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So we’re working on destroying ourselves.
“Got a situation,” Hunter’s voice crackles over the com.
“I have eyes on Finn.” I’m hidden in the treeline with my squad, ready to pick off any straggling enemies who think the bare-chested maniac is an easy target.
“Not him. Jett.”
“Where?” My throat tightens. Hunter rattles off a location, and I bark a command to the squad leader. “Don’t let Finn out of your sight.”
“Yes, sir!”
Sticking to shadows, I move across the compound. We cleaned out the personnel, freeing the field workers and picking off the cartel’s enforcers, but I never stop scanning for enemies and Dom’s snake-eyed face.
Gun up, senses primed, I slip into the barn where Hunter’s directions lead.
Our men have weapons trained on a row of bound captives, but half the cartel guys are down.
Dead or unconscious, faces pounded, they trickle blood into the packed-dirt floor.
Jett straddles one, blasting him in wet, meat-tenderizing punches and rage-powered dominance. “Tell me where he is.”
Sometimes, I think Finn’s the most unhinged.
Then I remember Jett never had a fucking door.
“He won’t stop.” Hunter’s words are punctuated by pounding flesh.
Shit.
I open the bonds I’ve been smothering because my self-loathing is heavy enough without piling on my pack brothers’ pain.
When the emotional punch hits, I stagger, grabbing Hunter’s arm to keep steady.
“Welcome to the party,” he mutters.
Inside, Hunter seethes like a banked fire, all tamped-down rage about to burst.
Finn’s two flames—one an intense, unwavering blue, the other crazy sparks that flash and flare.
Jett’s an inferno.
So much pain.
Instead of pushing the emotions down, I force myself to feel his hurt and fear.
“Help me grab him.” Hunter hauls Jett off the guy he’s beating to death.
Touch intensifies our bond. When I grab Jett’s arm, the dark, toxic mass of his fear settles in my gut like I’m the one who swallowed poison.
We drag Jett out of the barn and haul him against a rusted-out trailer.
“Easy.” I press his back to the metal, one hand on his chest while Hunter holds his other side.
Jett’s eyes are wild. His long, dark hair flies out of its tie and his ice-carved face is spattered in blood. I ease my dominance over him, trying to reassure him through our bond.
Jett’s breathing slows.
But even though his rage fades, fear keeps lashing our bond like the tail of a viper.
