by Aubrey Irons
“Don’t ever go and get kidnapped again, OK?” She sniffs into my shoulder, making us both choke out laughs through our tears.
“He’s still there, with Blackriver,” I say quietly, wrapping my arms around her.
Quinn looks up at Major Lawson; “Javier; he saved her, didn’t he?” The silver-haired man nods, and she turns to Logan; “We’re not leaving him there to die then.” Logan’s jaw tightens, but I know I’m watching the facade crumble. She looks back at Major Lawson; “We can’t leave him there.”
“No, we certainly can’t.”
I look up sharply, but I’m not the only one. Reagan, Quinn, Peyton, Hudson, Bryce, and even Logan are also jerking their heads up to look at the Major.
“What?”
The Major grins; “I said we certainly can’t.”
“Logan,” Quinn says pointedly; “What if it was me? What if they’d been after me and he stepped in?”
Logan glares at my sister; “But it wasn’t-”
“It might have well been, man.” Hudson says sharply; “They were after her to get to us. It could have been Reagan, and it could have been Quinn, and the only reason she’s not hurt,” He nods at me; “Well, Javier Toro is the only reason.”
Logan closes his eyes, shaking his head for a moment before he opens them; “He called me, you know.”
I jerk my head up and stare at him; “What!? When?”
From before he broke you out, when you were there with Benson and Blackriver.” Logan nods slowly; “He called my old second line and just said that he was settling up with karma, and that he was sorry.”
My heart almost breaks right there, and I find myself clinging to Quinn as if I might shatter and scatter to the winds if I don’t.
Logan turns, and when he does, I can see him drop the rest of whatever he’s holding onto. He looks pointedly at the Major; “How soon could we do this?”
Major Lawson grins and cocks an eyebrow, looking almost excited; “Well the three of you are military trained, you all own planes, and I’ve got a SEAL team on speed dial and pretty much a blank check on matters I deem of interest to national security.”
Logan nods quietly, before he turns and shoots me a hard look; “Let’s go get our man.”
31
Javier
When I was younger, I used to have a lot more machismo, and a lot more bullshit swagger than I do now. When you’re young, and poor, and scrounging from the street, you talk a whole lot of bullshit to get you through each day. I can distinctly remember a gang of us, poking around the shadows of the market looking for pick-pocketing marks and bragging about how we didn’t care about death or dying; like that was some kind of badge of honor to not give a fuck. We’d make jokes about the devil telling us when and how so that we could pull all the shit we wanted to pull before he took us.
We weren’t fearless, we were just fucking idiots.
Because I can say now that knowing when, and how you’re going to die is…well, it doesn’t feel like I ever expected it to feel. I’m not standing there with arms wide open like the jackass kid version of myself who used to brag about it before stealing pocket change from old ladies. I’m not raging, or laughing in the face of it either.
I mean I’m pissed about it, because if this is my time to go, I’d just want one more day with her; one more perfect day with that angel. But I guess we’ll always want one more something when our time comes; one more day, one more drink with friends, one more time with a lover. But fuck it, if the last few days of this fucked up and broken life were the cards I got dealt, then I can call that a good run.
A very good run.
I can see the sun starting to peak over the treetops, through the barred window of the cell I’m in.
One more sunrise.
They’re going to kill me today. Well, Benson’s been promising that for four days now, but there was something about the finality in him saying it last night that got me. And maybe it was that he’s just gotten tired of having me beaten, or electrocuted, or denied sleep, and wants to be done with me; not altogether different than most people I’ve known in my life. At some point, they just get tired of me and my bullshit.
Except for her.
I grit my teeth when I think of her; my one regret and the one thing I’m angry about having to leave. But I know she got out OK, and that’s all that matters. She’s safe, and if I’ve gotta take the hit for that, so fucking be it.
There’s the sound of yelling from outside the door to my cell, and I steel myself; fuck it, let’s get this over with.
But the sounds of yelling are quickly drowned out by gunshots, a crashing sound, and something that sounds like an explosion in the distance.
What the fuck?
I’m wide awake then; well, as wide awake as I can be considering I’ve been tortured, beaten, and deprived of sleep for four days. But my eyes are glued to the door as I hear someone banging on the other side of it. The sound goes silent for a second, but suddenly there’s a horrible sound of wrenching metal as the door explodes inwards, rupturing in two in a cloud of black smoke.
And then suddenly Logan Goddamn Dempsey is standing in front of me, and it all makes sense.
I’m already dead. This is, in fact, death, and this is my afterlife. This is my judgment standing right in front of me, and when he pulls out a large, wicked looking knife, I find myself nodding and setting my jaw; “Let’s do this, devil,” I mutter, my vision swimming in and out of darkness; “Let the purgatory begin, demon!”
