Page 16 of Dagger

Lechuza was propped against the wall, naked except for the bruises on her skin. Flash should have noticed her body first, and yeah, he did, in a way only a man could, but this wasn’t about her abused flesh, and the professional part of him detached from the man through sheer will. The dim, flickering light revealed the cracked, grime-streaked walls and the faint drip of water echoing from somewhere deep within the building, a grim reminder of the decay that surrounded them.

This woman needed him on another whole level, and he would rise to that need like a winged hunter on a dark gust of wind. The long, lean lines of muscle, the deep sun-kissed tan of her skin, the impossible contrast of it against the filth aroundher spoke of strong Indigenous roots, of a heritage steeped in warriors and survivors. A legacy that had endured centuries of battle and blood. Amid the stale odor of dust and lingering sweat, something shifted in the vicinity of his heart, and for a moment, his professional detachment crumbled.

She didn’t hunch or try to cover herself, but her nakedness was just part of the wholeness of her, no modesty, no shame, only courage–just a raw, compelling defiance. It was easy to see that her dark nipples were pierced. Just another indication of her heritage–ownership, autonomy, and control over her own body. Her rebel heart ignited a craving that demanded he find and know every piece of her.

But what really stopped him cold, brought him back from that spellbound spiral, her eyes. Big, amber-gold, catching the dim light like burnished metal, sharp as a blade. The way her eyes locked onto him made his gut clench in a way that made him sit up and think, something important was happening.

Outside the jungle was hushed as if admiring the moment between them, agreeing with his assessment as the rain pattered softly against the broken panes. The retort of Bondo’s suppressed weapon showed them that chaos waited beyond this room.

Flash had seen men in her position before, their eyes hollowed out, shattered beyond repair. But not her. No, Lechuza was still watching, still hunting. He knew that look. It was the same one he saw in the mirror before a fight. Like the owl she was named for and the frogman oath he bled red, white, and blue, she had the kind of gaze that saw everything, missed nothing. Even in her weakest moment, she was assessing, calculating, cataloging threats.

His throat went tight, something dark and sharp twisting in his chest. Fuck. Danger in a beautiful, compelling package, andhis professionalism slipped again. Even like this. Especially like this.

Her back shifted slightly, and that’s when he saw the ink against her delicate, mottled ribcage. A Chakana, the sacred Incan Cross, the kind of shit that wasn’t just decoration but a mark of something deeper. His mouth went dry, and the man he was burned with more than simple, empty desire. Across her shoulder blades, a pair of wings. Not delicate feathers. Not soft. They were bold, black, edged in shadow, wings that looked like they were meant to tear through the dark and take flight. Just like her.

Flash swallowed hard, his jaw flexing as the distant clamor of the outside world faded into a heavy, oppressive silence. He needed to get her out of here. Now.

But he also needed to be careful.

Because this wasn’t just a rescue.

This was two predators meeting in the dark, and her talons were still sharp as shattered obsidian.

Flash stepped into the shadowed room, his hands loose yet every sense on high alert, his heart pounding in quiet defiance as he surveyed the ruined space. His voice, so much softer than anyone on his team had ever heard, broke the oppressive silence.“Lechuza,” he said, low and deliberate. “We’re American military. We’re here to—” He paused, the words “home” and “rescue” not quite fitting the truth of the moment. “Set you free.”

For a long, suspended moment, she didn’t move or breathe. Her eyes, steady and unyielding, fixed on his as if measuring every scar and every secret strength hidden beneath his calm exterior. In that silent exchange, Flash felt the weight of her challenge, a silent affirmation of two equals meeting in the dark.

“Warriors always come for their own.” Her eyes traveled across his hulking teammates, the reinforcement of their creed. No man left behind. It resonated with each and every one ofthem. “That’s fitting. I accept your offer,” she replied in a voice that was both resonant and cool, a tone that spoke of battles fought and losses endured. Flash crouched to meet her gaze. The sailor known for sharp wit now stood bare before her unflinching courage. “You’re safe now,” he said, voice thick with a promise that cost him something to speak.

Her response was soft, tinged with melancholy and wisdom, “Safety is an illusion, and promises are empty until fulfilled.” Those words stung him, not with anger, but with the shared understanding of a lifetime of struggle.

A low murmur rippled through the team, and even in the dim light, Shark’s whispered “SEAL babe” drifted on the air. Flash only nodded, knowing that such labels could never capture the depth of her.

From his pack, he drew out a well-worn T-shirt and a pair of cotton shorts, more than just fabric. They were a token of refuge in the wreckage, a rare emblem of care in a broken world. Gently, he offered her the garments, giving her the choice to take them.

Her eyes never wavered from his as she regarded the articles of respect, a silent, grateful acknowledgment that spoke louder than words. She blinked, and slowly, with deliberate grace, she took them from him, her warm skin brushing across his fingers. She clutched them for a second. This wasn’t about modesty, Flash realized. It was about power. About choice. She slipped into the cotton, pulled the excess waistband snug around her narrow waist and tied a knot with quiet defiance. Then she looked at him, never breaking eye contact, as the fabric slid over her skin. It was all about reclaiming control.

He trembled at the power in her, the quiet, coiled confidence behind her eyes. She was a predator in the purest sense. Somehow, this,thiswas intimacy. Raw. Uncompromising.Battlefield-born. But it wasn’t brotherhood. It wasn’t lust. It was something rarer.Recognition.

She stood in her pain, wrapped in dignity, claiming space like it was her birthright. He’d never met a woman who held herself like that. He’d never metanyonewho had.

It shook him. She shook him. Not her beauty, not her strength, though both were formidable. It was the quiet, electric truth that she might be his equal.

Bracing one hand against the rough wall, she pushed herself up. Each measured move she took was a testament to her strength, a quiet defiance against the pain that threatened to overwhelm her. Yet after only a few steps, her strength faltered, and she collapsed.

Flash was there in an instant, catching her before she could hit the unforgiving floor. For a long, heart-stopping moment, he stabilized her, his grip firm but impossibly gentle, protective without being threatening. As he held her, their eyes met in a profound exchange. Hers shone with silent gratitude and relief, while he burned with fierce determination to honor this woman with every step he took out of this hellhole.

In a voice barely above a whisper, he said, “I’d be honored to carry you.” He felt her fingers twitch lightly against his sleeve, a delicate, unspoken acceptance that confirmed his every unvoiced hope. Slowly, she nodded.

From a distance, Dagger watched, stunned into silence. Even Tex murmured, “Hell of a way to set wheels in motion,” a low tribute to the transformation unfolding before them.

With careful, deliberate movements, Flash lifted her, cradling her gently against his chest as though she were the very embodiment of everything worth fighting for. Every step he took was a quiet vow, a promise that even in a world where safety was a fleeting illusion, he would be her steadfast guardian.

“Incoming,” Bondo shouted from his defensive position. The team surrounded the hostages like a wall, and the moment they stepped into the main hallway, gunfire erupted, sharp bursts cracking through the humid air.

Flash instinctively shielded Lechuza’s body with his own. His arms tightened around her as he ducked, her weight pressing against his chest, the heat of her bare skin searing against his forearms. His protective instincts roared to life, primal and absolute. She was vulnerable, exposed, and in his arms, which meant she was his responsibility. Her shield. His to keep safe, nothing but concrete reality for him and his brothers.

Brawler slammed into cover behind an overturned gurney, bullets shredding the walls above his head. Flash dove beside him, setting her down, his SAW already snapping to position, letting the big gun talk for him. Every time he squeezed the trigger, it was for her, Baxter, and the team he loved. Every enemy that fell was one less threat between them and survival.

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