“I am not objectifying our operators,” Blair said dryly. “This is a professional environment.”
“Too late,” Boomer muttered. “Damage done.”
She risked a glance between her fingers. The armory was way too small for these types of big men.
Breakneck stood near the weapons rack, half geared, his plate carrier still unbuckled, sleeves rolled up as he checked the tension on his harness. Calm. Focused. Entirely too competent to be fair. He watched, mouth curving just slightly as he raised his brows.
“Relax,” he said. “We’re decent men. Mostly.”
“Speak for yourself,” Skull murmured. Boomer shoved him.
She dropped her head. “You say that like it’s a selling point.”
He shrugged and went back to work, movements efficient, practiced. Watching him gear up was like watching someone step fully into their element, every strap tightened with intention, every piece of kit exactly where it belonged. There was no showmanship in it. Just readiness.
Preacher glanced over and smirked. “Careful, Blair. If you keep staring, we’re going to have to charge admission.”
“I’m assessing operational preparedness,” she shot back. “I don’t objectify operators.”
Breakneck flicked a look at her then, eyes warm with something that wasn’t teasing. “You’re good,” he said quietly. “We’re green across the board.”
She nodded, business snapping back into place. “You’re up first?”
“Preacher and I,” he confirmed. “Air’s steady. Wind’s cooperating. Should be clean.”
“Should,” she echoed.
He met her gaze, the moment stretching just long enough to say things neither of them voiced. Then he clipped the last buckle into place and straightened fully, ready now, all sharp edges and control.
“I’ve got your people covered,” he said. Not a promise. A fact.
Blair felt it settle into her bones. “I know.”
Iceman’s voice cut through the room. “Mount up. We’re moving.”
The humor vanished instantly. Helmets went on. Gloves pulled tight. The room shifted from banter to purpose in a breath.
He stopped close to her. “I’ve got you, babe,” he whispered. As Breakneck turned toward the exit, he paused just long enough to glance back at her. “Try not to miss me.”
She snorted. “Just don’t make me come save you.”
His grin flashed once, quick, dangerous, gone, and then he was moving, the team flowing after him like they’d done this a thousand times before.
Blair watched them disappear through the door, the hum of the room shifting as if something essential had just been pulled out of it. This op would nearly finish their time together. She knew that. America would want its operators back soon enough, and the world would reset to the shape it had been before helicopters and horses and shared breath in the margins of danger.
There was one man she wasn’t ready to part with.
The realization landed low in her gut, sharp and undeniable, followed by a pull in her chest she didn’t bother fighting. She had no idea what would happen between them once the dust settled, no neat plans, no guarantees, but whatever this was between her and Breakneck felt real in a way that left no room for denial.
That scared her more than the op ever could.
How far was she willing to go for him? What would she be willing to give up for a love that didn’t live in theory or fantasy, but in the hard-earned trust of shared risk?
She didn’t have the answer yet.
But she knew, with a clarity that grounded her rather than weakened her as she watched them go, heart steady, jaw set. That question wasn’t going away.
The horses were ready.
