by Sam JD Hunt
“She’s drugged, Rex, not dead, He gave her some injection after I got here, after he tied me up. He ambushed me—she came in a few minutes later, screaming for him to stop.”
“I am sorry,” Luther wailed.
Nate knelt down by Amber, trying to revive her. Rex’s gun was aimed at Luther, but Luther’s own gun was no longer fixed on Nate, instead it was pointed at his own right temple.
“Don’t, please, I need you, Luth. We’re friends, we’re like brothers—even when it all gets twisted up. Put the gun down.”
I dropped the phone as it buzzed, the thud causing all three men in the boathouse to look toward the window. I glanced down at the phone, it was a text from Monk:
We’re pulling in to the neighborhood now.
At that moment, my focus on the phone rather than my surroundings, it happened. He grabbed me around the throat and pushed me forward. “Where is my wife?” he hissed into my ear.
“Kip, wait,” I begged, his grasp tightening around my throat as I fought for air. “She’s inside,” I choked out, desperately trying to pry his fingers from my neck, forgetting everything I’d been taught about escaping chokeholds. He squeezed my neck harder, and with a sudden movement, opened the thin wooden door and forced me inside with him, his strong fingers never relenting their pressure on my pulsing throat. Before I could think, the lack of oxygen causing me to nearly blackout, something crashed into us and I was on the floor. My body thrashed as I fought for air. Nate lifted me up and held me tight.
“Calm down, breathe babe, slowly,” Nate said into my ear.
When I was able to focus again, the throbbing pain subsiding and my vision returning, I saw Kip standing in the corner, holding something that looked like an old 80s TV remote control in his right hand. Rex and Luther both had their weapons trained on Kip as he stood there, tears rolling down his face.
“She is not dead, my friend, only sleeping,” Luther said softly to Kip.
Kip shook his head—the knot of brown hair falling loose of the bun he always wore. His skin was white, as if blanched in terror. “It doesn’t matter. I came here to take her to heaven with me.”
Nate let go of me, nudging me toward the door, and leaned down to pick up Amber’s unconscious body. He said to Rex and Luther, “Shoot that motherfucker!”
“We can’t,” Rex said calmly.
“What the fuck, he’s going to kill—”
“Nathaniel, this man is armed with a suicide belt. If we shoot him, it will detonate,” Luther answered matter-of-factly, as if this happened every day. I looked at Kip’s torso—there was a canvas belt of some sort, about eight inches wide and wrapped around him underneath his shirt. Kip’s chest was heaving and sweat rolled down his pale skin. He was agitated and unstable and holding the detonator to a bomb only feet from us. My eyes drifted to Luther—on the knuckles of the three middle fingers of his left hand three letters were tattooed—R E X.
“This conflict is between your wife and yourself, Kip. Would it not be better if we let the distractions go? I believe I hear federal agents out front, they will be here any second. Let these three leave—they are here for them.” Luther looked directly at Kip as he spoke, lowering the gun and slipping it into the waistband of his dark pants.
“I-I dunno,” Kip said, his eyes darting around. “Put my wife down,” he finally said to Nate, who simply stood there with his sister in his arms.
Rex inched toward us, his own gun still pointed in the direction of Kip. Luther had slowly gotten closer to Kip, inching along the wall toward the man and the bomb he wore.
“Um, you can get the fuck out of here,” Kip said to Luther, “and also the blonde and the big tattooed guy can go, but her meddling brother is going to hell with us.” Kip raised his hand with the detonator, his finger moving toward the button.
The rest happened so fast, I’m not sure that I remember the details. Luther nodded to Rex, and Rex lunged at us, pushing me out the door behind Nate, who still held Amber in his arms as he ran.
“Go!” Rex screamed. “Run.”
Rex’s powerful arms lifted me, carrying me with him behind Nate as we struggled to put as much distance between ourselves and the boathouse as possible. I heard a gunshot, but the explosion itself I didn’t hear until long after I felt it. The wave of energy, the heat, the impact of a piece of wood flying into Rex’s back as he held me, covering me with his strong body.
It all went silent after the explosion. I looked around the body-shield of Rex—half of the building was still standing. Within seconds, four men dressed in dark clothes were around us. “Monk, Luther is in there,” was all Rex said as his eyes went to Nate’s.
“I’m fine,” Nate said. “Amber’s okay. She’s starting to wake up.” I heard her moan, her body still limp.
I sat on the soggy grass behind Rex while the agents worked their way into the remnants of the boathouse, my arms wrapped around his broad back. I could hear commotion at the front of the house, in the driveway area, and in the far distance, the blare of sirens.
“How did you know what Luther was going to do?” I asked, trying to replay it in my mind.
“He shot me a hand signal. Uh, we’ve been in so many dicey situations together.” Rex paused, the sadness drifting over him. “There was no time, he gave me the signal and lunged.”
I wanted to say something, to comfort him, but instead we sat silently until there was a commotion in the wreckage.
“Rex, I found him,” one of the men shouted.
