32
Jake pulled up in front of an old stone church. He was tired, he was sore, and he looked like he had been to hell and back—but he didn’t care.
Aisha’s eyes had become big and bright. He hoped she would love the church as much as he did. He wasn’t that religious, but it was a place of good memories for him, and he was about to share something personal with her.
Something closest to his heart.
He hopped out of the car before she could ask questions. Morning birds sang sweetly, and buds were beginning to appear on trees.
It was an early spring.
At her door, he held out his hand, pulling her up and out of the car.
“Come with me,” he said to her.
Aisha took his hand as he led her to the side of the church, into a beautiful garden.
“What are we doing here?” she asked gently. “I’m going to burst into flames.”
“I haven’t yet, so no reason you should.” He smiled, and slowly unpacked the US naturalized citizen documents from the envelope carrying her new identity.
Aya.
Pushing the documents toward her, her eyes grew bright and amazed. “I can’t believe it.”
Jake laughed. “I don’t know how the man does it, but I’ll tell you one thing—there’s a reason Ryder, Mason, and I have put our trust in Aidan King to bring our troop commander to account for rotting our squad.”
Gentle spring wind carried a sweet, familiar smell as it blew through her hair. Jake reached out and touched her cheek.
“This shouldn’t have worked out. This shouldn’t have ended up in our favor,” he breathed. “But it has. And now we are here.”
She looked up to the building beside them, with its golden spire.
“I used to come here every Sunday growing up,” he continued. “I haven’t been in a long time.”
“It’s a beautiful church,” she said.
“My mom always wanted me to get married here. I never thought I would.”
“Never thought you would get married?” she asked.
He shook his head. “Not until I met you,” Jake said, holding her gaze.
Her eyes softened, and he wished he could kiss her then and there.
But he needed to ask her something first.
“I knew it before all of this happened,” Jake began. “I knew I was waiting for someone special. I know that sounds corny, but it’s true.”
She raised a mischievous eyebrow.
“When I met you, I couldn’t believe what I saw. I saw a strong, courageous woman in the fight of her life. And every step of the way, I’ve seen you grow more into that role. That is who you are.” He tucked her hair back behind her ear.
“Jake,” she said as a tear dropped from the corner of her eye. “It was because of you.”
He shook his head. “No.” He pointed to her chest. “It’s because of what’s inside you.”
She beamed.
“There’s so much I want to say, but I don’t even know where to begin.” Jake said softly. “You put up with my crazy. I guess maybe because I put up with yours?”
Aisha punched him in the arm, but she laughed. He took a deep breath. He might as well just say it before he lost it—again.
“I’m just… in love with you.” Then he grinned, throwing it completely out there. “And I want to wake up every morning face deep in your pussy.”
Before she could recover from her loss for words, Jake added, “These documents say you are a citizen, so you don’t have to do this.” He hoped she’d see his sincerity. “But will you marry me?”
He was a fucking lunatic. What if she didn’t agree? Maybe she wouldn’t want to. He only brought a barrel of problems into her life, after all.
She continued studying him and smiling coyly. The wait was killing him, but he was patient as she found the words.
“Jake, this has been a wild ride. So much has happened. So much,” she began slowly.
He held her hands and squeezed tightly. Hopefully.
“This was not how I imagined my wedding,” she said with a chuckle, looking at their disheveled appearances. “But then again, I imagined it would be arranged with a gun to my head.”
“I’ve got the priest waiting for us inside. He’s a family friend. We could get this done right now. Legal and everything,” Jake explained.
“How’d you get this done so fast?”
Jake shifted uncomfortably. Should he be totally honest?
“I called him up well before I asked you…” He coughed. “And, hey—this citizenship says you’re Christian. Aya, a Christian woman of Arab descent married to an ex-SEAL? Doesn’t sound that bad.”
She chewed her bottom lip.
“Say something,” he pleaded.
“Thank you for everything,” she said. “I couldn’t have done this without you. I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you. I don’t even know what to say.” She shook her head in disbelief. “But thank you.”
“Not all heroes wear capes, babe.”
Aisha hit him in the chest none too softly. He winced, remembering the pain in his ribs.
“Babe, I was shot, remember?” He coughed.
She let out a laugh. “Is this my future?” she asked sardonically.
He grinned down at her. “Tell me you’ll marry me. I love you so much.”
She seemed to relish the fact that he was dying for her answer.
In one fell swoop, she looked back up at him and pursed her lips. “I do.”
“Thank god.” He bent over and took her mouth with his.
Using both hands, he brought her whole body against his. He never wanted to let go.
She pushed back and, to his surprise, was still smiling.
“There’s something I need you to know before we do this.” She gazed up at him brightly, “I love you, too.”
Jake felt a few tears escape his eyes and he clutched onto her body. He told himself they were tears of pain from when she’d jabbed his ribs. But he privately admitted that they were really just tears of relief.
Never would he allow her to be taken from him again.
The priest opened the side door of the church. “Jake, are you ready?” he asked, looking the duo up and down. “What happened to you? Your mother would faint if she saw this.”
Jake and Aisha exchanged excited glances. “It’s a long story,” Jake said to him before he looked back at Aisha. “Aya? Are you ready?”
