Page 20 of Reaper
Guardian HRS didn't just send an extraction detail. They sent the entire kinetic strike team.
The heavy, armored driver's side door of the lead truck opens.
Frost steps out.
He's exactly my height, built with the same heavy, brutal muscle mass and the same dark, unforgiving eyes. Only eighteenmonths separate us. We're so fiercely alike that we could easily pass for twins. We're a violent physical mirror of each other, forged in the same fire and share the same blood.
But the paths we've taken couldn't be more diametrically opposed. Frost is a hero. He's the iron-clad commander of the most elite private extraction team in the world. I'm a cold-blooded killer. A ghost who spent the last four years operating in the darkest, most corrupt corners of the globe.
He wears dark tactical gear, a heavy canvas jacket, and the cold, impenetrable expression of a man who commands absolute authority.
He looks up at the porch. The sheer, freezing weight of his stare could stop a heart.
"Reaper."
"Frost."
The call signs hit the frigid mountain air like thrown knives. He doesn't use my given name. He hasn't called me Wyatt since the day he exiled me. He uses the call sign to enforce the boundary. I'm not his little brother anymore. I'm a rogue variable. A potential threat to his operation.
He steps forward, his combat boots crunching on the frozen gravel as he moves toward the porch. His objective is Addy. He intends to secure the Treasury auditor, and leave as quickly as possible, minimizing his exposure to me.
I step perfectly into the center of the doorway.
I don't reach for the heavy sidearm strapped to my thigh. I don't break my relaxed, lethal stance. I simply plant my boots on the wood and turn my massive frame into an immovable physical barricade.
Frost stops at the bottom of the stairs. His dark eyes narrow, dropping to analyze my stance before slowly rising to meet my gaze. The rest of his teammates instantly go perfectly still. Thetension in the clearing violently spikes, growing thick enough to choke on.
"She's showering." My voice is dead flat. "She'll come out when she's done."
Frost stares at me. He reads the feral protectiveness radiating off my body. He knows I'm prepared to fight his entire team to keep them out of that cabin until she's ready.
"Establishing a perimeter for a Treasury auditor." Frost's voice is a low, dangerous rumble that echoes across the clearing. "You're out of bounds, Reaper. Stand down."
"She's my responsibility."
"That I'm here to relieve, unless you suddenly don't need my team." Frost's jaw tightens. He holds my stare for a long, agonizing second, calculating the cost of forcing his way past me.
He doesn't push the breach. He crosses his arms over his heavy chest, planting his boots in the dirt.
We wait.
Ten minutes later, the heavy timber door creaks open behind me.
I step aside.
Addy walks out onto the wooden porch, stepping directly into the freezing Wyoming air. She is freshly showered and dressed in thick, dark denim and a heavy gray fleece jacket.
Her dark hair is still wet, pulled back violently tight into a sharp, professional braid that exposes the delicate curve of her neck. She carries her heavy canvas go-bag slung over one shoulder, and the reinforced, ruggedized laptop case gripped tightly in her opposite hand.
She doesn't look like a terrified Treasury auditor hiding from a syndicate hit squad. She looks like a highly calibrated weapon walking onto a battlefield.
Frost immediately shifts his entire focus away from me. The cold, impenetrable professionalism drops back over him like a heavy tactical shroud. He is the commander again.
"Adelaide Hart." Frost takes a single step toward the stairs of the porch. "I'm Frost. Guardian HRS. This is my team."
He gestures to the four heavily armed men holding the perimeter of the cabin. "Call signs are Flint, Hawk, Kade, and Riot. Given names are Elias, Jackson, Marcus, and Dominic. You're safe now. We're going to escort you to a secure location."
Addy doesn't flinch at the overwhelming display of physical force. She doesn't thank him for the rescue. She walks straight down the wooden stairs, moving right past me and stepping directly to the hood of the lead armored truck. She sets the heavy laptop case down on the cold metal and unzips it with a sharp yank.
