Page 9 of Dagger

With the warm glow of their brotherhood wrapping around him, Brawler’s fist flicked in a sharp motion. Move.

Beast obeyed instantly, dropping into a stealth crawl, nose low, body taut.

Brawler’s heart pounded, not from exertion, but from the intensity of the moment. This was the part he lived for, moving like a shadow through the jungle, his boots silent against the damp earth, weapon up, senses sharp. The scent of wet vegetation and decomposing leaves filled the air, masking everything beneath it.

The thick jungle bracketed them like the tall, imposing walls of a maze, but Brawler didn’t need to see open sky to know the direction they were going. Forward. Always forward. A rhythm ran beneath his breath, a beat from a song buried deep in his brain.

“Better run through the jungle…”

Hoo-fucking-yah!

Creedence Clearwater Revival might have gotten the vibe wrong, the jungle was thick, wild, alive. His team didn’t run from anything. They ran through all right. Through obstacles, through threats, through anything that stood between them and the mission.

Just like tonight.

Their valuable hostage was out there, somewhere beyond the tangle of trees in the enemy’s grasp. That meant only one thing.

The wolves of war were on the move with. Beast leading the pack.

The Belgian Malinois moved like he’d been born from the terrain. His body low. Muscles coiled. Ears pricked. Silent. Lethal. Dialed in. Even in NVG green, Brawler could see him, see every detail of the rich red coat, the black mask down his face and barrel chest. Striking. Commanding. Built for war. Built for him.

Others saw a military working dog. Brawler saw a partner. A mind. A mirror.

Beast had come to him trained, but that didn’t mean bonded. That took time. Respect. Trust. Some dogs were wiry and sleek. Not Beast. He was solid, powerful, all muscle, all aggression, all instinct. Always had been.

But it wasn’t the muscle that made him dangerous. It was the brain.

Beast didn’t just obey. He decided. He tracked Brawler’s breath, his posture, the tension in his body. He moved with zero hesitation.

He didn’t wait for orders. Heknewwhat to do.

Just like Brawler knew he’d never be alone.

They moved through the jungle together. Two ghosts on the hunt.

The team spread into a staggered formation, focused, every nerve taut.

Moving low and fast, a unit of shadows slipping through the thick undergrowth, silent and deadly.

The humid air wrapped around him, thick as wet wool, carrying the distant scent of damp earth, sweat, and diesel fuel.

Without warning, Beast stopped. Just froze.

His ears twitched. Nose flaring, reading the jungle like a book written in scent.

Then, a flick of his tail, the barest shift of weight. A second passed. Then two. Nothing but the weight of the jungle, waiting for the anticipated violence as the predators at the top of the food chain went head-to-head in a titanic battle.

Brawler’s pulse quickened. Beast was on Baxter’s scent.

Brawler tapped his comm. “We’re close. My boy is on target.”

“When that dog talks, we listen,” Dagger said.

“He walks the walk, too,” Easy said. “Can’t get enough of him going intobeast-mode.”

Tex responded. “Focus up. We’re in their backyard now.”

He wasn’t wrong. The hospital’s perimeter was half a click ahead.

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