“Yes!” she exclaimed.
The priest reluctantly held the door open and grimaced as they approached. Clearly, he had never wed a pair so early in the morning, or in such a state. But Jake and Aisha were nothing if not determined. Determined to survive. Determined to be together. Determined to stay together.
As they found their way to the altar, Jake pulled Aisha behind a confessional, blocking them from the priest’s view. He pressed his mouth down on hers and slowly drew out her tongue. The feeling of her lips on his sent blood rushing to his cock.
“I’m going to have to take you in this confessional. You know that, right?” he groaned as her hands got lost in his pants.
She shot him a dark grin. “I already told you that I’m not religious.”
He took her mouth again. “Don’t tell the priest that. We are both devout Christians.” Jake winked.
As the priest called for them, Jake stole three more French kisses.
Aisha laughed, and Jake knew he had found not only a partner in life, but also a partner in crime, which was turning out to be way more fun.
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Epilogue
Master Chief Ryder Luciano sat at the breakfast bar of his suburban safe house, rubbing his pregnant fiancée’s back as she battled nausea.
“Babe, it’s too much. I can’t do this.” Olivia Forbes kept her head down as Ryder massaged the knots out of her back, pushing her silky brunette ponytail out of the way as it grazed his
hands.
“You can, I know it,” he assured her, keeping his eye on the morning news playing on the small TV on the counter.
She moaned as he kneaded deeper into her aching muscles, which were already being tested by the demands of pregnancy. But one thing was sure: he was going to be there for her every step of the way. He’d birth the baby for her if he could, but he knew that she could do it ten times better than him.
The local news turned to political and military issues, piquing Ryder’s interest. He devoured news throughout the day, searching for any mention of his squadron or his mates.
“Commander Doug Fuller of the Navy SEALs has issued another statement regarding the recent, shelved NCIS investigation. He is seeking to reassure the public that his office did not interfere in the process whatsoever. This statement has interesting timing, however, as we have received a confidential tip that a high-ranking SEAL in Wolfpack had to be rescued after an operation gone sideways. But JSOC is denying, leaving the public wondering what exactly is happening in Mali,” the reporter explained.
Olivia’s head snapped up to watch the segment. It was the first news they’d seen about it since he’d been rescued. And he he’d been rescued weeks ago.
Amazing how it took so long for reporters to cultivate leaks. Ryder wondered who’d squawked.
On the TV, the reporter pressed her ear piece, and another reporter joined her on a split screen.
“Live from the Pentagon, we have our senior analyst, Chris Mews. Over to you, Chris.”
A sporty-looking young man began speaking, sending chills up Ryder’s spine. He knew that guy—Mews was close with all the political types in Washington, and he worked in the office for the Secretary of Defense.
“Thank you, Jessica. What we have here is a continuing Navy SEAL controversy. We have allegations. We have a rescue mission for a master chief. We have people disagreeing on basic facts. The question that we all have now is—what really happened? How can we trust what we are hearing? This is beginning to smell like a cover-up, and unfortunately, troop commander Doug Fuller seems behind the ball on this one.”
Chris Mews raised his eyebrow into the camera, and Ryder wondered if he wasn’t sending a message to someone directly.
Fuller.
Stop fucking it up.
Olivia turned to him, her mouth dropping. “Babe, we knew Fuller had big friends in big places, but this?”
Ryder dropped his hands from her back and reached for his cell. It was time to place some calls and find out what the hell the plan was. He was tired of being in a goddamn safe house—and he certainly wasn’t going to raise his kid there. Aidan King needed to get him some fucking answers. When were they going to slap charges on Fuller and be done with it?
As he keyed in the intelligence officer’s contact, he grunted to his fiancée, “He’s got one week to bring this sick fuck to court-martial for war crimes, or I’m going to take care of this problem on behalf of every honorable man and woman who’s ever served under poisonous, corrupt leadership.”
Hunting Avery
Book One
US Navy Special Warfare Operator Mason Ajax dug his heels deeper into the blisteringly hot white sand as the burn rose into his ankles.
The sun was high and hot, midday on the beach on the paradise island of Dhidhoofinolhu in the Maldives, a breathtaking collection of tropical islands in the Indian Ocean. The clear aqua-blue water and cloudless sky were unblemished except for the occasional bird dipping in and out of sight.
Mason was on a spontaneous post-tour decompression trip before heading back home to Virginia. He wanted—needed—to feel something again.
He’d been numb for too long.
He’d never admit it out loud, but deep down he knew that the decompression was as much about self-medicating as it was about rest. Boss’s orders.
And no one took orders more seriously than Mason.
Mason’s boss, Senior Chief Liam Blackshot, had recognized the growing weariness and battle fatigue in Mason’s eyes. In an unprecedented move, he’d demanded Mason take a week off before reporting back for duty. It was Mason’s first vacation since he’d enlisted.
But ocean waves lapping against the sand weren’t enough to calm the storm inside his chest.
Mason shook his head, beads of sweat trickling through his golden-brownish hair.
