The vent cover screeched free. A woman’s face in the opening—eyes wide, shock frozen on her features—before she tumbled forward.
He caught her around the waist, trying to control the momentum, but she was moving too fast. They went down together, his back slamming into the deck with her weight driving the air from his lungs.
Rig worker. Coveralls. Tool belt. Blood dried on her temple. But air punched out of him as her elbow found his ribs—fast and vicious.
Hell—
His grip loosened and she twisted, fast, reaching for the wrench on her belt.
Not happening.
He caught her wrist, applied pressure to the nerve cluster. The wrench clattered to the deck. “Hey. I don’t want to hurt you—”
She kicked at his knee.
He blocked, absorbing the impact with a grunt. “Can you listen for one goddamn—”
She came at him again, stance decent. Corporate had drilled her on basics—but she was outmatched. He redirected her momentum and she countered with a knee toward his groin. Wyatt twisted, took it on the thigh, hissed through his teeth.
Okay. Enough playing.
He swept her legs. She hit the deck hard, tried to roll, but he followed—pinning her beneath him, one hand securing both wrists, the other braced beside her head.
“I’m Coast Guard,” he growled into her ear. “I’m not—”
Voices. Drawing close.
His hand clamped over her mouth, her breath hot against his palm.
She stiffened, panic flaring in her eyes.
Too close and familiar. Too easy to slip into the person he used to be.
Breathe, Wyatt.
“Don’t,” he murmured against her ear. “They’re right there.”
Russian voices drifted down the corridor, discussing sweep patterns. Moving slow. Careful.
Wyatt stayed still as stone.
The armory door was still locked.
He couldn’t open it.
But maybe she could.
He leaned closer, his voice a whisper. “Can you open the armory?”
Her eyes flicked to his—terrified, furious, weighing odds.
The voices grew louder. Agitated. Perhaps they’d found their comrades on the floor.
“Can you open it?”
She nodded against his palm. Her gaze locked on his—storm-gray and sharp even under fear.
“Okay.” He eased his hand away and helped her up.
She jerked free immediately, wiping her mouth on her sleeve, glaring daggers that could power the whole damn platform before pressing her palm flat against the door lock.
Green light.
The lock disengaged.
He pulled the door open, grabbed her arm, yanked her inside. The door sealed behind them with a heavy, echoing thunk.
Emergency lighting only—red strips along the floor casting the armory in bloody shadow. Hexagonal, maybe twelve feet wall to wall. Weapons racks lined five walls. Pistols. Carbines. Ammunition stacked waist-high.
He held her against him, her breath fast and hot against his neck.
Outside—muffled voices.
“—heard something—”
A sharp beep.
Another.
Muttered curses.
They don’t have the codes or the required palm print.
“It’s locked down.”
“Override it.”
“I’m trying. The system isn’t responding.”
The woman relaxed a fraction—just enough Wyatt felt the subtle shift in her body. She must’ve triggered an internal lock when she opened the door.
Smart.
The voices faded and as the heavy footsteps retreated, silence returned.
Pain stabbed his hand and he jerked back.
Jesus—she has teeth.
Coming April 3rd 2026!
