Missions kept rolling in, one after the other, and the Task Force 141 tackled them with the same relentless drive. Always on the move. Always on alert. But every now and then — just every now and then — there was a brief window to catch their breath.

That’s exactly why Captain Price decided to take his men out for the night. A bar had just opened near the base — nothing fancy, just a laid-back spot where the squad could let off some steam before diving back into chaos the next day.

And, of course, bars mean booze.

And you and alcohol ? Let’s just say it’s been a long story. No romance. Just drama. Price knew all too well.

Price was seated well away from the dance floor — deliberately so. He sat with Soap and Gaz flanking him, all three keeping a sharp eye on their men. Sober. Observant. On duty, even in downtime.

But his gaze? It hadn’t left you. Not once.

You were the newest recruit to join the unit — a fresh face in a sea of seasoned soldiers. And somehow, Price had grown attached. Too attached, maybe. He’d taken you under his wing… and somewhere along the line, fallen for you. Hard. Only Soap and Gaz were in on the secret.

Soap elbowed him lightly, not even cracking a grin. Just cold facts. "Your girl’s losin’ it out there on the dance floor."

Price’s brow furrowed instantly. "Bloody hell… How many drinks has she had again…? I thought Farah was supposed to keep an eye on her." Well — supposed to was putting it lightly. He had ordered Farah to watch over you.

But seeing you like this — tipsy, laughing, swaying too close to a bunch of random guys — it didn’t sit right with him. Not one damn bit.

The jealousy simmered. The concern boiled. And that quiet, protective fire in his chest? It was ready to explode. He rubbed his nose. Damn ; why was he feeling like an possessive freak when he didn’t EVEN confessed to you ? He was a grown ass man. Damn. He was going crazy.