The Logan Archangel in front of me frowns and rolls his eyes before hauling back and slapping me hard across the face. The hit jolts me back into the now, and I blink; holy shit, it’s actually Logan.
“You’re not dead, Toro,” He shakes his head as he slips the blade through the ropes tying me to the chair and cuts me loose; “Not yet at least.” He yanks me roughly to my feet, and I groan at the the pain lancing through me from the beatings and from the burn marks of the electric nodes.
“Look, shithead,” Logan growls, hauling me upright, his eyes piercing mine; “I haven’t decided that I like you, or if I forgive you.” I swallow, eyeing the knife in his hands. He nods at me; “But you saved her life, and you showed honor; more than I’d have given you credit for.”
I nod my head, wincing when he yanks me closer; “If you fuckin hurt her, I’ll bury you. You know that, right?”
I grin, raising my hand to clap him on the back; “Irish, if I ever hurt that girl, I’ll dig the hole myself, comprende?
Logan’s face splits into a grin right back at me. He’s nodding as the rest of them come crashing into the room; Bryce and Hudson, and some older guy holding a Goddamn revolver, and-
-And her.
I let myself drop into her as Chelsea shoves Logan out of the way and wraps her arms around me; “I love you.” She whispers, hugging me fiercely and crying into my neck; “You never let me say that at the airfield.”
“I love you, too,” I say, for the second time ever, feeling like the world is somehow aligning right; like somehow God and fate and karma are giving me a second shot.
“Ready to get out of here, princess?”
“You gonna steal me if I say no, criminal?”
I grin at her: “Definitely.”
32
Chelsea
E P I L O G U E
Change is a funny thing, and it comes in ways and shapes you’ll never see coming.
As it turns out, Javier was a wealth of information on illicit activities in the Americas; in particular, the drugs and weapons traffic routes through the Caribbean and Florida. So much so, in fact, that the State Department was willing to forgo all pending charges in order to put him on task forces with the D.E.A.
Yeah, bad-ass, criminal, smuggler, thief, extortionist Javier Toro is working for the good guys now; who would’ve thought?
“Informant? Fuck that,” He declared during the initial sit-down meeting with D.E.A. Commissioner on the offer; “Informant sounds li
ke a fucking weasel.”
Yep, that’s the man I love; pushing buttons and trying to get cute at a meeting that literally determines his fate for the next twenty-five years to life. But I’ve gotta say, the man knows what he wants, and he won’t stop until he gets it.
And he does, of course. In the end, he even got them to officially grant his title as “Master of Secrets”; I swear I could not make this stuff up if I tried.
Family is family, and after they forgave me for all the secrets surrounding my job stuff, they slowly started to get on board with the Javier thing as well. My sisters - well, I mean come on; those two really don’t have a rock to stand on when it comes to getting involved with men they shouldn’t. It’s worth pointing out that things worked out just fine in those circumstances too, and I think once they realized I knew exactly what I was doing, they took it just fine.
“Will it be hilarious or awful if I get him a neck warmer for Christmas?” Quinn says with wicked grin. Yeah, we’re going to be just fine on that front.
Bryce oddly enough ended up being the first of the guys to warm up to Javier. Apparently, a mutual love of the Barcelona soccer club has a way of mending fences in ways I couldn’t - and honestly still don’t - understand. Hudson moved from standoffish to indifferent, and then eventually to casually friendly with him; Reagan’s helping me out there.
Logan we’re still working on. Life isn’t a cutesy movie ending, and saying that everyone just decided to be best friends after everything that’s happened would be a lie. Logan and Javier have some serious history to work through, though they’re trying. They’re apparently going to start boxing together, which should be, well, interesting.
Thanksgiving is right around the corner too, and we’re actually going to have all of us together under one roof for the first time ever. The mercenaries, the soldiers, the politician, the mother, the doctor, the spy, the philanthropist, the recovering alcoholic, the ex-addict, the long lost sister, the princess, and the criminal. Because sometimes family is who we choose it to be, and I couldn’t have picked a better one.
And Javier and I? There’s supposed to be this big happy sappy ending where we get married and live happily ever after, right? Except that would be this big dumb cliche, right?
Well, then deal with it, because that’s exactly what’s happening. The spy and the criminal who stole her heart; how’s that for a happy ending?
The wedding itself isn’t until spring, but the happy-ever-after part we’ve already started on. I might add that we’re amassing a very colorful collection of straps, handcuffs, ties, and restraints in our bedroom as well.
We’re all capable of change, if we want it bad enough. We just have to try, because if you don’t try, what’s the point? For every shadow, there’s a light somewhere, and for every lost, there’s a found. And none of us is lost, as long as we can hang on to what’s good in this world.
Even if you have to steal it.
