Page 21 of Axel Martin

Lark sat shotgun, boots propped on the dash, a GoPro mounted near the rearview, and her hair tied up in a messy knot that hadn’t been brushed in two days. It felt like coming home.

“I can’t believe you just up and left that hot SEAL of yours,” Tiff called from the backseat, unwrapping a candy bar like it was a tactical mission.

“He’s notmine,” Lark muttered, even though every cell in her body said otherwise. “He’s on a mission.”

Jake smirked. “Andyou’reon one now too. Just happens to involve hail the size of grapefruit and winds that can relocate a cow, house, and ca.”

Lark smiled, heart starting to pulse with a thrill she hadn’t felt since the last time she was out here. Storm chasing wasn’t just a job—it was a part of her DNA. The buzz in her chest, the constant scan of the sky, the sharp tension between awe and danger—it all came flooding back.

She glanced down at her phone. One unread text from Axel before he’d lost signal.

Miss you already. Come back to me, Lark.

She shoved it into her pocket.

“You sure about this?” Jake asked after a long beat, voice quieter now. “You’ve been through a lot lately. This trip’s not exactly a casual joyride. Some of these cells could drop half a dozen tornadoes—fast, violent ones. We won’t have much time to react.”

“I need this,” Lark said, firm. “I’ve been holding my breath since the day I met him. I need to remember who I was before… and figure out who I want to be now.”

Tiff nodded. “Well, buckle up, babe. Because Oklahoma’s about to bring the thunder.”

Jake flicked on the emergency lights, accelerated past a semi, and tilted his head toward the gray horizon. “We intercept in thirty minutes. If conditions hold, we’ll be near a possible EF-3 by nightfall.”

I licked my lips, heart pounding—not from fear, but anticipation.

I wasn’t running away from Axel.

I was just chasing the storm.

19

Axel

The jungle was thick with heat and silence—the kind of silence that made your spine itch.

Axel crouched behind a crumbling stone wall, sweat dripping from his temple as he scanned the compound through his rifle scope. Two guards paced near the entrance, their rifles slung loose, their movements slow and lazy. Complacent. Stupid.

Good. That made this easier.

Frasier’s voice crackled softly in his earpiece.“Two tangos by the gate. Confirm visual.”

Axel clicked once in reply. Confirmed.

The missing U.N. doctor was somewhere inside that ramshackle cluster of tin-roofed huts, possibly being held with a group of villagers taken for leverage. The warlord running this area was as unstable as the weather system Lark was probably chasing by now.

He hadn’t heard from her in two days. Not since that last text:

Don’t worry about me. I’m fine. Just chasing a little wind.

I didn’t like it. Not the vagueness. Not the silence. Not the way it scraped down my spine when I was already on edge.

Focus, Martin.

I signaled to Max—go time.

In perfect sync, the Golden Team moved. Raven and Taylor flanked left, and Tag and Rush took the right. Nate and I breached the center with silent efficiency. Suppressed shots dropped the guards before they even had a chance to turn their heads.

Inside the compound, everything exploded into motion—screams, gunfire, panicked voices in a language I didn’t recognize. I moved like a ghost, clearing each hut with ruthless precision, heart pounding in time with each step.

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