Chapter Twelve
The strong scent of roasting meat reached Sean, and he pressed the button on his comms unit. “Do you fuckers need to eat that swamp rat right now?”
Earlier, two of his men had caught several nutrias and promised a barbecue for dinner. Out here in the middle of nowhere, people ate anything they could, but right now, Sean was focused on staying undetected until their target came in—a man rumored to be dealing in the slave trade. A disgusting motherfucker with a record that would curl the hairs of even the most hardened criminal. The man wasn’t just rumored to partake in cannibalism of the people he enslaved—it was documented.
The scent of roasting meat turned Sean’s stomach.
“Good stuff, Cap’n. There’s plenty. Come’n get it,” Wolf drawled.
“I’m good,” he said tightly, breathing shallowly to keep the smell from hitting the back of his throat and making him gag. He and his brothers had eaten a few of the rats in his lifetime, but they were kids and by the time he’d hit ten years old, he’d developed better taste buds.
Noises came from Wolf. Sean shook his head, a laugh on his lips. “Are you fucking licking your lips, Wolf? You sick bastard.”
“Next we’ll cook up some frog legs for ya, Cap’n.”
“As long as you got butter to dip them in, I’m on board.” Actually, his stomach rumbled. He had a couple MREs—or meals ready to eat—on him, but he wasn’t eager to tear into the chicken parmesan that was made to withstand a fucking apocalypse just yet.
He thought of his last meal with Elise. Her skin glowing in the candlelight, as romantic as he’d ever gotten with a woman. Watching her savor each bite of her scallops had made him as hard as a fucking rock, and he’d barely gotten her out of the El Camino before he was feeling her up. Hand under her skirt, plucking at the tiny strip of fabric covering her pussy as he kissed her and walked her up the steps to her door.
His cock shifted under his fly now, and he cut off that train of thought. He had far too many hours to go before he saw her again. Getting a supreme case of blue balls wasn’t in the spec ops playbook today.
Quiet banter came back to him from the men, and he smiled at their antics that ranged from chest-thumping, one-upping each other to all-out ribbing Frisco about nailing some waitress the night before.
That was when Sean learned how Frisco got his nickname—apparently his last three girlfriends had come from San Francisco.
They weren’t any different from any team he’d ever fought with—not even Knight Ops. He wondered what they were talking about right now. Hunkered down somewhere too, listening to Chaz talk about who he’d taken to his bed and then given cab fare to instead of a text in the morning.
He shook his head. He missed his brothers, even if he’d just seen them at the cabin. And he ached for Elise in a way he’d never thought possible before falling in love with her.
All the crickets in the swamp seemed to have congregated around him and were singing so loudly that he had to crank the volume of his earpiece. Just in time to hear a grunt.
A grunt of pain.
All the hair stood up on his forearms and he raised his weapon. “McMahon, is that you?”
“Jesus, he’s hit. He’s hit, guys. McMahon’s down.”
Adrenaline struck Sean, and he moved from his crouch to a stand, thighs protesting the cramped position he’d held for far too long. He forced his muscles to move and hit the ground running. Swamp water splashed up his legs and flowed over his boots into his socks, but he had to get there.
“I got ya, man. Hold on.” That came from Corporon, and Sean did not like the strain in his tone one fucking bit. It told him more about McMahon’s condition than anything but seeing the man for himself could.
His heart pumped faster, and he rounded a group of cypress where his men were positioned.
Another shot fired past Sean’s head, and he dodged sideways. Motherfucker was shooting at him, and the asshole’d made the grave error of shooting a man on his team.
Now he was going to the grave.
Leaving the care of McMahon to the others, Sean stormed into the grove of trees, all stealth gone. This was what happened when you were captain—you put your life on the line to protect the rest of your team, and he went without thought.
Another shot zipped past him, and he didn’t realize he’d been hit until he smelled the burning of fabric. He glanced down at his shoulder to see a furrow ripped through his sleeve and blood pooling in the opening.
