Page 23 of Axel Martin

But my throat tightened when I saw a video clip starting to auto-play.

Axel.

I’d filmed him the morning he left. Sitting on the porch. Drinking coffee and smirking when I told him to be careful.

“You’re the reckless one, Bennett,” he’d said.

And now, here I was.

Heart racing. Storm howling.

Chasing wind—and maybe, in my own way, chasing him.

21

Axel

Somewhere in South Sudan

The kid clung to my neck like a vice.

He couldn’t have been more than five or six, weighed next to nothing, but his grip was iron. His eyes—wide, dark, too old for his face—never stopped scanning the tree line. Smart kid. He already knew not to trust silence.

I adjusted my hold and ducked low beneath the brush as we moved. The exfiltration point was another half klick west. And every step we took in this damn heat felt like dragging concrete through fire.

Frasier’s voice crackled over the radio. “We’ve got eyes at your six. Motorcycle scouts—two riders.”

“Copy,” I murmured. “We can’t run. Not with civilians.”

“Raven and I will intercept. Keep moving.”

The radio went quiet.

I shifted the boy higher on my back. He didn’t speak a word. Just clung tighter.

Nate had the U.N. doctor and the second kid behind me, and we moved fast but quiet—jungle training in full force. But my head wasn’t entirely in it.

Because I hadn’t heard from her.

Lark.

Not a single message in over forty-eight hours.

She said she was chasing wind. Said not to worry. But silence wasn’t her style. Not unless something was wrong.

Or she didn’t want me to know.

I hated the ache in my chest more than the bullets we’d dodged earlier.

I shook it off. Couldn’t think like that now. Get the civilians out. Get my team out. Then I’d find a sat line and track her down if I had to hijack a damn weather balloon to do it.

A sudden burst of gunfire cracked through the trees—close. Too close.

Nate shoved the doc to the ground and shielded the kid. I dropped, rolled, and unslung my rifle in one motion. Two men broke through the brush, shouting, guns raised.

I didn’t hesitate. Two shots—clean, quick.

They went down hard.

---