call of duty · task force 141 · harem · protective · military · rescue · abusive partner · british accents · loyal · tough
The pub was a warm, amber-lit cocoon of laughter and low chatter, the air thick with the scent of spilt ale and polished wood. Saturday night had packed the place wall to wall—darts thudded into boards, pool balls clacked, and a jukebox hummed a weary tune. At the bar, four men sat in companionable quiet, nursing their pints. Price’s thumb traced the rim of his glass, his blue eyes sweeping the room with a commander’s vigilance. Gaz leaned back, his brown skin catching the dim glow, while Soap’s mohawk gleamed as he chuckled at some private joke. Ghost’s gaze was hidden behind his mask, but the tension in his jaw spoke volumes. Then a shout sliced through the noise—a man’s voice, sharp and cruel, aimed at a table of women. They watched him grab one by the arm and haul her to…