Rage hit him, and he felt those hard pounding rhythms of his heart that secretly he considered to be the reason for his nickname. Thunder.
Well, he was about to open up the heavens on this goddamn threat.
“Thunder, wait for backup.”
He ignored it, didn’t stop. Because other words were filling his ear. “McMahon, hold on. Goddammit, look at me. Don’t close your eyes. Jesus, he’s bleeding out too fast. Someone give me something to make a tourniquet.”
“You can’t tourniquet a neck, Corporon. McMahon, buddy, you’re all right. Just stay calm. We’re getting you out.”
But something told Sean that he was about to get a crash course in team leadership—by losing his first man.
Pain mixed with fury as he pinned his target in the scope of his weapon and took the shot. If anybody was going down today, it was the man who deserved it.
* * * * *
Sean’s collar was too tight, choking him. He hadn’t been in full dress blues for a long time. How soon he’d adjusted to T-shirts and cargo pants.
His sweaty palm slipped on the handle of the coffin and he held on tighter. He wasn’t about to fail his buddy McMahon by letting him fall a second time. It was bad enough he’d let him down once.
Ahead of Sean, Frisco’s shoulders were stiff. And on the other side of the casket were more of his men, fighting to hide their grief that one of them had been killed.
Sean kept his gaze straight ahead and walked, putting aside his own feelings. Truth be told, he was fucking gutted. Sure, he’d heard it all from Jackson and his brothers—men put their lives on the line for their country every day, and McMahon had gone out in a blaze of honor.
Guts and glory, he thought of the Knight Ops motto. But this wasn’t Knight Ops and McMahon shouldn’t have lost his life.
The scents of grass filled his nose with each step he took through the cemetery toward the group of mourners gathered there.
When they stopped and lowered the coffin to rest on a pedestal next to the open grave, a loud sob drew Sean’s head up. He met the eyes of McMahon’s mother.
Fuck, all that pain. A huge waste of life. For what? Because some idiot wanted to remain hidden and continue torturing people.
But then Sean looked around and found Elise, standing there with her fingers clasped and looking so striking in a black dress that skimmed her curves in such elegance that it made him swallow hard.
Their gazes connected.
It could have been me.
But it wasn’t, hers seemed to say.
It might be next time.
Can you really give up because you’re scared?
He wasn’t scared—not for himself. But he never, ever wanted Elise to be the one standing there sobbing for him. Or his own maman.
The service was a blur, and then he and the rest of Team Rou paid their respects, giving their team handshake and then thumping the side of the coffin before walking away.
Elise clutched Sean’s hand, and he realized someone else was flanking her other side. Hawkeye.
Sean nodded to the man.
“Fucking hard loss,” Hawk said.
“Yeah.”
“I knew McMahon a long time. We were friends back in high school. Ran these swamps like ghosts. I can’t believe it was him when I heard.”
Sean tightened his lips. He knew pain, but it was nothing like what Hawk must be experiencing for his long-time buddy.
“Well, I’m going home to visit my maman this afternoon,” Hawk said.
“Give her my best.” Elise put her hand on his arm.
He nodded and walked off, leaving them alone.
All the way back to Elise’s apartment, Sean was silent, and she left him to his own thoughts. But as soon as they entered the house, she pulled him down on the couch and then curled up in his lap.
He put his arms around her and buried his nose in her hair, drawing deep breaths of her sweetness.
“You couldn’t have done anything more, you know,” she said softly.
“I know.” He pushed out a sigh. “I’ll be okay.”
She nodded against him. “I know you will. But can I do anything for you right now? You want a sandwich or something?”
The last thing he wanted was food, but he realized he hadn’t eaten in a long time and she needed to keep herself busy, to feel like she was doing something for him. He nodded. “Ham would be great.”
She gave him a small smile and climbed off his lap. She took a moment to shed her high heels and he watched her hips sway as she went into the kitchen.
He stared at the wall for a long minute, his mind working overtime. What if it had been one of his brothers? He wouldn’t have been there, to share in that experience, and that was not fucking okay.
