Page 103 of Covert Mission
Evan pipes up. “I think you’re right. The odds of someone grabbing her from here are low. They’d have to have balls of fucking titanium to grab someone from the midst of our encampment.”
My voice comes out rough as I fight through the debris inside my head. “The facts are Camile was upset. Her job might be gone. It’s obvious she takes that seriously. So, she might be trying to handle this. I should have helped her deal with that first, instead of being all fired up, set on scaring that asshole mindless. He could have waited.”
Truck looks disturbed. “Uh, guys. I have a feeling I didn’t help this situation.”
“How’s that?” I ask as a storm of weird energy plays out behind his hard gaze.
“I was kind of shaking her down.”
The red haze in my field of view turns into a storm cloud bursting with deadly lightning. My words come out low, feral, and full of all that crackling energy. “What the fuck?”
“You said you thought she was hiding something. I don’t appreciate her deceiving you. I tried to get her to show her cards.”
The air—even though we are outdoors—goes dead silent. Not even a bird or a bug dares make a sound. As I glare at my friend, my long-time teammate, I fight for control.
“Fucking hell.”
Something inside me snaps. I lunge at Truck.
ChapterThirty-Two
We hit the ground like a ton of bricks. Two big bodies colliding with solid earth.
An elbow clocks my jaw.
I land a blow, but it glances off Truck’s chin.
We tumble across the ground, growling as we grapple.
Then, I’m tumbling backwards, ripped away by four strong hands.
I scramble to my feet, fueled by pure adrenaline.
“Cool the fuck off,” Scout growls in my face and shoves me away. “Get your head right, Chief.”
I seethe at Truck. Jabbing my finger in his direction. “You had one fucking job!”
His hands clench by his sides, but his eyes have gone to that soulless color they turn when he disregards all levels of personal safety. His switch has been flipped.
Well, so has mine.
Bring it, motherfucker.
We’re both in the red zone.
“Enough!” Evan steps between us. “You two are like dogs. I need a dog whistle, or better yet, a shock collar.”
I spit on the ground and the taste of dirt and blood in my mouth are a potent reminder of all the times I’ve had fistfights before. A long time ago.
Not one fight since I’ve become a SEAL.
I have more control than that.
My composure under pressure is the very underpinning of the man I made myself into.
Until now.
Until a woman made me lose my head.