“Then I guess it’s a good thing we’ve got wheels,” he said, circling around to the driver’s side.
As Colt started the SUV and turned onto the private road away from the main building, Brenna took in the layout of Crossfire Ops headquarters. The central compound stood solid and modern, ringed by training facilities on all sides. Obstacle courses, a shooting range, a simulation house. Scattered across the land beyond those were small cabins tucked into trees and behind rocky outcroppings. Privacy, space, and quiet, all by design.
“Ruby and Owen wanted this to be more than just a place to work,” Colt said as they passed a dimly lit path and a cabin with a porch light glowing. “They designed it to be a community. A place where guys like us could come back to life.”
She didn’t respond right away. Her gaze moved over the natural landscape, the heavy trees. It was quiet out here. Isolated. Safe.
She thought of Ruby Maverick and Owen Striker. Their vision for Crossfire Ops wasn’t just about operations and missions. It was about hiring people like her and Colt—former military and law enforcement professionals who had survived the worst. People who had been broken in some way and needed more than just a paycheck.
Colt parked near a low cabin with cedar siding and a covered porch. There were two wooden chairs on the porch, one with a folded blanket draped over the back. He came around andopened her door before she could try it herself. She didn’t argue. Not this time.
Inside, the cabin was simple and clean. Warm. The living room flowed right into the small kitchen and dining space. Everything had a purpose. No clutter. Just the kind of quiet, functional comfort that fit Colt perfectly. A couple of shelves lined one wall, stacked with books and framed photographs. Her gaze snagged on one sitting above the stone fireplace. It was a picture of her, Colt, and Harlan from years ago, grinning like idiots, beer bottles in hand.
Happier times.
Colt went into the kitchen, opened the fridge, and grabbed a bottle of water. He held it out to her. “You want something stronger?”
“The water’s fine,” Brenna assured him. Best not to mix alcohol with exhaustion and the throb in her knee. “I’ve got some ibuprofen in my bag and I’ll down a couple of those.”
He nodded and gestured down the hall. “Guest room’s to the right. Has its own bath. But if you need anything, just ask.”
She nodded and held his gaze. For a long beat, neither of them moved.
Fatigue pulsed through her, but so did something else. Heat. Awareness. That hum in her blood that always seemed to spark when Colt was close. Even now, with bruises blooming on both their bodies, he made her heart stir in ways she couldn’t ignore.
He was watching her, too. Silent. Steady.
The space between them felt thick with everything they hadn’t said. And everything they still wanted to.
Colt reached out and skimmed his fingers along her cheek. His touch was light, careful.
“There’s probably no place I can kiss you where it won’t hurt,” he said, voice low.
Her breath caught. The heat between them stirred again, curling through her tired limbs and settling in her chest.
Then he leaned in and brushed his lips over the spot he’d just touched. Gentle. Warm.
“There,” he murmured. “Found one that’s not bruised or scraped.”
He didn’t move away. Instead, he stepped closer and dropped another kiss to her neck, right beneath her jaw. His breath stirred her hair.
“Another one.”
The words barely landed before he pressed a kiss just below her ear.
Something broke loose inside her.
She reached for him and pulled him close, her mouth finding his. The kiss was unhurried but deep, and nothing about it felt careful. It felt like the truth. All that had built between them—danger, need, history—ignited in that one, searing connection.
Brenna eased him closer, one hand sliding around his neck, the other pressed lightly to his back. She kept her touch gentle, mindful of his bruised ribs.
Colt was just as careful. His hand cupped her cheek, the other settling at her waist, not pressing, just holding. But the heat between them made the pain fade into the background. It dulled under the slow rise of want, under the warmth building like pressure beneath her skin.
His mouth moved over hers with more hunger now, and she met it with equal fire. The kiss deepened, turned hotter. She felt it in her blood, in the way her fingers fisted lightly in the back of his shirt. Felt it in the tremble that slid down her spine.
Colt broke away just long enough to breathe, his forehead touching hers, his voice rough. “This is another of those really good mistakes, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” she couldn’t agree fast enough. He’d nailed the really good part. But it was indeed a mistake. It couldn’t go anywhere.
