Page 14 of Rescuing Rebecca
Cody’s JTT teammates weren’t the type to roll over and die.
Not quietly. And not without taking a bunch of narcissistic dicks with them.
Oorah, bitches.
Break over, he reached overhead, and wrapping his calloused palms around the bar, he curled his fingers in a secure grip. One deep breath in, and he lifted the weights off the rack. Then keeping his form proper, he steadied the heavy load over his pecs and started pumping out slow reps, counting each one in his head.
By the eighth, his muscles had started to quake under the strain. The ninth required a full-on groan to finish. And the tenth was a fight to the end until Grant appeared and offered a helping hand.
“Jesus Christ, Babbitt. How many times do I have to tell you not to lift this much weight alone?” He grasped the bar, his forearms rippling as he guided it safely into the cradle.
“Not alone,” he wheezed between heaving breaths, his arms dropping like concrete blocks shoved off a ten-story building. “Eve’s in the studio.” He would’ve pointed her out, but he couldn’t lift his knuckles off the floor.
“And what exactly do you expect her to do when you cave in your chest with three hundred and fifteen pounds of iron?”
Cody shrugged a shoulder and grinned. “Call for help?”
“You’re an idiot. You know that, right?”
“Yep, but you love me anyway.” Grant’s snort gave little in the way of reassurance, but he offered his hand to hoist Cody up from the bench before striding over to the table with the cleaning supplies. “So? How’d it go? Did you land us a couple of Canadian gooses packin’ thirty-ought-sixes?” Upper body still in a state of what the fuck, he reached for his T-shirt and threw it on, his arms protesting every movement.
“It’s geese, you Texas Redneck motherfucker. And yeah, I landed us a black ops team.”
“Really?” Cody poked his head out of the neck hole in time to watch Grant spray down the weight bench before wiping it clean.
“Yep, eight of the best fucking operators you’ll ever meet. One helicopter pilot. And one drunken sea pirate with a patched-up dinghy sporting an older-than-Christ two-stroke Evinrude.”
“You got an off-the-books assault team with one phone call?”
“What?” Grant tossed the rag into the towel bin. “Like it’s hard?”
“You seriously did not just quote Legally Blonde to me.”
“What if I did?”
“Okay, Elle Woods. Time to come clean. Who the fuck are you?”
“Does it matter?”
“No. But?—”
Grant smacked his hand down on Cody’s shoulder, cutting him off, and giving him a shove. “Then let’s go, asshole. We’ve got a team briefing in fifteen.” He hitched his head toward the stairs, and they fell into step together.
Kneeling on the mat, Eve waved as they walked by the yoga studio, all sunshine and smiles. They both waved back. Then she tapped her wrist and pointed at Grant. Probably a reminder about a physical therapy session booked for later in the day.
He gave a thumbs up, and satisfied, she nodded. Then she dropped her chest to the floor, lifted her ass in the air, and in an impressive show of strength, kicked her feet to the ceiling to balance on her forearms.
“Jesus,” Grant grumbled, shaking his head. “She’s got more core strength than the rest of us put together.”
Cody grunted his agreement because he’d spoken the truth. Eve was a pillar of strength, both physically and mentally. She also happened to be the glue holding their family together, and there wasn’t a man, woman, or child in the house who hadn’t benefited from her kind heart, healing touch, and unconditional love.
So yeah, mess with her—and it went without saying—mess with the entire JTT.
They would kill for her. Had killed for her. And they’d do it again.
Because that’s who they were at their core.
Protectors. Defenders of life, liberty, and the people they loved.
