Page 27 of Rescuing Aria
Mac grunts. “They think. They shoot. They listen. Works for me.”
“Blaze?” Jenny turns to Blaze.
He shrugs, smirking. “They’ll do.”
High praise, from him.
And then her eyes land on me.
“Jon?”
I don’t hesitate. Not for a second.
“They’re in.”
Jenny nods once. “Razor, Delta-Five. Storm, Delta-Six.”
Blaze steps forward, extending a hand to each of them in turn.
“Welcome to Delta.” A beat, then that irreverent grin. “Try not to die. The paperwork’s a bitch.”
After debriefing and processing, we head to the mess hall. Guardian HRS’s food puts military bases to shame—Forest believes in feeding his people well. Our table in the corner has been Delta’s unofficial territory for years, and the new guys follow without needing direction.
“So,” Storm loads his plate with an impressive mountain of pasta, “what’s the deal with Guardian HRS anyway? Private company running paramilitary rescue operations doesn’t exactly scream ‘normal business model.’ Forest Summers started it?”
“More like created it. He and Doc Summers.” I dive into my chili mac, best on the planet. “Forest and Doc Summers are foster siblings,” I explain, noting their surprised expressions. “Started Guardian HRS initially to rescue kids from abusive foster situations like they experienced. Expanded into human trafficking operations, then broadened further into all types of extractions.”
“Forest is…” Blaze pauses, searching for words. “Different. Brilliant doesn’t cover it. Self-made billionaire before eighteen, but operates on another level than the rest of us mere mortals. Savant-level smart, but his interpersonal skills are a bit off.”
“You’ll meet Mitzy soon,” Jenny adds. “Head of tech division. You can’t miss her. She’s a bundle of chaos and changes her hair color weekly. Right now it’s neon purple with green tips. Geniuswith drones and surveillance tech. She’s behind the RUFI units and the bumblebee drones.”
“She’s wicked smart. Not as smart as Forest,” Blaze clarifies, “but nobody is.”
“How’s that?” Razor asks, his plate modestly filled.
“Let’s just say there’s nothing normal about Forest or Doc Summers,” Mac answers around a mouthful of garlic bread. “But they pay well, and they don’t ask us to do anything we wouldn’t be proud of. Better than government work.”
Storm looks intrigued. “What about the actual operations? How do you decide who to help?”
“No politicians deciding which lives matter based on polling numbers.” Blaze’s voice holds an edge that speaks of past experience. “If someone needs help and they can reach us, we go. Simple as that.”
“Not always simple,” Jenny corrects. “But that’s the idea. Some missions are client-funded, others Forest takes on pro bono. Either way, we don’t leave people behind.”
Storm grins. “Sounds like my kind of operation.”
My phone buzzes against my hip. Aria’s face lights up my screen, and I can’t help the smile that follows.
“There it is,” Mac points his fork at me accusingly. “That dopey look. Man’s in love.”
“Shut up,” I mutter, but there’s no heat behind it.
“The Holbrook heiress, right?” Storm whistles low. “Aim high, brother.”
“It’s not like that.” I silence my phone, promising myself I’ll call her back after dinner. “She’s not what people think.”
“Never are,” Razor says quietly, pushing food around his plate. “The good ones, anyway.”
The conversation shifts to past missions, Blaze regaling the new guys with increasingly embellished versions of our greatest hits. I watch them integrate, noting how Storm naturally fallsinto banter while Razor observes, offering precise comments at perfect intervals.
