Chapter 105 Beckett
Beckett
First missions with new assets usually went one of two ways: smooth and clean, or bloody and sideways.
I was betting on sideways.
We were wheels up at dawn, heading toward a Hydra-owned warehouse that Elara swore held proof of Roger Grand’s laundering network.
Oliver and Gage flanked the rear. Cyclone was glued to his laptop.
And Elara? She was sitting across from me in the transport, legs crossed, calm as if she wasn’t flying straight into the mouth of hell.
Her eyes flicked to mine once, steady, unwavering. “You keep staring, Cole. Something you’d like to say?”
Yeah. Plenty. Like how I didn’t trust her, how the sight of her on this op made my instincts scream. How her cool composure made me want to shake her—or kiss her until that mask cracked.
Instead, I leaned forward, elbows on my knees. “One wrong move, Voss, and you’ll be the first body on the floor. Don’t test me.”
Her lips curved, not a smile—something sharper. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”
Damn it. She was fearless. Or reckless. Either way, she was under my skin, and I hated it.
The pilot’s voice crackled over comms: “Two minutes out.”
I checked my rifle, chambered a round, and glanced back at her. She sat serene, like she’d already made peace with whatever waited.
And me? I swore under my breath.
Because no matter how much I didn’t trust her, I already knew—I’d take a bullet for Elara Voss.
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