Chapter 19
SOMEWHERE OVER SOUTH SUDAN
The roar of the Blackhawk’s engines was a familiar noise, a backdrop to the military precision unfolding around Reaper. He tightened straps and checked his gear. His fingers worked deftly, muscle memory guiding each action as his mind prepared for the impending mission.
Despite the noise and everything going on around him, his thoughts strayed to Cian, more than they should have but less than he wanted to.
He steadied himself, as Trace had taught him, and closed his eyes briefly, focusing on the connection that pulsed beneath his skin like a heartbeat.
He let the warmth of what they shared bloom and pulse, and he sent a wave of feelings toward Cian, along with a silent apology for the argument he caused and the feelings he hadn’t worked up the courage to give words to just yet.
For a heartbeat, he felt the echo rush back toward him, and Cian’s presence wrapped around him with the steadiness of an anchor, and a warmth that was a blend of raw strength and understanding.
It was a grounding force, undulating beneath the surface, a reminder of home amidst the cold bitch that was war.
Reaper inhaled deeply, absorbing that response, letting it seep into his bones, into the cracks and crevices left by years of war fighting and the weight of what living with the results of Derek’s actions had caused.
“You’re daydreaming,” Zero whispered.
Duty calls.
His hand slipped to the underside of his weapon, his thumb going to the safety, just to ensure it hadn’t jostled free since he’d checked it a few minutes ago.
“I’m just resting my eyes.” With deliberate intent, he pushed the bond down and dampened its blaze until the ember dimmed to barely a flicker in his heart.
“Ready for insertion,” Viper called over the rumble of engines.
Reaper nodded and masked all of his fraught emotions behind stoic resolve. Here, he was solely Volcano Four, and his job was to protect these men who would fight at his side.
“Comms check, Four.” Zero sounded in his earpiece.
“Four has you loud and clear.”
“Roger.”
They all understood the silent cadence of preparing for war.
It was a rhythm they’d honed by repetition over the years.
Each action was measured and deliberate for the same reason they ran practice runs through the training grounds at base.
When shit hit the fan, knowing exactly where your weapons were attached to your body was key.
Juice whipped open the door, and the air that rushed in was freezing cold.
Reaper exhaled sharply, centering himself, before launching into motion.
His boots hit the ground with a muffled thud, the impact vibrating up his legs as the team spilled out around him like a well-oiled machine fueled by controlled chaos.
The squat structure ahead made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.
There was something all kinds of wrong about this place, aside from the obvious threat of enemy combatants.
He shook off the sense of foreboding that prickled against his instincts.
Now wasn’t the time for gut feelings. Now was the time for precision.
Viper’s voice cut through the static in his earpiece. “Breach in three… two…”
The explosion tore through the night, a deafening crack that sent a shockwave rippling outward.
He surged forward on pure adrenaline, weapon shouldered, his finger hovering over the trigger as he swept the room.
His NVGs barely worked enough to see that the place was empty.
His stomach twisted. The HVT—the high-value target they’d been sent to extract—was gone.
“Clear!” Juice called from the adjacent room. Reaper could hear the underlying tension in his voice.
“TOC, Volcano One, we’ve got a ghost town here,” Viper growled into comms. “Where the hell is he?”
There was a slight pause, then the disembodied voice of their tactical operations center crackled back, “Moving east through the field behind the structure. IR’s got him—wait—shit, he’s going to ground.”
Reaper adjusted his NVGs, but the fucking clouds had shifted to cover the moon, “Negative visual,” he muttered, teeth gritted. “One, are we blind out here, or are my NVGs fucked?”
“All blind, Four. Walk arm-in-arm,” Viper ordered, his tone brooking no argument. “No one gets separated.”
The team formed a tight line, shoulders brushing, weapons at the ready. Trace’s grip on his shoulder was like iron, his breath hot against the back of Reaper’s neck. “I could shi—” he started, the words a low rumble, the wolf beneath his skin practically vibrating with the need to hunt.
“Negative,” Viper cut in before Reaper could even process the suggestion. What he didn’t say was what they were all thinking.
Is he fucking mad? TOC’s got eyes on us. We don’t need them seeing a goddamn wolf on the IR.
“TOC, talk to us,” Viper snapped. “Where’s this asshole hiding?”
“Four is right on top of him. He’s—fuck—he’s right there.”
