Dagger (SEAL Team EAST Book 6), page 26
We’re getting out of this. She could almost hear him say it. A wave of raw hope flooded through her. If anyone could fight for her freedom, it was Dagger and Flash.
“Sorry I got you into this,” Dagger said, voice low with regret, his eyes fixed on Flash.
Flash, forced to his knees by another gunman, grinned through blood-smeared lips. “Wouldn’t want to be anywhere but at your back, buddy.”
Langford made a derisive noise, lip curling. “You SEALs…” he sneered. “All that bravado. In the end, you’re just meat for Herrera’s grinder, and I’m going to make sure of it.”
He stepped closer, the barrel of his weapon pressing hard against Quinn’s temple. She didn’t move, didn’t breathe, but she felt Dagger tense like a coiled spring.
Langford’s voice dropped, thick with malice. “I heard everything. That little bug I planted picked up more than intel. It picked up all your pathetic secrets. Teammates weeping over fatherhood and your women. All that sentimental crap.”
Quinn’s heart stuttered.
Langford smiled, cold and hateful. “When we get to Herrera, she goes first.” He shoved her forward, hard. Pain flared in her shoulder, but she bit it back, refusing to give him the satisfaction.
“Then we’re going to take out every single one of them. One by one. I’ll use them, kill them, and film every last second for Herrera. He likes to watch, you know.”
Flash snarled, fury cutting through the blood on his face. “Fucker,” he snapped, lunging forward, only to be dragged down by two guards gripping his arms.
Langford laughed, his voice dripping with mockery. “I’ll wipe every one of teammates and your women, all your brotherhood crap, from the map.” He laughed again. “All for one… one for all, right? What a beautiful little tragedy.”
Flash met Dagger’s eyes, jaw tight. “He’s a dead man walking. Doesn’t even know it.”
Dagger didn’t answer, but his glare said everything. Cold. Lethal. Final.
Then the side door of a dingy cargo van slid open, and they drove. Then switched vehicles again. She caught a glimpse of their surroundings. A derelict industrial complex, broken glass crunching underfoot and an acrid smell of burned chemicals lingering in the heavy air. Another ride, this one looking less comfy. Her heart sank. They were clearly being shuffled around to avoid detection.
“Load ’em up,” Langford barked. “We’re behind schedule.”
They jammed Flash inside first, then forced Dagger to follow. Their eyes met, one heartbeat’s worth of reassurance.
Langford sneered from the open door. “Everyone in. Move!” he snapped at his men.
Quinn felt the beat-up van rock on its suspension as the goons clambered in around them. Then the door slammed shut, plunging them into a stale darkness lit only by a single dangling bulb. Outside, an engine roared to life. The vehicle lurched forward, jostling Quinn and banging her knees against the metal floor.
“All for one,” Langford repeated snidely from the front, “one for all.”
She wished she could spit at him. Instead, she focused on the pulse in Dagger’s neck, on the anger blazing in Flash’s eyes. We’re alive. We fight. We’ll make them pay. She inhaled, letting that razor-edged hope fuel her battered spirit as the van rumbled into the night.
Lechuza froze mid-step, her body going still as stone. The whisper in her earpiece was faint, distorted slightly by static but unmistakable.
“Flash…taken. Langford…Herrera.”
Her breath caught. Cold rage surged through her bloodstream, precise and piercing, as if her body instinctively recognized the threat before her mind could fully process it.
Flash. Taken. By him.
Her jaw clenched, teeth grinding so tightly her molars ached. Herrera. That bastard. The man who’d stripped her bare, mind and body, and tried to break her in every way that mattered. The horror Flash had dragged her back from. Now… Flash was in his hands.
“No,” Lechuza said, voice low and deadly.
That was all.
Bagh, walking ahead through the dense jungle undergrowth, turned sharply. His eyes lit with vindication at her tone. Ryū, silent and steady as always, inclined his head in solemn understanding. Neither of them asked for clarification. They didn’t need it.
“We hunt,” she said, her voice hard and sharp with purpose. “My brothers, we move now.”
