him when he’d gotten the 9-1-1 call.
He looked down at her with annoyance and followed her gaze right to his teammate, Neo “2-Stroke” Teller. He was sitting in one of her flimsy chairs, looking all James Dean, dressed head to toe in black leather, the buckles of his knee-high boots glinting in the light.
“If you watched what you were doing instead of ogling, you wouldn’t be using me as a pin cushion.”
2-Stroke leaned back and stretched, giving her a lopsided boyish smile.
She stuck Max again.
“Gina!”
Her head snapped up, her face flushing, her guilty look more belligerent than apologetic. Gina was the oldest of them and married with two children. She loved her husband, but he worked in an office and 2-Stroke was a muscled, motorcycle momma’s wet dream.
Oliver “Dodger” Graham came into the room. He’d been gone for about fifteen minutes and none of them had a clue where he’d disappeared to.
“Whoa, mate. I would go with the veil there. Complete face coverage.” He pantomimed his hand over his face as 2-Stroke laughed softly, and Gina stuck Max again. Dodger handed her a box.
Max sighed heavily.
“I don’t know, Dodge. I think he looks pretty. Fills out that dress in all the right places,” 2-Stroke said with an eyebrow wag.
“Shows what you knuckleheads know. This is a gown.”
His sister laughed, then gasped. “Oh, my God.”
Max turned to his sister who was looking inside the box, an awestruck expression on her face.
“W-w-where did you get this, Oliver?”
“Better not to ask,” 2-Stroke said, rolling his eyes.
Dodger just grinned. “It’s what you needed, right?”
“I’ve looked everywhere for this particular Irish lace to repair my mom’s gown for my sister Rhonda to wear at her wedding.” She set the box down. “I’ve got to call her.” She stopped and hugged Dodger hard. “Thank you!”
“Gina…” Max called after her with a little desperation. But she disappeared into the shop, and he was still stuck in miles of wedding gown. He looked at Dodger with narrowed eyes.
“That could take a long time, mate. She probably has to call your mum, too.” Looking smug, he leaned on 2-Stroke, giving Max a thorough inspection, he frowned. “But I think 2-Stroke is right. You have never looked lovelier.”
“Shut the fuck up.”
2-Stroke tilted his head. “Especially in this soft light. I think flowers in the hair would be…captivating.”
“You shut the fuck up, too. This is your fault.”
“How is it my fault? Dodger was the one who gave her the lace. I haven’t done a thing.”
“No? You’re sitting there looking all rebel without a cause. She’s been distracted.”
“Hey, don’t hate on the beautiful people,” Dodger said, giving 2-Stroke a sidelong glance.
Their phones went off, and Max growled. “Get me out of this.”
Dodger snapped a picture before running over and unzipping him. They piled into the car and headed to base with a quick stop to pick up Max’s working military dog, Juggernaut or Jugs for short. Jughead when he was being a butt.
Once in the ready room, they said a quick hello to the other members of their team who had already arrived. Ford “Fast Lane” Nixon, their LT, was in a heated discussion with their CO, and as he and his teammates took their seats, it ended.
Their CO, Lieutenant Sanborn, came to the front of the room and said, “It’s come to our attention that there is another contingent of New World Order somewhere in the Pine Creek Wilderness that was concealed by the members of the NWO we nabbed a month ago. This time there is a rumor that BUD/S candidates are being targeted during training. There is no substantiation to these rumors yet, but there has been a response to the threat to our recruits. Due to this threat and your track record with these terrorists, the president has authorized you to handle this mission.”
Mad Max sat up straighter. They had a kid in that training group. Hemingway.
“We have intel that a second, more secret base has been found by NCIS agent Makayla Ballentine and her team after some major digging. She has requested you be brought in for backup to finish the job we all started with Moonbeam Horizon. We’ll helicopter into the area and rendezvous with NCIS, who are already on the ground. Get tacked up. We’re in the air in twenty.”
Inside the cages, their phones all beeped again, but this time there was nothing but laughter.
“You make a beautiful blushing bride, Max,” Errol “Pitbull” Ballentine said with a grin.
“Whoa,” Zach “Saint” Bartholomew said, “This gives a