Page 17 of A Trident Christmas Baby

“Got it,” Diego replied, his rifle spitting out a volley of fire that dropped two Russians trying to flank them.

The fight was brutal and chaotic. Bullets sliced through the air, ricocheting off metal beams and walls. Ace ducked behind a stack of crates, returning fire as he took quick stock of his team. Potter was laying down cover fire from behind a forklift, his movements precise and practiced, while Stitch held off two men on the far side of the room, his weapon steady despite the heavy return fire.

Dino was covering their six, eyes sharp as he picked off two men attempting to circle around them. “Clear on the rear!” he called, his voice barely cutting through the gunfire.

Ace darted forward, using the brief lull to advance deeper into the warehouse. He spotted Sokolov and three of his men scrambling toward a back exit and gestured to Irish, who nodded and broke into a sprint, closing the distance. Just as he reached the doorway, an enemy rounded the corner, aiming straight at him.

Ace’s heart lurched, but Frost was quicker. A single shot from his sniper rifle rang out, and the threat dropped, lifeless, to theground. “Clear,” Frost’s voice crackled over the comms, cool as ever.

The fight raged on, each team member moving with precision honed from years of working together, anticipating each other’s moves.

Ace took out two men coming up from the left, his mind and body on autopilot as he dodged and weaved, instincts firing faster than thought.

Skittles threw a flashbang across the room, disorienting two of Sokolov’s men long enough for Diego to slip in and take them down.

But the enemy fought with ferocity, forcing the team to adapt with each step. More of Sokolov’s men seemed to appear out of nowhere, and Ace nearly took a hit when one of them fired from a dark corner. He rolled, returning fire and catching the man’s leg, and Stitch followed up with a quick, clean shot to finish the job.

Ace felt the weight of the mission pressing down on him. His mind raced as room after room was cleared, but there was no sign of Kirill. Frustration began to creep in, mixing with the adrenaline.

“Where the hell is he?” he muttered, scanning the walls for hidden doors or passageways.

Just then, movement caught his eye, a shadow darting toward the far end of the hallway. Ace’s instincts kicked in.

“Got a runner!” he called, breaking into a sprint.

The hidden door opened just as Ace reached it, and without hesitation, he followed. The icy night air hit him as he stepped outside, only to feel the cold steel of a pistol pressed to the side of his head.

“Drop it,” a low, heavy Russian-accented voice ordered.

Ace froze, his rifle slipping from his hands and hanging loosely from his body. His jaw clenched as he turned his headslightly, catching a glimpse of Kirill Sokolov out of the corner of his eye. The Russian’s face was twisted into a smug grin. His pistol was pressed firmly against Ace’s temple.

Kirill laughed, the sound sharp and mocking against the night. “Well, well. The great Navy SEAL has been brought to his knees. Did the mouse think that he could hunt the cat?”

Ace’s muscles tensed, his mind racing for a way out. He had multiple weapons at his disposal that sat just inches away, but it might as well have been a mile. Kirill’s finger hovered over the trigger, and Ace knew this could be it.

Time seemed to stop.

Alex.

His thoughts were filled with images of her and their unborn child. Her smile flickered in his mind, the way her hand rested protectively over her belly. A lump formed in his throat as he braced himself for the inevitable.This is it. This is how it ends. I’m sorry, Alex.

But then, something primal surged within him. A voice, deep and guttural, screamed at him to fight. He couldn’t give up—not when his family was waiting for him. Ace’s hand inched toward his thigh, where his combat knife was sheathed.

The Russian barked an order in his native tongue, pressing the pistol harder against Ace’s skull.

Not today,Ace thought. His muscles were coiled and ready to spring.

Just as Ace was about to make his move, Irish’s voice crackled in his earpiece. “Ace. Tilt your head an inch to your left.”

The calm certainty in Irish’s voice was all Ace needed. He didn’t hesitate, moving his head ever so slightly.

The sound of the shot was deafening, even in the open air.

Before he could act, the Russian’s head snapped backward. A crimson mist filled the air as a bullet tore through his skull. Kirill’s body crumpled to the ground, lifeless.

Ace blinked, his heart hammering as the realization hit him.

Ace exhaled a shaky breath, his chest heaving as he grabbed his rifle and got to his feet.

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