He had to get back to Knight Ops, and that meant giving up Team Rou.
He’d done his best, and he couldn’t even think of their losing McMahon as a failure on him. After all, shit happened. But he didn’t deserve that team, and if he was honest, he was more than happy being second in command to his brother.
But there was one man who deserved to fight alongside those men—and he was going to speak with him as soon as he ate the sandwich that his beautiful woman was holding out to him.
* * * * *
Hawkeye eyed Sean warily as he took a seat across the restaurant table from him. A pot of coffee already sat there with two mugs, and Hawk was taking his black.
Sean added a bit of cream to his mug and poured it to the brim before speaking.
“I bet you’re wondering why I asked you to join me for breakfast,” Sean said.
“If this has to do with Elise, you’d better not be about to tell me you’re leaving her. You break her heart, I break your legs.” Hawk’s dark eyes shot bullets through Sean.
“Not that. I love Elise, and I’m never letting her go.”
“Good. She fucking needs a man like you.”
Surprised, Sean sat back in his seat. “I’m glad to hear that from you. Your opinion means a lot to Elise… which means it affects me as much.”
Hawk nodded. A platter of eggs and bacon with grits and home fries was set before him and the waitress took Sean’s order before walking off again.
Hawk lifted his fork but didn’t dig into the food. “Say what’s on your mind. Neither of us are pansy asses.”
“Okay. I want you to take over Team Rou.”
It didn’t seem Sean could have told him anything more shocking. Hawk’s jaw dropped as he stared at him for ten full heartbeats.
“You’re fucking kidding me.”
“No. And before you ask, this isn’t about McMahon. It was a horrible loss, but I made my decision before I even walked into that swamp with him.”
Hawk set down his fork. “You want to give up the leadership of Rou.” It wasn’t a question.
Sean nodded. “I don’t belong with them—not like you do. I belong with Knight Ops, and if you’ll agree to take this promotion, I’ll tell Jackson after I leave here.”
“Does Elise know anything about this? Does she have something to do with you offering this to me?” Hawk’s lips twisted in suspicion.
He shook his head. “She doesn’t know anything. I thought it best to discuss it with you first. Will she have a problem with it?”
What he was asking was out of his comfort zone and almost galled him a bit. Sean was basically saying that Hawk knew the woman he loved better than he himself did. But he planned to remedy that for the rest of his life.
“It won’t matter to her one way or another,” Hawk said.
“Good. So, what do you say?”
“I say you’re fucking reckless and a snot-nosed brat to throw a promotion back in Colonel Jackson’s face.”
Sean couldn’t help but chuckle. “So we both know Jackson.”
“Uh-huh. And he’s gonna crush you like a bug, Knight. You’re crazy, you know that?”
“Probably, but I know where my heart and loyalty lie, and I’m making the right decision for all parties concerned.”
Hawk stared him down for a second. “Well, if you’re passing the baton, who am I to turn it down?”
“This all depends on Jackson’s final say, you know that.”
“I know.” Hawk picked up his fork again as if the conversation was over and everything was settled. “I’ll take Rou, and gladly. They’re my boys and I’ll do right by them.”
Sean felt the weight of that—the passing of the baton, as Hawk had said, with a show of respect for what Sean had done for that team. “It’s settled then. I’ll speak to Jackson as soon as I leave here.”
“I might as well come with you to get the honors of the position.” Hawk’s teeth gleamed as he gave a cocky grin. He sobered. “You sure your old team will take you back?”
“Hell yeah. Family always welcomes the prodigal son back into its fold.” He took a sip of his coffee with his own cocky smile.
Hawk chuckled. “Damn, boy, you’re just right for this line of work. And for Elise. Take care of her, got it?”
“I plan to.” For the rest of his life. The ring seemed to burn in his pocket.
“And Hawk?”
The man looked up from his meal.
“I hope you like nutria because those crazy fuckers are mad for it.”
He licked his lips. “I’m feelin’ a bit like having some barbecue right now.”