Chapter 3

3

SARA

S ara adjusted the strap of her tactical bag as she surveyed the camp from the edge of the clearing. The layout was simple—two medical tents, a supply station, and a few scattered structures for sleeping quarters. Practical, efficient, and utterly exposed. Any half-trained operative would know this place was a soft target. She supposed that doctors just didn’t think that way.

Her lips pressed into a thin line as she spotted Bryan walking toward the main tent. Even from a distance, he moved with an easy confidence, the kind of commanding presence that drew people to him. It irritated her how effortlessly he seemed to have slipped into a leadership position, as though he belonged in every room, no matter the stakes.

And it irritated her even more that it worked for her. She’d always gone for the rough and tumble type. Men of higher learning—doctors, lawyers, professors…that sort of thing—did little to make her ache for them. No, give her a commando or a cowboy.

“Looks like you’re sizing up the camp for an assault,” came a dry voice behind her.

Sara turned to see Lara, clipboard in hand and an eyebrow raised.

“Just getting a feel for the layout,” Sara replied, keeping her tone light.

Lara frowned. “You’re supposed to be logistics, right? Not security?”

Sara offered a thin smile. “Let’s just say I’m a little more versatile than that. I’m also able to assist medically if needed.”

The answer didn’t seem to satisfy Lara, but before she could ask more questions, Bryan’s voice cut through the air.

“Sara!”

She turned to see him standing at the entrance of the main tent, his arms crossed, a challenge in his body language. She resisted the urge to sigh. This wasn’t going to be pleasant.

“Excuse me,” she said to Lara before striding toward him.

When she reached the tent, Bryan stepped aside to let her in, then followed, letting the canvas flap fall closed behind him.

“Do we need to talk about your role here?” he asked, his tone even but edged with authority.

She dropped her bag onto a nearby table and turned to face him. “I thought we already did. Logistics. Medical support when needed. Anything else you want to add?”

Bryan stepped closer, his dark eyes narrowing slightly. “What I want is for you to stop scoping out the camp like you’re planning a defensive strategy.”

She didn’t flinch, meeting his gaze head-on. “I am planning a defensive strategy. If someone’s watching us—and they probably are—it’s better they know I’m here as a bodyguard. Hiding it only makes us look vulnerable.”

His jaw tightened, and for a moment, she thought he might argue. But instead, he took another step closer, closing the space between them.

“You think you’re calling the shots here?” he asked, his voice dropping to a low rumble.

She felt the heat of his presence, the dominating timbre in his voice, the way his quiet dominance seemed to wrap around her like a second skin. It unsettled her, sent a shiver down her spine that she hoped he didn’t notice.

“I think I’m doing my job,” she replied evenly. “Keeping you alive.”

Bryan’s lips curved into something that wasn’t quite a smile, more a deliberate challenge. “And if I told you to stop? To blend in like I asked?”

Her heart raced, but she held her ground. “I’d remind you that I’m not here to take orders from you, Bryan.”

He studied her, his gaze searching hers, and for a moment, the air between them was electric. Her pulse pounded in her ears, her body tense with the effort of maintaining control.

Finally, Bryan stepped back, breaking the moment. “You’re stubborn. I’ll give you that.”

“And you’re infuriating,” she shot back, more sharply than intended.

Bryan chuckled softly, the sound surprisingly warm. “Good. Maybe we’ll keep each other on our toes.”

She watched him leave the tent, her chest heaving as she exhaled.

Sara kept her back to the clinic wall, her senses sharp and her breath steady. The clinic was eerily quiet, the calm before the inevitable storm. She’d noticed the shift earlier—the lingering stares from a group of villagers near the perimeter—a subtle charge in the air that only seasoned instincts could detect.

Something wasn’t right.

“Lara,” she said softly to the volunteer sorting supplies nearby. “Get everyone inside. Now.”

Lara frowned but nodded, picking up on the urgency in Sara’s voice. As Lara ushered patients and staff into the main building, Sara moved toward the entrance, her hand already reaching under her loose shirt to the holster strapped to the back of her waist.

She had barely stepped outside when she saw them—five men advancing quickly through the trees, weapons visible. Her body tensed, adrenaline flooding her veins.

“Bryan!” she barked over her shoulder.

