Where else would they freaking be?
You command, they show up, that’s the deal.
Valley was already sprawled in his chair like he owned the damn place, boots propped up on a lower rung, one arm slung over the backrest. His grin was lazy, but his eyes were sharp as he tracked the intel populating the main screen.
Titan stood off to one side, arms crossed over his chest, his expression unreadable as ever, but his stance betrayed nothing—no tension, no anticipation, just the quiet readiness of a man built for violence.
Scout leaned against the wall near the maps, his posture deceptively relaxed, though Rowan knew better. The man was a ghost when he wanted to be, but right now, he was watching and absorbing, his gaze flicking between the screens and the door like he was already three steps ahead.
“Yo, boss. You want to tell us what’s going on with you and En?—”
“Shut it.” How was he supposed to tell Jericho what was going on when he didn’t understand or know himself?”
“That’s not very nice, boss.”
“I don’t give a shit if it is or not.” Rowan rounded the table and took his place next to Gael. “Focus, assholes. We got shit to do, and decisions to be made.”
“You act like you don’t give a fuck that he shut you down,” Colson needled Jericho, “ never mind two.”
“A fuck must be earned. I ain’t got no bucket full of them to be goin’ around handing ’em out like fucking smarties,” Jericho deadpanned. “Do epic shit. Earn that motherfuckin fuck, and I might give a fuck about it.”
“You’re threading dangerous waters there, bro. You really should introduce your upper lip to your lower lip sometime and shut the hell up.” Gael jabbed his index finger on the table. “Theo, you’re up. Lay it out for us, stat.”
Theo leaned back in his chair with a coffee mug cradled in one hand, his usual calm demeanor intact.
“I don’t think we’re done discussing Rowan getting laid ye—” Valley’s grin widened. “Boss.” He drew the word out, savoring it. “Before we go talking about the mission, I think we should spend a little time talking about the show you and our girl gave in town.”
The room seemed to tilt, just for a second. Rowan’s jaw tightened, the muscle feathering once beneath his skin. His fingers flexed against the table, but his expression didn’t change. “Careful, Vale.”
“Oh, I’m real careful,” Valley shot back, his tone light, his eyes anything but. They gleamed with the kind of amusement that came from poking a sleeping lion. “Careful enough to notice when our fearless leader walks in looking like he forgot what planet he’s on.”
A low chuckle rumbled from Titan’s direction. “You look downright distracted, ’at’s for sure.”
Across the room, Theo smirked. “I was starting to think you was immune to her, Rowe.”
Scout, ever the silent observer, didn’t say a word. But the corner of his mouth twitched, just once, before he smoothed his expression back into neutrality.
Fucking bastards.
I should have been ready for this shit to happen.
He leaned forward, bracing his hands flat against the table, his knuckles whitening just slightly, and slammed every inch of command he could muster into his voice.
“You done?”
The shift was immediate, like a switch had been flipped, and finally the bastards he called his team settled down, offering silent nods of agreement.
“Good.” His voice dropped into his go-to quiet, lethal tone that brooked no argument. “Because this isn’t a joke. What’s happening with her,” he nodded toward the door, “is important, and if one of you assholes does something to make her run from me before I figure out what that means, I’ll stab you in the balls in your sleep.”
“Playtime’s over, boys,” Gael said, his voice calm, but the underlying command was unmistakable.
Rowan didn’t look back. He didn’t need to. He could feel his brother the way he felt the weight of his weapon at his hip—an extension of himself, a certainty in a world where little else was guaranteed.
“Cross,” Rowan said, his gaze flicking to the laptop centered on the table. “Lay out what Mercier sent us, now.”
“Yes, sir.” Theo set his mug down, pulled the laptop toward him, and cast its screen onto the monitors on the wall. Jagged and unforgiving mountains stretched across the frame like the spine of some ancient, sleeping beast. The terrain was rough, and Rowan knew exactly where he was looking at.
“Fucking fabulous, the Satan’s sac of the Middle East.” There were few places he hated operating in more than the Af-Pak border.
