Page 19 of Axel Martin

And then—

Bang bang bang.

“Axel! You alive in there?” Rush’s voice. Of course, it was Rush.

Axel groaned into my hair. “Do not open that door.”

Another bang. “Cooper said your communication’s off. We thought maybe you were dead. Or naked.”

I laughed into the pillow. “Definitely one of those.”

Axel buried his face under a pillow. “I’m going to kill him.”

I whispered, “Can I go out wrapped in your blanket and give them coffee without explaining anything?”

“No.”

“I’ll wear pants.”

“No.”

“Just boots?”

“Lark.”

I kissed his jaw. “You’re cute when you’re territorial.”

He rolled me beneath him with a growl. “I’m not cute. I’m dangerous.”

I bit my lip. “Then prove it. After breakfast.”

His grin was pure sin. “You’re not walking straight out of this cabin, are you?”

“I wasn’t planning to.”

16

Axel

The silence in the truck was heavier than any briefing I'd sat through. I had faced cartel raids, jungle extractions, and hostage rescues under sniper fire—but leavingheragain felt worse.

Frasier Mountain faded in the rearview, but Lark’s scent still clung to his T-shirt, her voice echoing in his head from that morning. “Be careful, Axel.”

Always. But this mission was different. Not because of the location—South Sudan was hot, brutal, and corrupt, but I’d been in worse. It was different because Lark wasn’t the same woman who had blown into my life like a summer storm weeks ago. She had carved out a place in my soul I didn’t know I had.

The team was quiet beside me in the transport van. Fraiser scrolled through recon data. Ghost leaned his head back, earbuds in. Viper adjusted his vest without a word. Cyclone hadn’t stopped scanning the horizon since they crossed into town.

I glanced down at the encrypted tablet on my lap—satellite images of a ransacked village, a U.N. doctor gone missing, and whispers of a warlord recruiting children into his ranks. Theirjob? Get in, find the doctor, and get out without igniting a political firestorm.

I thumbed the screen off and let my head fall back.

Three weeks, maybe four.

I’d promised her no longer than that.

Lark had smiled like she believed me, but I saw the flicker in her eyes—that deep-rooted fear of being left behind again.

If this went sideways…

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