The thought loops through my skull as Gunnar’s forearm snakes around my throat. He drops his weight like he’s trying to compress my spine into a travel-size version of itself, slamming my face onto the mat in Aegis’s sparring gym. The room smells of rubber, old sweat, and the industrial cleaner Abby insists doesn’t smell like a hospital, even though it absolutely does. It’s fucking horrible, but I can’t help the grin pulling at the corners of my lips.
“Careful,” I rasp, hooking my heel behind his ankle. “A gentleman would buy me dinner before choking me out.”
Gunnar exhales through his nose—the sound halfway between a laugh and a groan—and tightens his grip. He’s solid, built like a Scandinavian oak tree with the personality to match. Quiet. Observant. The kind of guy who says little more than is necessary and somehow still wins every argument.
He shifts his weight, grinding my cheekbone against the rubber. I fight against his hold, and a familiar burn blooms across my skin. Pain is an old friend. Always reliable and honest.
I wedge my forearm between his bicep and my throat, create a fraction of space, and buck my hips. He adjusts instantly—as expected—and I use the momentary reprise to slip my arm deeper, further loosening his once-tight hold. “So,” I huff, breath tight but voice light, “how was the blind date Abby set you up on?”
My question throws him off guard, and his grip falters. Just a hair. It’s enough. I slip my chin, rotate, and suddenly I’ve got his arm trapped, my legs scissoring around his waist as I roll us. We end up side by side, my forearm under his jaw, pressure steady but not crushing.Training Rule #1: No killing your coworkers before coffee.
“It was horrible,” Gunnar laments flatly, his words vibrating against my forearm. “Literally the worst date of my life.”
I snort. “Shocking. Let me guess… The two of you had absolutely nothing in common, and somewhere between appetizers and dessert, you both realized Abby should be legally barred from matchmaking ever again.”
He tries to shrimp out. I ride him, adjust my weight, and the mat burns against my knuckles. Sweat slicks my palms, making it hard to keep my grip. “At least I’ve been on a date recently,” he mutters.
“Who the fuck are you telling?” I chuckle at his jab, tightening the hold just enough to make my point. “I’m in here, beating the shit out of you, because it’s been far too long since I’ve fucked or killed someone.”
Gunnar shoves out of the headlock with a groan, brute strength finally winning over leverage. He rolls, pins my shoulder, and his knee digs into my ribs in a way that’s rude and deeply personal. “Ugh,” he groans, his breath warm in my ear. “Maybe don’t share that sparring is a substitute for sex when you’re sweaty and rolling around on the mats with me.”
“Oh, don’t flatter yourself. You don’t even make my top five,” I shoot back with a teasing smirk pulling at my lips. “The sweat… You like that?”
“Fuck off,” he snarls, releasing me and shoving me away from him. We both scramble to our feet, circling each other to make our next move as the rubber squeaks under us. My lungs pull in air that tastes almost salty. My muscles throb in that brutal way they only do when they’re being used for what they were made for. “Top five?” Gunnar asks with a cocked brow. “No, never mind. I don’t want to know.”
“You’re right.” I chuckle. “You really don’t.”
We clash again, forearms colliding, fingers snatching for grips. He feints left. I bite and pay for it when his elbow clips my jaw. White sparks pop behind my eyes, and my grin grows even wider.God, I’ve fucking missed this.
Aegis Tactical Solutions likes to call this “skills maintenance.” Hand-to-hand. Close quarters. Reality rehearsal. For me, it’s therapy with bruises. The only place my brain shuts the hell up long enough for me to breathe.Well, this and sex.
Music pumps through the speakers, and the track shifts to an aggressive metal song, that I take a moment to recognize.War Ensemble by Slayer.Apparently, I can’t think and sparat the same time, because Gunnar lunges toward me and manages to hook my arm. He attempts to throw me, but I counter, twist, and we end up locked chest-to-chest. Getting a whiff of his cologne beneath the musk of sweat, I half-teasingly admit, “You smell good.”
“Fuck, youdoneed Abby to send us on a job.” He breathlessly laughs as we both struggle to get the upper hand in our current position.
I scoff. “Need is a strong word.”
He arches a brow and sweeps my leg, dropping us both to the floor, with my ass taking the brunt of the fall. “Fine,” I admit with an eyeroll. After shoving him away, I push to my feet and reset my stance. “Ineed Abby to send us on a job. Preferably somewhere loud where I can shoot people or get shot at.”
“Because you’re bored.”
“Because I’m bored,” I parrot my agreement, and then add, “and because if I have to sit through one more briefing about operational readiness withoutactuallyoperating, I’m going to lose my fucking mind.”
Gunnar dives, shooting for my legs. My face smashes into the rubber mats—again—as he quickly clambers on top of me and crushes me with his weight. I turn my head before I’m forced to endure the less-than-savory aroma of the mats again and laugh into the floor. “Also,” I mumble, with my face wedged between the rubber and Gunnar’s forearm, “because Abby promised me action three weeks ago and then sent us a fucking spreadsheet instead.”
He releases pressure and offers a hand up. I take it, letting him haul me to my feet. My shoulder twinges. Tomorrow’s bruise count is going to be impressive.
“She’s juggling priorities,” Gunnar says. “Aegis isn’t a vending machine. You don’t just punch in a code and get to immediately go assassinate a dictator or uncover a government conspiracy.”
“Why not?” I jest. “That sounds fucking magnificent.” Sweat rolls down my spine and drips from my brow as we reset again.
When Hawk talked about starting Aegis, I signed up for a lifetime of dark-ops missions without hesitation. I’m good at it—without question—but it keeps me moving forward. The adrenaline, gunfire, instability, and chaos keep away the quiet moments where memories creep in like fog. The those memories are like poison. They seep in and rot you from the inside.
Gunnar jabs, and I parry. We trade strikes, controlled but real. The sound of flesh hitting flesh is sharp and satisfying. “You ever think,” he pants between blows, “that maybe Abby’s trying to keep you alive? Because she likes you.”
I bark a laugh. “Fuck no! That’d be like dating my sister. Fuck… that’d be like datingyou!”
He smirks. Actually smirks. It’s such a rare sighting, I feel a ridiculous surge of triumph.
