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“Who the fuck is this?” I demand, already on my feet and scanning for threats.
“Angel,” the man replies, and my blood turns to fucking ice. It’s a fucking code, one I haven’t heard in fucking years. One that can only mean the past I’ve tried to bury is back to bite me in the ass.
Swallowing back the dread clawing at my throat, I ask the question I already know the answer to: “What’s gone wrong?”
“Down south,” Angel says, grim as fucking death. “Rebels got Hawk’s unit. We need you.”
Fuck me sideways. Brutal thugs with a rep for making folks disappear in pieces. And they’ve got my brothers. Men, I’ve bled and killed beside, who put it all on the line so assholes like me can sleep at night.
There’s no choice here. Not really. Honor and loyalty are branded into my fucking DNA. I can’t turn my back on ‘em, not even for Nat.
But Christ, leaving her now… when we barely just started.
I close my eyes for a beat, jaw clenched so tight it creaks. When I open ‘em again, Natasha’s staring at me, eyes wide and worried in her beautiful face. I drink her in, memorizing every inch. Her full, parted lips, the satin scarf wrapped around her head. I know the image will be seared into my brain. The one bit of beauty I can carry into the shitstorm that’s coming.
“When do I leave?” I ask Angel, my voice dead even to my own ears.
“Transport’s waiting. Pack light - your gear will be on site.”
‘Course it fuckin’ will. Can’t leave a trace, nothing to ID my corpse if it all goes to hell…
I end the call. Natasha’s already reaching for me, a thousand questions in her eyes. But I can’t give her answers, can’t let my bloodstained past put a target on her back.
So I do the only thing I can, the thing that rips my guts out to say.
“I gotta go.” Four words, but they hit like a motherfucker, shattering our peace.
“What? Where are you going?”
I’m already in motion, training taking over as I gear up. “I’m sorry… I can’t tell you, babe. I’ll send someone to watch over you. I need you to trust me.”
“Trust you?” she echoes, hurt and confusion lacing her husky voice. “You’re freaking me out. At least tell me where-”
“I can’t,” I cut her off, harsher than I mean to. Desperation claws at my throat. The need to make her understand warring with the knowledge that every second I stay is crucial.
She flinches at my tone but fires right back, hurt flashing to anger in a blink. My fearless, stubborn girl. “Don’t you dare pull that macho bullshit, Jacques Corsi! We’re a fucking team…”
The rest of her tirade is lost as I slam my mouth to hers, shutting her up the only way I know. I pour everything I can’t say into the brutal kiss.I love you. I’m sorry. Please, forgive me.
When I finally tear myself away, we’re both panting for air. She’s clinging to me, nails biting into my forearms hard enough to sting. I wanna drown in her softness, her heat, but I know if I don’t leave now, I never will.
So I grip her face in my hands, forcing her to meet my burning stare. “Listen to me, baby girl. I’m coming back. Dunno how longI’ll be gone, but I’ma fight through heaven and hell to get home to you.”
Tears spill down her face, but her voice is pure steel. “You better, Frost. Or I swear to God I’ll hunt you down myself and beat your ass.”
A ghost of a smirk tugs at my mouth. That’s my girl. Pressing one last kiss to her forehead, I breathe her in - warm sugar and spice. Natasha.
Then, hating myself with every miserable inch of my soul, I turn and walk out. Each step is a knife to the ribs. The urge to go back and say fuck it, a gnawing ache in my bones.
But I don’t. I can’t. Not if I wanna keep my woman safe.
* * *
The mission is FUBAR from the jump. Shit intel, comms on the fritz… A shit-show of Murphy’s fucking Law. We’re outgunned and up to our asses, wading through the jungle muck.
It’s a fucking mess. Bullets whizzing past my ears, men screaming, choppers thumping overhead. I’m running on pure muscle memory.
“Frost, six o’clock!”
