Page 2 of Bound By Thorns
I rolled my eyes but made a half-hearted attempt to focus. From my spot near the back of the room, my view was partially obstructed, but it didn’t bother me much—until it did. Specifically, when a curtain of dark, straight hair blocked my lineof sight to the magnificent Colt handgun one of the officers was carrying.
The woman stood tall, probably five-seven or five-eight, with a posture that screamed confidence. Not the kind of nervous, fidgety energy most people in the room carried. She wasn’t shuffling on her feet or throwing uneasy glances around. She was calm. Exaggeratedly so. It wasn’t hard to tell she had special forces training.
My observation was cut short when I caught a soft whisper beside me.
“Brother, did you know this is about some special unit they’re creating?” Amelia, Dylan’s sister, slid up next to us, her voice low.
Dylan flinched, clearly startled by her sudden appearance. His hulking frame rarely betrayed any sort of unease, but the sight of his FBI-agent sister here clearly threw him for a loop.
“What do you know?” he asked, equally hushed.
“Not much. Rumor is it’s some kind of experiment,” Amelia replied, her tone almost teasing. Then her eyes darted to the far side of the room. “Oh! There’s Riley.”
I’d never seen Dylan, this towering, unshakable force, look anything close to flustered. Yet at that moment, his head snapped toward where Amelia was looking, and a faint, unguarded smile tugged at his lips. It was subtle, but unmistakable.
Whipped motherfucker!
A third uniformed officer joined the other two, and I immediately recognized him, besides the gold badge he wore.
United States Secretary of Defense had no use being here. Unless Amelia was right.
He strode to the center of the room and stopped, surveying us like we were all pieces on a chessboard he intended to rearrange. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes? Those told adifferent story. Calculating. Cold. Like he already knew how each one of us would play into whatever grand plan he’d cooked up.
When he spoke, his voice was unexpectedly casual, almost conversational, but it carried the weight of someone who didn’t need to shout to be heard.
“You know, I’ve always hated group settings,” he said, shaking his head as if the thought genuinely annoyed him. “Something about people staring at you like you’re about to announce the apocalypse.”
I blinked.Is this guy for real?
A few awkward chuckles rippled through the room, but mostly, everyone stayed silent. Zarek shot me a sideways glance, his raised brow a silent commentary on how strange this all felt.
The Secretary continued, undeterred. “But lucky for you, I’m not here to end the world. Not yet, anyway.”
Get to the point, asshole.
“Let’s get to the point.” He announced.
About time.
He clasped his hands behind his back and began to pace, his polished shoes clicking against the floor. “As you’ve likely guessed, this isn’t a social call. What we’re about to discuss does not leave this room. Consider this your unofficial NDA. Break it, and you’ll wish you were never born. Understood?”
A unified murmur of ‘Yes, sir’ followed. I glanced at Zarek again. He didn’t say anything, but the tension in his jaw spoke volumes.
The Secretary stopped pacing and turned to face us fully. “We’re establishing a new covert paramilitary group. Its purpose? To handle operations deemed too sensitive, too messy, or too morally gray for traditional military or intelligence units. This group will report directly to Robert Callahan.”
More murmurs rippled through the crowd, a mix of confusion and intrigue. I crossed my arms, leaning slightly toward Zarek.“Morally gray,” I whispered. “Sounds like our job description already.”
Zarek didn’t respond, but his lips twitched in what might’ve been agreement.
The Secretary’s voice cut through the noise. “This new initiative will be led by Bridgewood.”
At the mention of the name, a few people straightened, their attention sharpening. Bridgewood was a legend in our circles—an old, retired, intelligence unit in the dark who got the impossible done. If they were involved, this wasn’t just some half-baked government experiment. It was serious.
The Secretary gestured toward the massive screen behind him, and it flickered to life. Names and numbers filled the screen, arranged in neat columns under the headers Alpha Team and Beta Team.
“We’ll be organizing this initiative into two main branches,” the Secretary continued. “Alpha Team will consist of nine squads, each with its own specialized skill set. Beta Team will have two squads, smaller but equally critical.”
My eyes locked onto the screen as I scanned the names. Sure enough, there I was: Logan Carlton, Alpha Squad Six. Zarek, Amelia, Maxton and Dylan were listed alongside me, which was a relief. At least I wouldn’t be stuck with strangers.