His voice came from somewhere inside. “What is it?”

“Trouble,” she snapped, cutting him off as she drew her pistol.

The first shot rang out before she could issue another order. She dropped to one knee, firing back with practiced precision. One of the attackers fell, but the others kept coming, spreading out to flank her position.

Behind her, Bryan appeared in the doorway, a rifle in his hand and poised to fire.

“Stay inside!” she shouted without looking back.

“Not a chance,” he growled, stepping up beside her.

The fight was fast and brutal. Sara moved with lethal efficiency, ducking behind crates and barrels, using the terrain to her advantage. Bryan held his own beside her, his shots precise, his calm under pressure impossible to ignore.

She hated how much she noticed it.

Two men were down, but the others pressed forward. One broke off, circling behind the clinic. Sara cursed under her breath and bolted after him.

“Cover me!” she yelled.

Bryan’s voice followed her. “Sara, wait?—”

She didn’t wait. She couldn’t.

The man was fast, but Sara was faster. She caught up to him near the back of the clinic, slamming into him before he could raise his weapon and fire at her. They hit the ground hard, the impact jarring, but she recovered first, pinning him with her knee and delivering a sharp blow to his temple.

His body went limp, but the victory was short-lived. A shadow loomed behind her, and she twisted just in time to see another attacker raising a knife.

Her hands scrambled for her weapon, but she wasn’t fast enough.

The sharp crack of a rifle shot split the air, and the man’s knees buckled as he collapsed to the ground, blood pooling beneath him.

Sara turned, her chest heaving, to see Bryan standing a few yards away, his rifle still raised, his eyes locked on hers.

“You’re welcome,” he said, his voice rough but steady.

She didn’t reply, couldn’t. Something shifted in that moment—something she wasn’t ready to name.

The aftermath was quiet, almost unsettlingly so. The attackers were neutralized, the clinic secured, but Sara’s mind was anything but calm. She stood by the perimeter, her arms crossed, watching as Bryan spoke with the others, organizing clean-up and checking on patients.

He was good at this. Too good.

When he finally approached her, his expression was unreadable, but there was something in his eyes—something that made her feel exposed in a way she hated.

“You could’ve gotten yourself killed,” he said without preamble.

“So could you. I had it under control,” she replied, her voice sharper than intended.

“Did you?” he challenged, stepping closer. “Because from where I was standing, you were about to lose that fight.”

She bristled. “I didn’t need you to save me.”

“Maybe not,” he said, his tone calm but unyielding. “But I did. And if you can’t accept that, you’re going to get yourself killed trying to prove something.”

The words hit harder than she expected, and she hated the way her stomach tightened, the way her carefully constructed facade wavered.

“What’s your point?” she asked, her voice quieter now.

“My point,” Bryan said, his voice dropping lower, “is that you’re not invincible, Sara. And pretending you are doesn’t make you stronger. It makes you reckless.”

She opened her mouth to argue, but the words caught in her throat. He wasn’t wrong, and that realization cut deeper than any wound.

Bryan studied her for a long moment, his gaze searching hers before she turned and began to walk away. “Sara,” he called.

She waved her hand over her head and kept walking. She needed distance. She listened carefully and was grateful when she didn’t hear him following.

Later, in the privacy of her tent, Sara stared at her phone, her thumb hovering over Miley’s contact. She hadn’t called her in months, but tonight, she needed answers.

The phone rang twice before Miley picked up.

“Sara,” Miley said, her tone warm but curious. “What’s going on?”

Sara hesitated, then exhaled slowly. “I need to ask you about Bryan Mena.”

Miley’s voice shifted, a note of intrigue slipping in. “Bryan? What about him?”

“What do you know about him?” Sara asked, her voice quieter now. “And…how does someone like you—someone in our world—deal with someone who pushes back?”

Miley was silent for a moment, then she laughed softly. “Ah, I see. He’s getting under your skin, isn’t he?”

Sara didn’t reply, but the answer was obvious.

“Let me give you the run down,” Miley continued. “He’s a brilliant physician but after an incident in the ER…”

“Incident?”

“Yeah, he was forced to shoot some gangbanger who followed the ambulance to finish off a GSW victim. Bryan was pretty cool under fire. He was fed up, didn’t feel like he was making a difference. So Damon recruited him for Doctors Without Borders. You were at the gala, and JJ and Damon both wanted him protected. You were elected.”