Reaper’s blood turned to ice. “I’m not standing on anyone,” he snarled, sweeping his rifle left to right, his fingers itching to be on the trigger. “And if I was, I can’t see shit, so I’d never know it.”
Machine gun fire ripped through the darkness, muzzle flashes lighting up the night in stroboscopic bursts.
He lunged for the nearest cover, a gnarled, half-dead tree trunk, and pressed his back against it, bark splintering and raining down as rounds chewed into the wood.
His breath came in sharp, controlled bursts as his heart pounded like a war drum against his ribs. “Fuckers.”
Viper and Trace hit the dirt behind a rusted cow feeder, their rifles barking in response. The air was filled with gunfire.
“Contact!” Zero’s voice cut through the chaos.
No fucking shit.
Kaze grunted, a wet, pained sound that sent a jolt of dread down Reaper’s spine. “Fuck—I’m hit!”
Reaper didn’t give himself time to think.
His body acted on pure instinct. He shot out from cover and sprinted through the hail of bullets toward Kaze.
A round grazed his arm, a hot, sharp sting that barely registered over the roar of adrenaline in his veins.
But something else surged through him…something primal that almost felt like a tidal wave of fury, that then switched to a blast of power.
It crashed down the mating bond like a live wire.
His vision sharpened, the world snapped into hyper-focused clarity, and his muscles coiled with unnatural strength, his movements faster and stronger, as if Cian’s essence had bled into his own.
This shit is the fucking bomb.
He reached Kaze in three long strides, grabbing him by the vest and hauling ass back toward the feeder.
Bullets kicked up dirt at their heels, the night alive with the scream of incoming fire.
His breath burned in his lungs, but he didn’t stop, and refused to falter until they were both pressed against the rusted metal and the questionable measure of safety the cattle feeder offered.
“TOC, One…” Viper barked into comms, his face streaked with blood. “TOC, how bad you want this fucker alive?”
The response was immediate, crackling with static. “Prefer alive, but we’ll take dead.”
Viper’s teeth flashed in the dark, a feral grin that sent a chill down Reaper’s spine.
Oh. Shit.
“Send me a Ghost Rider, STAT.”
Fuck, they were way too close to the target for a Lockheed AC-130 gunship to join the fight.
“No way,” TOC shot back, tense. “You’re too close. Not happening, J-Tac.”
Viper didn’t hesitate. “KD, send it,” he yelled over the gunfire. Kelvin Dare, send it.
Reaper ignored the request from his commanding officer that might kill them all. Because if Kaze didn’t get his bleeding stopped, he was dying anyway.
“Stay with me, Three.” He fished his medkit from where he’d stashed it behind the plate in his chest rig.
Where the hell is Juice?
Kaze coughed, a wet, rattling sound, but when he grinned, his teeth were stained red. “Not dying,” he wheezed, “before I see you and Pretty Boy make it official.”
“Damn straight, you’re not.”
“Put QuikClot in. I’ll get up in a sec.”
“Dude, they’d have to cut that shit out of you.” A bullet whined past his head, but he still managed to get the pressure bandage on the hole in Kaze’s chest. “This is gonna hurt like a motherfucking bitch.” He pressed down hard, wincing at the scream he drew from his friend.
A fresh volley of gunfire tore through the night, the muzzle flashes lighting up the darkness like hellfire. Cian’s blood sang in his veins. He wasn’t just fighting for the team anymore.
He was fighting for them.
For the quiet mornings and the stolen moments.
For the way Cian’s voice dropped when he whispered his name.
For the future that flickered on the horizon, if only he was brave enough to keep it.
If that meant burning this entire godforsaken field to the ground via one big-ass gunship to have his brothers survive and get back to Cian alive? Then let the fucker burn.
The gunship’s minigun chewed through the earth as rounds stitched the dirt into explosive geysers.
Reaper pressed Kaze’s body deeper into the mud, his own weight pinning them both as the world turned to thunder and fire.
Juice and Zero piled on top, a tangle of limbs and gear, as they kept as many armored plates between the wounded Kaze and the bullets falling around them.
The heat of the gunship’s muzzle flashes seared Reaper’s skin even through the haze of dust.
“Hold the fuck on!” Viper’s voice cut through the chaos, raw with command.
Reaper barely even dared to breathe. The gunship’s next pass would turn them into shredded meat if they didn’t move. His fingers dug into Kaze’s vest, the fabric slick beneath his grip. Kaze’s pulse was weak but steady under his palm.
Alive is good enough for now.