Jenna’s Protector (Guardian Hostage Rescue Specialists: CHARLIE Team #4)

34. Carter

THIRTY-FOUR

Carter

As we gather for our final briefing, the night air is thick with tension. CJ, the commander of the Guardian teams, stands before us, his face etched with determination.

“Alright, people,” CJ begins, his voice low but commanding. “We’ve got one shot at this. Let’s make it count.” He outlines the plan with military precision, each word sinking into my bones.

“Three teams.” CJ turns to Brady, leader of Bravo team. “Bravo’s on distraction. Draw attention away from the main assault. Create enough chaos to give Alpha and Charlie the opening they need.”

“We’re on it.” Brady gives a sharp nod.

“Alpha team—Max, your team will handle hostile suppression. Neutralize the guards on deck. Clear a path for Charlie team.” CJ turns to us.

“Ethan, you have the most critical job—hostage rescue. Go in. Rescue Jenna. No mistakes, no second chances. Since stealth is key, you’ll be equipped with tranquilizer guns in addition to your standard kit. Ethan, you have tactical command of the mission as a whole.” CJ claps his hands, bringing an end to the briefing. “This is it, people. Let’s bring her home. ”

Her.

My Jenna.

My heart clenches at the thought of her trapped on that yacht.

I don’t know how, but Guardian HRS procured three RIBs somehow. We do a final check of our gear, and then we load up.

The small boats cut through the water. Salt spray stings my eyes, and the taste of brine is sharp on my tongue. An hour later, the mega yacht looms like a fortress, its sleek silhouette against a star-strewn sky.

As we near the yacht, its true size becomes apparent. It’s at least 300 feet long and a behemoth of steel and luxury—lights shimmer along its hull, reflecting off the obsidian water. Armed guards patrol the decks, their silhouettes impossible to make out with the naked eye against the night sky.

Fortunately, our enhanced night vision reveals the world in vivid shades of green.

Jenna’s there.

So close.

Every cell in my body screams to reach her.

“One minute out.” CJ’s voice crackles in my earpiece. “Alpha and Charlie team, prepare for approach and be ready for boarding. Bravo team, standby for distraction.”

I grip my weapon tight. The familiar weight grounds me. Around me, tension radiates from my teammates.

We’re ready.

We have to be.

“All teams, this is Command. ” Mitzy’s voice comes through, clear and focused. “Satellite imagery shows minimal movement on the yacht’s upper decks. Thermal scans indicate most heat signatures are below deck. We cannot see below the waterline. Proceed with caution.”

“Bravo team, you’re up,” CJ’s voice commands. “Initiate distraction.”

In the distance, a series of small explosions light up the night. Flares arc across the sky, drawing the guards’ attention on deck.

“Alpha and Charlie teams, move in,” CJ orders. “You’ve got a small window to board without being seen. Make it count.”

We kill the engine, gliding the last few yards in eerie silence. Walt secures the RIB to the yacht’s hull on the port side, near the stern. Alpha team does the same on the opposite side of the vessel.

We board the vessel one by one, our movements fluid and practiced.

Jenna. Jenna. Jenna.

Her name pulses with each beat of my heart.

We creep onto the deck, lethal shadows in the night.

Two guards, alerted by some sixth sense, turn. Before they can raise the alarm, Blake and Gabe fire tranquilizers. The darts find their marks, and the guards crumple silently to the deck.

Ethan directs us with hand signals. Hank and Gabe go to the bridge, Rigel and Walt head below to the engine room, and Blake and I remain with Ethan to sweep the cabins.

And find Jenna.

We move into the yacht’s interior. The opulence is staggering—marble floors, gold-plated fixtures, priceless art adorning the walls. It reeks of money and power. Of men who think they can buy and sell lives.

A guard comes up a set of stairs. Blake moves like lightning. His dart finds the man’s neck.

Another silent takedown.

So far, we’ve yet to raise any alarms.

