Page 88 of Dagger

Dagger seethed,his anger fueling his determination, but not overshadowing it, his head pounding and mouth tasting like blood and bile. His arms were bound tightly behind him, wrists chafed from the flex-cuffs, but the low thrum of voices and the smell of dirt and sweat told him everything he needed to know.

He blinked through the haze just enough to see them both a few feet away, Quinn slumped beside him, blood on her lip, eyes glazed but conscious. Flash was next to her, crouched awkwardly, breathing through clenched teeth. His face was bruised, but his eyes flicked toward Dagger immediately.

Dagger gave a slow nod, subtle, practiced.We’re getting out of here.

No one spoke. Not with Langford’s men too close, pacing, smoking, checking gear. But SEALs didn’t need words.

Dagger flexed his wrists behind him, rolling his shoulders to test movement. The flex-cuffs bit harder into his skin, but his mind was already searching for angles. He made eye contact with Flash again and flicked his chin.

Plan forming.

Flash responded with a slight dip of his head, then slowly shifted his position behind Quinn, keeping his movements slow, natural, non-threatening.

Dagger turned his head toward Quinn. Her eyes met his. Fear. Fury. But deeper, trust.He’s going to get us out of this.

With quiet precision, he began to work his wrists closer toward Flash’s. It was tight, awkward, but every inch mattered. SEAL training ran bone-deep, and Flash picked up on what he was doing instantly. They maneuvered carefully, nudging, twisting, until their cuffs touched.

It was primitive, desperate teamwork, but it worked. One final shove, and the flex-cuffs buckled. Plastic snapped with a faint crack.

Freedom.

Dagger didn’t even think. He surged forward, slamming his shoulder into the closest guard’s knee just as Flash rose, scooping Quinn into his arms without hesitation.

It was to their benefit that Herrera wanted them alive. Someone shouted, but Flash was already running. They didn’t call him that for nothing. That fucker was fast.

Dagger spun, snatching a sidearm from a stunned attacker’s holster, fingers wrapping around cool steel. He fired three precise shots, one center mass, one to the head of another man, the third dead mass as chaos exploded.

Langford’s voice screamed somewhere behind the melee. “Get them! Don’t let them, shit!”

Dagger fired again, driving the rest of Langford’s men into disarray. They scattered, ducking for cover, firing wildly into the jungle. It was all he needed.

“Cease fire,” Langford shouted. “We need them alive or there’s no payday!”

Dagger turned and sprinted into the dense underbrush, vanishing into the shadows after Flash and Quinn.

Branches slapped against his face, sweat pouring off him, heart pounding in perfect sync with his bootfalls. The jungle swallowed the gunfire behind him, replacing it with the sharp buzz of insects and the crackle of leaves underfoot.

Ahead, a flicker of movement, a flash of Flash’s silhouette carrying Quinn through the trees.

Dagger grunted, pushing harder, staying low. He caught up just enough to give a sharp hand signal—stop, regroup, listen.

Flash glanced back, slowing slightly. Quinn clung to him, dazed but alert, her arms wrapped tightly around his neck.

Dagger slipped beside them, checking for pursuit. Nothing yet, but it wouldn’t last. He jerked his hand into a new signal—split formation, fallback trail, move fast.

Flash nodded and pressed forward, angling them toward thicker cover.

Dagger exhaled hard. They were alive. Free.

But this wasn’t over.

He tightened his grip on the pistol, green eyes scanning the darkness.Langford thought this was a trap. He’s about to find out what happens when you corner a couple of SEALs. He’d show him what brotherhood was all about…the hard way.

17

Dagger bracedone forearm against the twisted trunk of a massive ceiba tree, its roots sprawling like gnarled veins through the jungle floor. Steam rose off his skin, sweat mixing with the thick humidity clinging to every inch of him. His chest heaved from the sprint after that frantic getaway, muscles trembling, lungs burning. Every part of him screamed for rest, but there was no time.

The canopy above barely filtered the light, casting flickering shadows over the damp, loamy ground. Low, urgent voices drifted from nearby, Flash and Quinn, murmuring in a pocket of tangled undergrowth where leaves glistened with recent rainfall and vines hung like serpents from the trees.

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