When he didn’t, I said, “What the fuck does that mean for Adam?”
Foster turned back to us, his jaw clenched so hard I was surprised his teeth weren’t cracking. “It means if someone goes after him, it won’t be us.”
Finlay said, “What the fecking hell do ye mean, if?”
Foster shoved his hands in through his hair. “A decision still hasn’t been made. According to Mercer, the intel still isn’t definitive enough to warrant a green light.”
I shot to my feet. I grabbed the barstool I’d been sitting on, squeezing the legs. My arms shook. All the anguish and rage and sheer fucking despair clawed its way out of the fucking box I’d had it bottled up in since Adam was captured.
“FUCK!” The word ripped through my throat like razor blades.
Unable to contain all the shit I felt any longer, I turned, swinging the fucking stool with everything in me. I felt the vibrations as I made contact with something, and the bone-jarring jolt released the last of the rage I’d boxed up.
I continued swinging, relishing the violence, the release. I was blind and deaf to everything around me. All I heard was Adam’s voice, which was so fucking rough, but could be so damn sweet too. Like chocolate-covered gravel.
All I saw was Adam’s face. The smile he’d get when I made him laugh. The sexy-ass smirk that never failed to light me up inside. The look of lust and determination and even anger. I saw it all, and it gutted me, knowing I’d never see or hear him again.
Arms wrapped around me from behind, imprisoning my arms while someone wrestled the barstool out of my hands. Finlay stood in front of me with the mangled barstool in his hands. His face and the faces of my teammates I could see were filled with sympathy and some of the rage and anguish I felt.
I fought against the person behind me. “Let me go, goddammit!”
Foster’s arms dropped from around me immediately. I shoved away from him, dashing the moisture from my face as I took a few deep, calming breaths. When I turned back around, I winced. I’d pommeled the island, the walls, and the fucking fridge. Everything in my path had felt the brunt of the anguish that still percolated throughout my system.
“Fuck,” I muttered.
If Adam saw this, he’d be fucking pissed. We’d worked our asses off in this kitchen. It had been a fucking disaster when I first bought this place, and after my outburst, it wasn’t much better than where it’d started.
Before anyone could say anything, my cell phone rang. I pulled it out of my pocket. I didn’t recognize the number on the screen, but I answered anyway.
“Jones,” I said.
“Chief Petty Officer Jones?” The Texas twang sounded familiar.
“Yes?” I replied.
“You don’t know me, but I believe you’ve met my sons, Walker, Foster, and Parker.”
“Admiral Holt?” I questioned.
Foster’s eyes widened, and he looked at his phone. I was as confused as he was.
Why is his dad calling me and not him?
He chuckled. “Happy to see my son’s number three isn’t just a knuckle-dragging door kicker. Are you alone?”
“No, sir. The team is here with me,” I explained, still completely baffled as to why Admiral Holt called me and not his son.
“Good to hear they are rallying around you. Put me on speaker,” he commanded.
Rally around me? Why just me?
I glared at Foster as I followed the admiral’s orders, wondering what Foster had told his dad about me. “Sir, you’re on speakerphone.”
“Alpha Team, there’s a private jet headed for the airport, and you are all expected to be on it. I’ve texted Petty Officer Jones the information. We’ll talk more when you get to the ranch.”
The line went dead immediately, just as a text notification came in.
UNKNOWN