Rex jolted up and ran toward the wreckage, Nate and I chasing after him. In front of the exploded building was Kip’s head—blown from his body and eerily preserved. In the back of the boathouse, the part still standing, Monk and another agent stood over a charred being. It was Luther, horrifically wounded, with his body gyrating in unnatural spasms. Rex went to him and knelt down at his side.
“All for you, Doc. It has always been for you.” Luther’s body shook as Rex held him.
“I’m so sorry that I couldn’t love you the way that you needed, Luth. You saved me; you saved my family.” Rex’s cheek lowered to be next to Luther’s—the past forgiven as Luther lay struggling for his final breaths.
“I see Mother,” Luther said, his eyes on the ceiling of the smoky room.
“He’ll be okay, let’s get him to a hospital,” Nate said.
Rex looked over at him and shook his head. “No, it’s too late for that.”
“Forgive me, Doc, I love you,” Luther said, his voice strained. Rex, with a quick nod to us, leaned down and kissed Luther on the lips—the kiss of a friend rather than a lover. There was a gurgle from Luther, his eyes rolling back into his head as he shook. Rex never let go of him, his clothes seeping up the blood that flowed from Luther’s mortal wounds.
“I won’t leave you this time, my brother. I’ll take you home to be with us. Now, be at peace, be free,” Rex said as he closed Luther’s eyes for eternity.
Monk looked to Rex, the sound of the sirens getting closer. “We have to get him out of here, Colonel—the cleaner is on his way. We can’t hold the locals off for much longer; that was one hell of a boom.”
It took Rex a few seconds to respond, but he looked up to the man. “Okay but there’s no fucking way you’re desecrating him. He died for us—Luther threw himself on that bomb to save my family. I want him with me, in Colombia, where he belongs.”
Monk took a deep breath and looked to the door. “Okay, okay, I’ll get the body team to deliver him. But no one can know, Rex.”
“I know,” Rex said with one last caress of Luther’s angelic face. He looked over to Nate and me before standing up and saying, “It’s time for us to go home.” The three of us walked out of the charred room and into the searing Miami heat. Rex helped Amber stand, she was awake but groggy, slurring words that didn’t make any sense.
“Will there be a funeral? What about his family?” I asked Rex, the hatred I’d had for Luther washing away. A dark van was waiting; a special ops s
oldier I recognized from the night Luther arrived guarded the door.
“Luther is officially dead and buried at Arlington, so they would have cremated and hidden his body. He’s already had his funeral; to his family, he’s long since dead. I’d like to bury him at home, as long as you two agree?” We both said yes—despite the havoc he’d wreaked, Luther had saved our lives. And, I somehow knew, he was the fire that the three of us had to go through to be stronger than ever.
The door to the van opened and we climbed in. Rex placed Amber’s weak body on a bench seat in the chilled van and wrapped her in a blanket. “Hanging in there?” Rex asked her as the van started to move.
She swallowed hard but answered, “That animal, Kip, will never hurt me again.”
Nate reached for her hand. “You’re safe now,” he reassured her. Amber dozed back to sleep, the heavy narcotic that Luther had given her would take days to fully wear off.
“We can never again let anyone come between the three of us,” Rex said, pulling us close to him as the van rolled down the crowded Miami highway.
“We work as three—I know that now,” Nate said.
Rex leaned into him, “I love you both with everything inside of me, and I intend to show you that for the rest of our lives.”
Rex’s lips brushed across Nate’s, sealing their union with a kiss. I leaned across to kiss Nate, no words were needed for him to feel my love that afternoon.
My lips next fell to Rex’s as Nate said, “You two are my all, my life, my love.”
Our three bodies huddled together and, as they usually do, our fingers intertwined as we said the oath that would keep us together for eternity—three broken souls that somehow, defying all odds, bound together to form a perfect circle.
“We are three,” we each repeated, “I love you both.”
Epilogue
Amber stayed with us for six months after we returned home from Miami. She found solace in our kitchen, in doing what she loved, and after a second trip to the jungle, she slowly regained confidence in herself. We were especially grateful that she helped us hire a new cook before she left to return to culinary school. After extensive therapy, she and Nate were able to come to terms with the abuse they suffered as children and remain closer than ever.
Luther’s body was buried on our land, as Rex wanted, according to the traditions of the ancient form of Christianity Luther practiced. None of Luther’s family was present at the funeral—they still believed he’d died years before after being shot in Colombia, with Doctor Rex Renton trying to save him. Only a handful of people know how Luther really left this world—by conquering his demons in the end and finding the good within him to sacrifice himself for us, and for his love of Rex.
Days after the funeral, Rex had a permanent remembrance of the man he loved like a brother inked into his skin as well as the number three on his thumb to forever remind him of our bond as three. I went along with him to the tattoo artist and he shocked me by not having a tantrum when I wanted to get my first tattoo. Nate never caught the ink bug, but he loves seeing his name next to Rex’s on the three intertwined eternity rings on my skin.
