just long enough to say things neither of them voiced. Then he clipped the last buckle into place and straightened fully, ready now, all sharp edges and control.
“I’ve got your people covered,” he said. Not a promise. A fact.
Blair felt it settle into her bones. “I know.”
Iceman’s voice cut through the room. “Mount up. We’re moving.”
The humor vanished instantly. Helmets went on. Gloves pulled tight. The room shifted from banter to purpose in a breath.
He stopped close to her. “I’ve got you, babe,” he whispered. As Breakneck turned toward the exit, he paused just long enough to glance back at her. “Try not to miss me.”
She snorted. “Just don’t make me come save you.”
His grin flashed once, quick, dangerous, gone, and then he was moving, the team flowing after him like they’d done this a thousand times before.
Blair watched them disappear through the door, the hum of the room shifting as if something essential had just been pulled out of it.
This op would nearly finish their time together.
She knew that. America would want its operators back soon enough, and the world would reset to the shape it had been before helicopters and horses and shared breath in the margins of danger.
There was one man she wasn’t ready to part with.
The realization landed low in her gut, sharp and undeniable, followed by a pull in her chest she didn’t bother fighting.
She had no idea what would happen between them once the dust settled, no neat plans, no guarantees, but whatever this was between her and Breakneck felt real in a way that left no room for denial.
That scared her more than the op ever could.
How far was she willing to go for him? What would she be willing to give up for a love that didn’t live in theory or fantasy, but in the hard-earned trust of shared risk?
She didn’t have the answer yet.
But she knew, with a clarity that grounded her rather than weakened her as she watched them go, heart steady, jaw set. That question wasn’t going away.
The horses were ready.
So was she.
Thirty minutes after the green light, the convoy rolled into the staging area and went dark. Engines cut. Doors opened. Horse trailers were unhitched with practiced efficiency, ramps dropping in near silence.
This was a massive undertaking, one of the largest WILD had ever attempted. Four RCMP mounted contingents were positioned to intercept any squirters who thought they could outrun the net. Blair, Tyler, and Beef were Contingent Three.
The air hit her face, cool and steady, carrying the distant chop of rotors winding up to full power.
With the authority to carry confirmed, Beef handed her and Tyler their carbines, checking the weapons, ammo, and seating each magazine firmly before sliding them into the side scabbards on the left-hand side of their mounts.
Blair nodded once to Beef and Tyler as they checked their sidearms, racking slides before holstering.
Then they turned their focus to the horses.
Blair slid her palm along Jet’s neck as they led him away from the trailer, feeling the contained power under his skin. Fresh. Focused. Ready. He shifted once, impatient but calm, the way he always was when he knew a run was coming.
They walked their mounts toward the tree line at an easy pace, keeping noise down, letting the land swallow them. Blair checked her watch.
Five minutes.
Radios crackled low around them, voices clipped and professional. Positions confirmed. Timelines locked.
At the edge of concealment, Blair swung up into the saddle, the movement as familiar as breath. Tyler mounted to her left, Beef to her right, their horses grouping naturally without fuss. They all knew their lanes. They all knew what would break their way once the SEALs were inserted.
She looked toward the basin. From here, the ranch appeared deceptively calm, buildings settled into the land as if they belonged there, vehicles parked in casual disarray, men moving without urgency.
Above them, the helicopters slid into position, shadows crossing the ground in slow, deliberate arcs. One tightened its orbit over the compound. The other held wider, ready to provide cover the moment things went loud.
Blair felt it before she heard it, the subtle change in pitch, the way the air itself seemed to brace.
“Stand by,” came the call in her ear.
She settled deeper into the saddle, fingers closing around the reins as every sense sharpened. This was the moment she trusted most, the breath before chaos, when the plan still held, and outcomes were clean.
Somewhere above her, Breakneck would be harnessed and steady, eyes already tracking the ground she was about to cover at speed. The thought steadied her more than she cared to admit.
“Contingent One, set,” came over comms.
“Contingent Three, set,” Blair replied quietly when it was her turn.
Blair felt it before she heard it, the subtle shift in pressure, the way the air itself seemed to brace.
The first bird tightened its orbit, banking just enough that its shadow slid across the basin like a warning. The second helicopter tore through the sky, a black predator slicing in low and fast. A sleek iron bird of prey. The third waited to assault.
Rotor wash slammed the yard. The world went white as dust and shredded chaff exploded outward, a blinding, choking tide that swallowed sound and sight.
The pressure hit like a physical blow, a giant’s fist to the chest. Horses screamed and pulled against their ties.
Someone shouted. Another voice answered, sharp and urgent.
The quiet of the ranch shattered.
Blair sat deep in the saddle, spine aligned, every nerve awake. A cold, clean fire ignited in her veins. This was the moment she lived for, the instant where theory collapsed into brutal, beautiful reality.
The hunt was on.
The assault bird dropped into the center of the compound, nose steady, skids hovering just above the ground. Ropes snapped free, dark lines whipping down as figures appeared in the open doorway.
SEALs ejected with the unfeeling speed of ammunition leaving a chamber, sliding fast, boots hitting dirt in controlled, punishing impacts. No hesitation. No wasted motion. Knees bent, weapons up, scanning before the ropes had even stopped swinging.
The ropes released, slapping the ground as the assault bird lifted the instant the last man touched down. It climbed hard, clearing the yard in seconds.
Drop and go. Exactly as planned.
Blair’s radio came alive.
“Boots down,” Iceman snapped. “Bones deployed. Troops in contact.”
Blair’s breath left her in a slow exhale she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.
Inside the compound, order collapsed.
Men scattered. Some ran for vehicles that would never move. Others bolted for horses already being cut loose. The rhythm of the place disintegrated into noise, motion, and bad decisions.
Tyler had to shout over the dying scream of turbines. “That’s fast!”
Beef spat grit from his mouth, a grim smile cutting across his face. “The Americans, eh,” he grunted, tracking the last man down the rope. “They don’t fuck around.”
Gunfire erupted from the far side of the compound, sharp cracks slicing through the chaos. Return fire answered immediately, controlled bursts snapping toward muzzle flashes blooming in the dust. Men shouted. Bodies hit the ground hard.
Movement exploded outward from the yard.
The four HVTs ran for horses tied near the main house, mounting in practiced desperation before scattering in four directions at once, exactly as Blair had warned and planned for. Four leaders. Four escape plans. Bodies thrown into the gaps to buy seconds.
Valdivia broke toward Contingent One.
Ramos toward Contingent Two.
Montoya toward Contingent Four.
Blair leaned forward, eyes locked on the break forming in her lane. Her pulse kicked hard. “Contingent Three, eyes on Torres,” she said into her mic. “He’s ours.”
“Copy,” came back instantly.
A single, sharp crack echoed from the high ground, unhurried. Absolute. A man sprinting for the treeline folded mid-stride. Cover fire. Surgical. Intentional. Breakneck was on point.