Also by Aubrey Irons
Standalone Stepbrother Romance:
Score: A Stepbrother Sports Romance
Secret: A Military Stepbrother Romance
Cockney: A British Stepbrother Romance
Crude: A Stepbrother Romance
Soldiers of Fortune Series:
Heat
Burn
Scorch
Roar
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About the Author
Aubrey Irons enjoys writing about bold, sassy, and intelligent women and the dominant, cocky, and quite typically forbidden alpha males who love and lust for them; gripping stories, happy endings, and enough heat to keep things extra steamy!
In the real world, Aubrey is kept plenty entertained by her own tattooed Marine husband, their precocious and adorable three year old, and one very ill-behaved puppy.
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Part IV
Roar: Soldiers of Fortune Book 4
Copyright © 2015 Aubrey Irons
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are solely the product of the author’s imagination and/or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, organizations, actual events or locales is entirely coincidental. The author acknowledges the trademark status of products referred to in this book and acknowledges that trademarks have been used without permission.
All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author, except in the case of brief quotations used for review purposes.
This book is intended for mature, adult audiences only. It contains sexually explicit and graphic scenes and language which may be considered offensive by some readers. Please do not continue reading this book of you are under the age of 18 or are offended by content of this nature.
All sexually active characters in this work are 18 years of age or older and are in no way blood relations. All acts of a sexual nature are completely consensual.
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1
Peyton
“Looks like a storm’s coming,” My brother grumbles, looking up at the dark clouds rolling down over the New York skyline in the distance. He cracks his knuckles loudly and I wrinkle my nose.
“Gross, Logan.” I hate when he does that.
“Sorry,” He grins. Quinn rolls her eyes at me as if to say “yeah, tell me about it” and leans back into him.
The smile that crosses my face isn’t altogether dissimilar from his, which makes sense considering we had the same mother. The thought makes me smile even more, watching him and his soon-to-be bride snuggle against each other in the cold of the March afternoon.
Yeah, cold, slushy and grey, with rain on the horizon; heck of a day for a ground-breaking ceremony.
But for once, things are actually good. I mean, everyone’s here in Long Island City for the start of construction on the new headquarters for the Archer World Health Foundation, and we’re all, well, good. Hell, my brother and Javier are even talking, which is sort of mind-blowing given the history there.
“Hey.”
Well, everything is basically good.
I turn, keeping my face the neutral stoney blankness I always do around him; “Hey.”
Bryce nods, his chiseled jaw and his piercing blue eyes about as neutrally stoic as mine. Silence descends between us. This is pretty much about the extent of our conversations over the last year; ever since-
Well, since we stopped all that.
“You know,” He arches an eyebrow at me, as if reading my thoughts; “Someday we may even have a real conversation again.”
I want to grin. I want to crack a smile because that’s just what he does to me. But I can’t do that. I have to stay stoic and cold; I have to let this die, no matter how long it fucking takes.
“Yep, someday.”
Bryce nods again, his bright blue eyes looking right into mine; so deep that I wonder if he can tell how much effort it’s taking for me to keep up the bitch attitude I’ve kept around him for the past year. He clears his throat; “So, where’s, uh, what’s-his-fuckin-name.”
Don’t take the bait, he’s baiting you. And of course, it’s working.
“Hugh couldn’t make it.” I say icily, my mouth small and my eyes narrowing at him. He grins; of course he grins.
“He wanted to, really,
he just had something come up.” I am not telling Bryce about my breakup. For one, because I’m over it anyways, but also because it’s got nothing to do with him.
Yeah, keep telling yourself that. I've been through this a hundred freaking times in my head, and we're past this. What happened was a long, long time-
Ugh. I need to extract myself from this conversation.
Bryce makes a fake-pout face; “Aww, shame. I really wanted to meet the guy.”
“No you didn't.”
“No, I didn’t.”
I set my jaw; “I have to go,” I say, turning to push away from him.
“Yeah, I hear three feet from wherever I’m standing is the best spot.”
I feel his hand on my elbow, and I whirl around, quickly pulling my arm back; “People are watching, Bryce,” I say quietly, my eyes looking everywhere but his.
He rolls his eyes; “They’re watching a backhoe dig frozen dirt, and besides, we’re just talking.”
“Not anymore.” I turn before he can say anything else, and I can practically feel his damned grin at the back of my head, but I push my way through the small assembled crowd anyways.
“You alright, kid?”
Literally anyone else in the world who called me that would get a knee to the groin. Logan gets a pass; “I’m good, just tired; little stressed.”
“Yeah, Bryce is good with that sort of thing.”
I freeze, quickly trying to swallow the lump that forms in my chest; “Uh, what?” My whole body goes rigid as I study Logan’s face for a sign that he knows the truth.
Of course he doesn’t. I’d be disowned or something, and Bryce would probably be head-first through a high-rise window.