In early autumn of the year after Luther’s death, with three gold bands and one knee to the ground, Rex asked Nate and me to marry him. Our marriage wasn’t legal in any country, or recognized formally by any religion, but to us, it was every bit as forever binding as if it were. And, my two beautiful husbands did give me the wedding of my dreams. To my surprise, my family and friends flew over in overwhelming numbers. Some probably came only to see the spectacle, but most were there to genuinely celebrate my happiness. My father rented out an entire hotel in Bogotá to lodge everyone. I walked down the aisle on my father’s arm to the two men who were my world. I passed my cousin Madison and her husband Chad, who was beaming as Chad slid his hand over the kicking baby growing inside her. Amber was there—she didn’t bring a date because she told me she was taking things slowly, but she’d been seeing a very caring man she met in school. My life, my world was complete as Father Dan Bowen pronounced three incomplete souls united as three, the symbol of three golden bands on our left fingers and our own oath binding us for eternity.
A year and eight months later, both of my husbands cried as Rex delivered our first child, Daniel Albert Renton. And yes, the three of us planned the baby’s conception and I know with complete certainty that Rex is Daniel’s biological father, although my precious son would tell you he was blessed to have not one loving father, but two. Two more children followed over the years—a little girl, Jennifer, fathered by Rex and an eternally smiling, beautiful baby boy, Christopher James Slater.
Despite the fears, and the trials, we managed to navigate the outside world as a union of three. When the children were older, we divided our time between Colombia and Las Vegas so they could attend school. At first, there was the awkwardness of explaining our non-traditional family set up, but in true Vegas fashion, most of the people we interacted with were of the “to each their own” mentality.
Love is love, and none of us planned to love more than one person, but for us, that was the form that was perfect. That summer we were forged by fire into one, and never again did we doubt our love. It would be easy to blame Luther, to hate the memory of him, but in his own tragic way he wasn’t that much different from the rest of us—he sought love.
Each year on the anniversary of his death, the three of us stand together at his grave and remember not the bad parts, but the splendor of what we’ve overcome. We perform an ancient ritual, not because we believe in it, but in honor of his memory. We pray to the God he believed in that he is at peace.
As we gather around the fire, the three of us remember how blessed we’ve been, and the pain Luther endured. His gravestone is made of simple dark granite; the same Celtic cross he’d worn on his chest during life is carved into the stone. Only his initials and the date of his death give any clue as to who lies below.
Each year, after the ritual, Rex holds up his left hand, three fingers splayed out at us. “Three,” he says. “We are three. I love you both.” The tattoo he’s had inked into his body is just below his shirt sleeve on his left arm—the same Celtic cross Luther bore, with the words “All for you” in Gaelic beneath.
As part of our tradition, our oath, I reach up three fingers and hold them to Rex’s. “Three, I love you both,” I repeat.
Nate holds up three fingers from his left hand to ours and repeats the words that have become an oath between us for eternity—“Three, I love you both.”
Love finds a way to thrive—defying all labels, crashing through all boundaries, forgiving and mending the pain of the past.
We are three, and we love each other. Nothing else matters—we have found our own version of true love, and for the three of us and our family, it’s perfect.
THE END
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Review Torn from Two
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Also by Sam J.D. Hunt
Taken by Two (Book One of the Taken and Torn Series)
The Thomas Hunt Series:
Roulette: Love Is A Losing Game
Blackjack: Wicked Game
Poker: Foolish Games
DEEP: A Captive Tale
The Hunt for Eros
With Thomas Hunt:
Dagger: American Fighter Pilot
Titles available for Kindle, Kindle Unlimited, and Paperback.
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Acknowledgements
A loving husband and two patient children—that’s how I manage to write, and to them I will be eternally grateful for sharing me with Nate, Penny, and my superstar, King Rex.
Thank you to the core group of ladies who tirelessly promote my work for free, Hunts’ Hustlers: Melissa Aguirre, Ashley Carr, Jessica Cecconi, Reva Coomer, Tina England, Laura Frasher, Missy Harton, Mindy Knadler, Kelly Mallett, Ann Myers, and Jenny Shepherd.
To my editor, Missy Borucki, for making this book shine, and to my volunteer editor, Kelly Mallett, for the constant fine-tuning and feedback along the way.
There’s a special place in my heart for my beta readers, who trudge through a very early draft of my book: Melissa Aguirre, Daphne Caldwell, Tina England, Kathi Goldwyn, Maureen Goodwin, Carol Hall, Missy Harton, Theresa Martin, Suzanne Mayer, Ann Myers, Terri Osborn, and Jenny Shepherd.
I’d also like to thank my ARC readers and the fabulous blogs who support indie romance.
I treasure the friendship and support from my fan group, Hunt’s Hideaway.
To my readers, who have embraced a new style of one love shared by three—without your swell of support for Taken by Two, and demand for more, there would be no Torn from Two—Taken was meant to be a standalone, so this one is for you.