We penetrate deeper into the interior, past luxurious guest cabins and lavish lounges. Each closed door is a possibility.

Is she behind this one?

No.

This one?

No.

As we round a corner, we come face to face with another guard. He’s big, easily six-foot-four, with fists like hams. He doesn’t hesitate, swinging a meaty fist at my head.

I duck the punch. His fist whistles over my head. Blake moves in, landing a solid hit to the guard’s solar plexus. The big man grunts but doesn’t go down. My elbow connects with the guard’s jaw.

It’s a brutal, silent dance.

We can’t risk using our weapons in the enclosed space. Can’t alert the entire yacht to our presence. The guard fights like a cornered animal, all brute strength and desperation.

Finally, I see an opening. Blake keeps the guard distracted. I slip behind him. My arm loops around his thick neck. He thrashes, trying to throw me off, but I hold on and jab a tranquilizer dart into the meat of his neck. Slowly, his struggles weaken, and he slumps to the floor, unconscious.

We pause, catching our breath.

Too close.

We continue our methodical sweep of the yacht, clearing room after room. Guest cabins, lounges, a state-of-the-art gym—all empty.

The tension builds with each cleared space.

Where is she?

Mitzy’s voice comes through again as we move deeper into the yacht’s interior. “Charlie team, thermal imaging suggests three heat signatures in the master suite, starboard side of the bow. They could be our targets.”

“Copy that,” Ethan responds.

As we approach the master suite, I take a deep breath, steadying myself.

This is it.

“On my mark.” Ethan reaches for the door handle. He counts down silently. “Three. Two. One. ”

The door flies open, and we surge inside, our movements synchronized. The room is massive and dripping with luxury. A California king bed dominates one wall, its silk sheets rumpled, and there, on the side, tied to a chair, is Jenna. A bruise mars her cheek, and fury rises in me like a tidal wave.

A man leaps from the bed, grabbing for a knife on the nightstand. Blake’s tranquilizer dart catches him mid-leap. He crashes to the floor, the knife clattering away.

“How are you?” I rush to Jenna, my hands shaking as I untie her bonds. “Are you okay? Can you walk?”

“Sore, but okay.” She collapses against me, her body wracked with sobs. I hold her tight, breathing in her scent. For a moment, the chaos fades away .

She’s here.

Alive.

In my arms.

Her body trembles against mine, and she pulls back, eyes wide with fear. “Max. They shot Max. I’m so sorry, but I think he’s… I think he’s…”

“Max is alive.” I cup her face, forcing her to meet my eyes. “I found him. He’s in surgery. He’s going to be okay.”

Relief floods her features, and she collapses back into my arms, her sobs quieter now but still shaking with the aftershocks of fear and worry.

Movement from the bed catches my eye. A woman, her face pale and drawn in the dim light, sits up in bed. Her hair is a tangled mess. Dark circles under her eyes speak of sleepless nights and unending torment.

“Jenna, I’m so sorry.” Her eyes fill with tears. “I had no choice. I was forced to…” A sob chokes her. “I never meant to—you have no idea how hard it’s been.” The woman looks like a ghost, her spirit crushed under the weight of unspeakable abuse.

Jenna looks at me, then back at the woman. In a move that surprises me, she breaks from my embrace and rushes over, enveloping her in a fierce hug.

“I don’t blame you, Sophia. I know how these men can be, how they can force us to do things we wouldn’t otherwise.”

“Time to go.” Ethan urges us to move.

“We can’t leave yet.” Sophia’s voice is urgent. “He’s got documents in a safe.” She points to a painting on the wall. “It’s all there. Names, dates, locations—everything. It’s important… And there are others.”

I share a look with Blake.

Could it be?

I dare to hope.

“Sophia, four girls are missing. Teenagers. Do you know anything about them?”

“Yes.” She takes a shaky breath, her eyes darting nervously. “They’re here.”