The jungle around them buzzed with life, crickets chirping, cicadas humming, the thick, wet scent of earth and moss hanging heavy in the night air. But all Lechuza could hear was the echo of Herrera’s name and the image she couldn’t shake, Flash, bloodied and bound, surrounded by ghosts from her nightmares.
Not him. Not the one man who had pulled her broken body out of a hellhole and never once looked at her like she was weak. He had carried her, clothed her, stood between her and every threat, and never once asked for anything in return. He had given her back her dignity when she hadn’t even known she’d lost it.
Now he was the one in chains.
Her fists curled tightly at her sides. She would not let Herrera have him, not Flash, not Dagger, not Quinn, not anyone else. She had bled on jungle floors for less righteous causes. But this? This was justice wrapped in vengeance.
Bagh checked his rifle, expression grim and focused. “Coordinates?”
“They’re moving northeast,” she said flatly, eyes scanning the thick trees beyond. “Langford’s men are with him. That means Herrera’s playing a longer game.”
Ryū stepped beside her, calm but ready. “What’s our game?”
Lechuza looked forward, every movement coiled and lethal. “Justice.”
They moved as one, ghosting into the trees, weapons drawn, silent and sure-footed across the damp terrain. She didn’t know how many they’d have to kill to get Flash back, but she’d count them one by one.
He didn’t know Ryū or Bagh. But they were hers. Now? By proxy, they were his too. Flash had saved her, now she would return the debt in blood.
No one touched what belonged to Lechuza and walked away breathing.
Not Langford. Not Herrera. Not this time.
Dagger seethed, his anger fueling his determination, but not overshadowing it, his head pounding and mouth tasting like blood and bile. His arms were bound tightly behind him, wrists chafed from the flex-cuffs, but the low thrum of voices and the smell of dirt and sweat told him everything he needed to know.
He blinked through the haze just enough to see them both a few feet away, Quinn slumped beside him, blood on her lip, eyes glazed but conscious. Flash was next to her, crouched awkwardly, breathing through clenched teeth. His face was bruised, but his eyes flicked toward Dagger immediately.
Dagger gave a slow nod, subtle, practiced. We’re getting out of here.
No one spoke. Not with Langford’s men too close, pacing, smoking, checking gear. But SEALs didn’t need words.
Dagger flexed his wrists behind him, rolling his shoulders to test movement. The flex-cuffs bit harder into his skin, but his mind was already searching for angles. He made eye contact with Flash again and flicked his chin.
Plan forming.
Flash responded with a slight dip of his head, then slowly shifted his position behind Quinn, keeping his movements slow, natural, non-threatening.
Dagger turned his head toward Quinn. Her eyes met his. Fear. Fury. But deeper, trust. He’s going to get us out of this.
With quiet precision, he began to work his wrists closer toward Flash’s. It was tight, awkward, but every inch mattered. SEAL training ran bone-deep, and Flash picked up on what he was doing instantly. They maneuvered carefully, nudging, twisting, until their cuffs touched.
It was primitive, desperate teamwork, but it worked. One final shove, and the flex-cuffs buckled. Plastic snapped with a faint crack.
Freedom.
Dagger didn’t even think. He surged forward, slamming his shoulder into the closest guard’s knee just as Flash rose, scooping Quinn into his arms without hesitation.
It was to their benefit that Herrera wanted them alive. Someone shouted, but Flash was already running. They didn’t call him that for nothing. That fucker was fast.
Dagger spun, snatching a sidearm from a stunned attacker’s holster, fingers wrapping around cool steel. He fired three precise shots, one center mass, one to the head of another man, the third dead mass as chaos exploded.
Langford’s voice screamed somewhere behind the melee. “Get them! Don’t let them, shit!”
Dagger fired again, driving the rest of Langford’s men into disarray. They scattered, ducking for cover, firing wildly into the jungle. It was all he needed.
“Cease fire,” Langford shouted. “We need them alive or there’s no payday!”
Dagger turned and sprinted into the dense underbrush, vanishing into the shadows after Flash and Quinn.
Branches slapped against his face, sweat pouring off him, heart pounding in perfect sync with his bootfalls. The jungle swallowed the gunfire behind him, replacing it with the sharp buzz of insects and the crackle of leaves underfoot.