“Is he in the lifestyle?” Sara asked.

“God, no. He thinks we’re all a bunch of freaks, and yet he has a membership. He says Club Southside’s lounge has the best food and booze in Chicago. He isn’t wrong, but I think he misses some of the guys he served with. Bryan is a nice guy, but he’s more than that. He’s strong, and he knows it. If he’s pushing, it’s because he sees something in you. Something worth challenging. Damon thinks he has latent Dom tendencies.”

Sara laughed. “Damon thinks every guy with a set of testicles has latent Dom tendencies.”

“Correct. So take that with a grain of salt. And Sara?” Miley added, her voice gentler now. “Sometimes, taking a chance on and letting someone in doesn’t make you weaker. It makes you stronger.”

The call ended, but Sara couldn’t shake the lingering sense that the balance between her and Bryan had shifted—and that her carefully controlled world would never be the same.

Sara stood at the edge of the camp, the night air cool against her skin. The rhythmic hum of the generator mixed with the faint rustle of the savanna offered a momentary reprieve from the day’s chaos. She needed the space, the solitude, to clear her head.

It wasn’t just the ambush that lingered in her mind. It was him. Bryan.

She turned at the sound of footsteps, her hand instinctively brushing her thigh where her knife was sheathed. But it was Bryan, his broad frame silhouetted against the lantern light of the camp.

“You have a habit of sneaking up on people,” she said.

“And you have a habit of walking off when there’s a conversation that needs to be had,” he replied evenly, his voice a quiet rumble.

Sara wasn’t in the mood for this, not now. “I’ve nothing to say.”

“Too bad,” he said, stepping closer. “Because I do.”

Sara crossed her arms, her gaze narrowing as he closed the distance between them. He was close enough now that she could feel the heat of him, his steady presence pressing against her walls.

“What do you want, Bryan?” she asked, her voice low, defensive.

“I want to make sure you’re okay,” he said.

“I’m fine; not a scratch on me… at least not one from today.”

“What we went through today can make you feel things you may not want to feel…”

“God help me,” she snorted, “and save me from people who want to help me process my feelings. Me and my feelings will do just fine without you or anyone else’s interference.”

His eyes narrowed, sharp and unyielding. “You pretend like you’ve got it all under control, but we both know that’s a lie.”

Sara bristled, the accusation cutting deeper than she expected. “Do we? Does it ever occur to you I might actually have everything under control because that’s my job?”

“Sara…”

“Drop it, Bryan. You don’t know me.”

“I know enough,” Bryan countered, his voice dropping lower. “I know that you carry yourself like someone who always has to be in charge, but there’s more to it than that…”

She felt the walls she’d spent years constructing start to tremble under the weight of his words. “You’re out of line,” she snapped, her voice sharp, desperate to regain control.

“Am I?” he challenged, stepping even closer. His eyes bored into hers, and she hated how much he saw. “What are you so afraid of, Sara?”

“I’m not afraid,” she said finally, though her voice lacked conviction.

Bryan tilted his head, studying her, his expression softening just slightly. “You don’t have to be perfect all the time, Sara. You don’t have to carry it all alone.”

The words hit her like a blow, her carefully controlled facade cracking under the weight of his quiet intensity. She looked away, her throat tight, the vulnerability too much to face head-on.

“I don’t need saving,” she said, her voice quieter now, almost a whisper. “Especially not here, not now, and not by you.”

“I’m not trying to save you,” Bryan said, his tone gentler but no less firm. “But maybe you need to let someone in.”

He took another step towards her, his eyes locking on hers, the air between them seeming to hum with unspoken possibilities. But then she stepped back, the movement abrupt, breaking whatever spell had held them.

“This can’t happen,” she said, her voice steadier now, though her hands still trembled at her sides.

Bryan nodded slowly, his gaze unreadable. “You’re right. It can’t.”

Neither of them moved for a long moment, the silence heavy with everything left unsaid. Then Bryan turned and walked away, leaving her alone in the darkness. He wasn’t just another assignment. He felt like a ticking time bomb, and she wasn’t sure she didn’t want to stick around to see him explode.