Life in DEVGRU was harder than he’d expected. But he never complained. He hadn’t worked through selection, and trial after trial, just to complain. He’d made it into Development Group. The hardest, most badass team in the SEALs.
What did he expect? He wasn’t a fucking pussy, he reminded himself.
Mason rubbed his tanned hands over his face, wiping away the sweat. He’d been sitting too long in the blazing heat. Rows of tiki umbrellas behind him shaded tourists from the scorching Indian Ocean sun, and, behind those, a beautifully crafted wooden deck overlooked the beach. But Mason couldn’t be bothered to be sun safe. He wanted to feel the burn.
No matter how relaxed he ordered his body to be, he couldn’t shake the tension wrapped around his bones. Even sitting in the hot white sand, staring out over the endless blue horizon punctuated by the silhouettes of neighboring islands, Mason’s chest tightened. Sometimes it was so cold that it was hard to breathe.
He was just sick of seeing blood on his hands at the end of every day. That’s all it was. Battle fatigue. Shell shock. Exhaustion. He didn’t see the end of every day until three days later. He was sick of forgetting his own goddamn birthday because he was entrenched in a mission.
Mason shook his head, wondering who he was trying to convince. Justifications danced around the core of the issue, but he knew there was a lot more to the story.
He didn’t know who he was anymore. What he was fighting for. See enough bad shit, and you’ll forget yourself, he’d been warned.
An exotic white bird danced through the sky and swooped down to skim the top of the transparent water. Mason watched intently, trying to immerse himself in the moment. Today was different. It was a vacation day. He wasn’t in the field. He wasn’t on an operation. He wasn’t a SEAL. He was just a guy on a beach, drinking a cocktail and working on his tan.
Damn right.
Today, he was going to celebrate. When he’d checked into the hotel, he’d been reminded that it was, in fact, his birthday.
“Happy birthday, sir!” The gorgeous, dark-skinned receptionist had beamed when she’d scanned his passport that morning. “We would like to upgrade you to a private villa, complimentary, to help make your day extra special.”
“Hell, it’s my lucky day.” Mason had attempted to match her cheeriness, but his gruff voice gave him away. He’d been in the Sahel for god knows how long and then traveled thirty hours to get there. It showed.
He stared out at the lush paradise before him. Cascading waterfalls crashed into manicured ponds. The sound of gushing streams filled the space.
He was going to enjoy this, he told himself. How couldn’t he? He hadn’t seen more water than a puddle of piss in months. The scent of salty water breezed through the open-air foyer, soothing his travel-weary bones.
A distant dance beat emanated from the beach, tempting guests to join the party. Grabbing an orange cocktail adorned with melons off a tray on the reception desk, he wondered if any premiere DJs would be cutting.
The receptionist shuffled some documents together and magnetized his key, handing it to him with a luscious, exotic smile. Her glossy pink lips stood out on her darkly tanned face. Mason did not miss the mischief in her eyes.
“Enjoy your stay,” she said, tucking a loose strand of black hair behind her ear. “Please let me know if there’s anything I can do to improve your stay… or if there’s anything you need at all.”
Mason recognized the insinuation. He wondered if her excellent customer service was a little more than required. He leaned over the counter and palmed his key. She tucked her head down, her eyelashes fluttered, and her lips parted.
He was aware of his effect on women. Tall and muscular, with bronzed skin and hair, he’d been called the All-American before. And there’d been a time when he wasn’t shy to reciprocate. He had enjoyed a lot of female… friends. But things were different now. The roster was nonexistent.
He wasn’t clean and shiny anymore. He was gritty, with caked-on dirt and sand from the backcountry of the Sahel that might never come off. Women said they loved the rustic look, but they didn’t when it went too far. Which it damn well had. He hadn’t shaved, he hadn’t showered. Inside, he felt as disheveled as he looked.
So Mason offered the receptionist nothing more than a polite smile. “Thanks,” he replied, his voice catching in his throat. It felt forced.
Sure, he appreciated the upgrade—but he barely knew how to talk to humans outside camp. Outside the military. He wasn’t sure when or how he’d changed, but he knew why. It wasn’t hard to figure out. And he was glad he had a break before heading back home. He needed some time away from the guys—away from the SEALs.
The resort staff had shown him to a villa fit for Beyoncé. At the end of a long boardwalk of exclusive huts, perched over the water on wooden beams, the straw-and-raw-wood exterior gave off a lush wooden scent as it baked under the scorching sun.
Inside, Mason’s villa was balls-to-the-wall gorgeous. Marble upon granite upon opulence. Even the fucking shower looked fit for a king… and some friends. His younger self would have loved that. His younger self would have prepped for an all-nighter. If he wanted to make that happen, he had a feeling friends wouldn’t be hard to find. The front-desk staff practically advertised the service.
But he just wanted to crash. The fluffy white bed called to him.
Forcing himself to stay awake, Mason found the mini bar in his room and threw back a couple of shots of whisky. He flipped through the information book and saw advertisements for the spa, fitness club, bars, beach club, and five-star restaurants.
He toyed with the idea of revisiting his younger self again. He thought about what friends he could meet at the beach club and bring back to the villa with him. There was enough room for many to join.
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