Ahead, a flicker of movement, a flash of Flash’s silhouette carrying Quinn through the trees.
Dagger grunted, pushing harder, staying low. He caught up just enough to give a sharp hand signal—stop, regroup, listen.
Flash glanced back, slowing slightly. Quinn clung to him, dazed but alert, her arms wrapped tightly around his neck.
Dagger slipped beside them, checking for pursuit. Nothing yet, but it wouldn’t last. He jerked his hand into a new signal—split formation, fallback trail, move fast.
Flash nodded and pressed forward, angling them toward thicker cover.
Dagger exhaled hard. They were alive. Free.
But this wasn’t over.
He tightened his grip on the pistol, green eyes scanning the darkness. Langford thought this was a trap. He’s about to find out what happens when you corner a couple of SEALs. He’d show him what brotherhood was all about…the hard way.
17
Dagger braced one forearm against the twisted trunk of a massive ceiba tree, its roots sprawling like gnarled veins through the jungle floor. Steam rose off his skin, sweat mixing with the thick humidity clinging to every inch of him. His chest heaved from the sprint after that frantic getaway, muscles trembling, lungs burning. Every part of him screamed for rest, but there was no time.
The canopy above barely filtered the light, casting flickering shadows over the damp, loamy ground. Low, urgent voices drifted from nearby, Flash and Quinn, murmuring in a pocket of tangled undergrowth where leaves glistened with recent rainfall and vines hung like serpents from the trees.
He moved toward them, boots crunching softly over the leaf-littered terrain. Quinn turned first, her honey-brown curls clinging to her mud-streaked cheeks. Even battered and breathless, she stood straighter when she saw him, relief flaring bright in her eyes.
Flash stood at her side, a silent wall of vigilance, his gaze constantly scanning the dense greenery. He projected that unshakable presence Dagger had come to rely on, a brotherhood forged in blood, sweat, and love. When Flash caught Dagger’s eyes, his taut expression softened just slightly. He glanced at Quinn, then gave a single nod that said I’ve got her, and I see you in equal measure.
Dagger crossed the space in three strides and cupped Quinn’s face with both hands. Her skin was warm, damp from the heat, and he pressed his forehead to hers. She quivered, whether from exhaustion, fear, or something deeper, he didn’t know. Didn’t care. All he saw was her. Alive. Resolute. Still not giving up.
“Listen,” he said, voice low and rough, “you stay here with Flash. I’ll come back for you.”
Her lips parted, ready to argue, but he shook his head, thumbs brushing over the curve of her cheekbones.
“Langford and his goons are moving fast. Herrera’s men are around here somewhere, tightening the perimeter. We don’t have the luxury of waiting. You know me, Quinn. I don’t sit on the defensive.” He looked to Flash. “We bring the fight to them.”
She inhaled shakily, lashes damp. “I know,” she whispered. “I just don’t want to lose you.”
“You won’t.” He gritted his teeth, ignoring the sharp ache blooming in his side. “I’m going to thin the bastards out. Trust me.”
Her eyes flared with that stubborn fire. “You better come back,” she said, more challenge than plea. “Or so help me, I’ll drag your lethal ass out of that jungle myself.”
A breathless laugh escaped him, rough, real. He cupped her jaw tighter, letting himself feel her, anchor to her. “I know we still have a lot of shit to deal with, but I love you. Down to my fucking soul. You get that?”
She nodded, throat bobbing. “Yeah. I do.” Her fingers slid to his jaw. “We’re not done, Hollis. I’ve got things to say, truths, confessions, all of it, and I’m not saying them to your damn gravestone. Got that?”
“Got it, babe.” He looked over her shoulder to Flash, tossing him the sidearm. His teammate grinned like a bastard.
“Watch her.”
Flash nodded, a flicker of steel in his eyes. “At all costs, brother.”
With one last press of his lips to Quinn’s forehead, Dagger turned and vanished into the emerald labyrinth of vines and mist, swallowed by the living, breathing heart of the jungle.
“Doesn’t he need that gun?” Quinn asked.
Flash chuckled. “They don’t call him Dagger for nothing, honey.” He grinned wickedly. “Knives out, hoo-yah.”
Quinn crouched in the tangle of underbrush, the wet earth soaking through her pants, the thick scent of moss and decaying foliage curling in her nose. The slap of Dagger’s footsteps faded into the damp hush of the jungle, swallowed by the dense canopy and whispering vines.
She wanted to follow, God, she wanted to follow, but a steadying hand on her shoulder from Flash kept her rooted. His grip was firm, grounding.
“He’ll be okay,” Flash said, scanning the shadows beyond the brush, eyes sharp and restless. “We don’t need weapons.”
She knew that, knew just how lethal and unyielding the man was. Her brother-in-law… The term felt strange now, hollow and distant. With Brian gone, death do us part had severed that bond. In its place, clarity settled in like a long-awaited exhale. That tether was broken, not with bitterness, but with peace. Dagger… he wasn’t just some remnant of a painful past. He was hers now. The man she’d always secretly wished had been hers, even when she’d buried that truth beneath guilt and grief.
Brian had clung to her with fear. But Dagger… he simply stood beside her. Steady. Constant. No chains, no demands, just quiet strength that lit something fierce in her.
A spark flared low in her chest, a flicker of something more than fear or panic. Something alive. Something building.
She swallowed hard against the knot in her throat. You’re not broken anymore. The jungle pressed in, thick with heat and tension, but so was she. She had been ashes once, burned out, hollow, but not anymore. A fire stirred beneath her ribs, slow and steady.
Minutes crawled by in heavy silence. The jungle thickened with tension, every rustle or shift of shadow prickling the hairs on her neck. The air was dense with moisture, the kind that clung to skin and made every breath feel heavier. Somewhere in the distance, gunfire cracked, a sharp staccato echo that made her flinch. Her heart leapt with each shot, her mind conjuring every worst-case scenario. She strained to hear a sign, anything, that Dagger was okay.
A hot wave of panic curled through her chest, sharp and suffocating. Logic told her he was trained for this. But love didn’t care about logic.
Then there was movement.
Leaves shuddered behind them. Flash whipped around, pistol up, a silent predator. Another rustle came from the opposite side. Quinn’s pulse thundered. Flash’s gaze snapped between the threats. He couldn’t cover both.
She spotted a figure creeping low through the undergrowth, camouflaged, almost ghostlike in the dim green light. Another man circled behind Flash, too close, too fast. Her stomach dropped. If that second one fired, he would drop Flash, or just as deadly, give away Dagger’s position.
She didn’t think. Her body moved before her mind caught up.
She dropped to a knee and snatched a jagged rock from the dirt, the slick surface biting into her palm. Flash said something, maybe a warning, but the surge of adrenaline drowned everything else out.
“Get away from him!” she shouted, voice cracking like thunder against the hush.
She slammed the rock into the attacker’s skull. The man reeled with a guttural curse. Flash spun and delivered a brutal follow-up strike that sent him sprawling.
But the victory shattered in seconds.
Figures erupted from the trees, half a dozen, maybe more, rifles raised, boots pounding through the muck. Herrera’s insurgents, eyes wild and faces painted with mud.
Quinn’s breath caught in her throat. She raised her trembling hands, heart hammering. Flash’s pistol was nearly empty. They were surrounded.
Cold dread slithered through her, but beneath it curled something hotter, defiance. She didn’t want to go quietly. But common sense screamed louder. If they fired now, they’d be slaughtered.
Rough hands seized her arms, wrenching her upright. Flash fought like a man possessed, but a rifle butt slammed into his ribs, driving him to his knees.
Quinn twisted, shouting, “Dagger!” but her voice was swallowed by mocking laughter.
The world lurched around her as they were dragged deeper into the jungle, shoved forward through choking vines and slick, uneven ground. Each step pounded with a single, desperate thought, hold on… just hold on… Dagger will come for us.
Then she heard it, Langford’s voice, smug and venomous, echoing through the trees. “We have your teammate and your lady love. Give up, Dagger. It’s over.”
But Quinn’s fire sparked hotter. That flicker of flame deep in her gut tethering her to Dagger.
