Issued (Navy Seals of Little Creek Book 1)

by Paris Wynters

  And I want to be hers.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Taya

  The next morning, I awake to a wonderful, liquid feeling in my limbs and a note from Jim.

  Stay in bed, birthday girl. Ran out to do a few errands but I’ll be back soon for round two.

  My inner thighs clench together and tingle at the promise. Round two and if I’m lucky, round three and four later.

  The world seems brighter and there’s a warmth within me that leaves me light on my feet. Peace has always been hard to come by, but my soul is quiet for the first time in my life. Love was always that thing in movies that made people sing in the rain and climb castle towers. Love was a knight in shining armor and a picket fence.

  Yet, I have something better.

  Something real and unconditional. Something I’m willing to fight for. I roll onto my side and a sparkle catches my eye. My engagement ring. As I study the gemstone Jim picked out, optimism buoys me into sitting up. After the day we had yesterday, I expected to be exhausted today. Instead, my body hums with newfound energy. Like speaking our truths last night had cut away the dead weight dragging me down, leaving me fresh and ready to embrace a brand-new day. A brand-new start of my life.

  And the first thing I want to do with this new life? Make Lyons and Jim eat their words by cooking my husband an edible breakfast.

  I slip into a comfortable pair of leggings and an old T-shirt of Jim’s, and then head downstairs. A quick perusal of “easy, quick breakfast recipes” on my phone pulls up a few likely options. I scroll until I find one that I’m convinced even I can’t screw up: microwave omelets in mugs. Yeah, okay, so I burned the microwave pancakes, but that really was a fluke. I’m pretty confident I can mix together eggs, cheese and ham in a cup, press start, and not cause a major explosion.

  I hum while I crack the eggs, pleased when I don’t get even a single piece of shell into the mix. This is going to turn out perfect.

  I tidy as I go, and by the time the mugs come out of the microwave, the kitchen is almost as spotless as when I started. I remove them and take a hopeful look inside. Yup. They look omelet-esque. Next I sniff and when that pans out, I bite the bullet and fork a tiny bit of yellow egg concoction into my mouth.

  The texture is firm without being dry, flavored with the bite of sharp cheddar and the sweetness of ham.

  I swallow. Holy shit. It’s actually good.

  “Yes!” I shout to no one in particular, and then pump my fist before doing a little dance around the kitchen.

  The front door opens and the grin splitting my face is probably more appropriate for someone who just won a Chopped final than a grown woman who cooked some eggs that don’t suck, but I don’t care. I grab a mug and a fork and hurry out of the kitchen to greet my husband as he walks in.

  “Wait until you taste this, you won’t be able to make any burning-down-the-kitchen jokes any—”

  The cup slips from my grasp and shatters on the floor, the loud noise drowning out my gasp. My nerves fire off as if they’ve been doused in gasoline and lit by a match, and my feet root to the spot. “Marco?”

  Marco locks the door behind him. His head swivels a little too slowly, as if he’s taking in the surroundings. Then he grins—the kind that’s so wide it was more as if he wanted to eat everyone rather than say hello—causing the fine hairs along the length of my arms to rise and the temperature of the room to fall a little. “Hello, Taya.”

  I take an involuntary step back and stumble slightly when something sharp pierces the skin of my heel.

  “Careful, there. Looks like you got yourself a nasty cut.”

  Blood freezes in my veins while my pulse ricochets in my ears, but I manage to lift my chin. “My husband will be home any second and then you’re fucking dead.”

  Marco moves like a snake. One moment, he’s several feet away, and the next he’s grabbing my wrist as he stalks past me. His eyes become dark and hollow as he yanks me farther into the house. Pure disdain is etched into every one of his features. “Yeah, yeah. If poor Lyons couldn’t keep himself safe, what makes you think your SEAL will fare any better?”

  My heart slams against my chest. No! Oh, God, not him. Please, not him. I swallow and straighten my shoulders. “What did you do?”

  “Lyons got T-boned earlier this morning. He’ll survive, and hopefully he got the message to stay the fuck out of Santoro’s way.” Marco looks down at me, his pupils dilated. Shaking his head, Marco lowers his voice. “The lengths I have to go to in order to keep you two morons alive.”

  His words push a button in my brain and release me from the fear that’s trapped me up to now. Rage laces through me and crawls up my spine like an uncontrolled forest fire, its heat burning my skin until all I can feel is the desire to hate. The acidity of the emotion waits to be spat out of my mouth in foul and vulgar words, but all I can do is screech out one question with every ounce of breath dwelling in my lungs. My eyes lock right on his, jaw clenching, and heart smacking against its bony cage with each thunderous beat. “Protect us? You betrayed us. Betrayed my father. Betrayed me!”

  He lets go of my arm and I step closer, ready to beat the shit out of him, but he backhands me across the side of the head. The blow stuns me, sending me to the ground. I fight to breathe past the ringing in my ears. One side of my face feels numb and throbbing all at once, and when I pat my lip with shaking hands, I come away with blood.

  Marco crouches before me. He looks confident, unruffled, and for the first time, I take stock of just how large he is. How imposing. Reaching out, he grabs me by the chin, holding me still while he cleans up the blood on my lip with the pad of his thumb. “If you don’t want any harm to come to that husband of yours you like to fuck raw, I suggest you get me that disc of information.”

  The first spark of anger tries to ignite within me, but fear is poor kindling. His words sink in slowly. He’s been watching me? And how did he know about the DVD? My stomach heaves and bile sits heavy on my tongue. “You’ve known where I was this whole time?”

  His nose wrinkles, brows furrowing. “Don’t look at me like that. All I had to do was let Lyons believe Santoro got to you. Didn’t take long to figure it out, and not like you’d stay away from search and rescue for long.”

  My breath seizes. Oh, God. That last search and rescue outing and my terrifying equipment failure. “You tampered with my rigging?”

  “I barely clipped your rigging. Santoro didn’t think I’d be able to kill you if it came down to it. Figured I’d show him there was nothing to worry about.”

  My bottom lip trembles, and I bite it, using the pain from the broken skin to steady me. “Why’d you kill my dad? You were family to us.”

  His grip on my chin tightens until I whimper at his nails digging into my skin. “I didn’t kill your dad. The task force was closing in and Santoro wanted to use you to get your father to back off. I chose to save you and dropped the information you trusted me with to save your life.”

  My mind, my heart, my everything goes very quiet and cold. “Why work for Santoro in the first place? The bakery was doing well.”

  “Not well enough. I needed the money.” His tone is sardonic.

  “Your father must be rolling in his grave.” This can’t be happening. I close my eyes and pray to wake up, but Marco strikes me across the cheek. The strength of the blow rocks me back.

  Marco drags me to my feet, gripping my face. “Shut up. Do you know how much debt we had from the funeral after my father and sister were killed? My grandmother has cancer and I can’t afford to take care of her. And let’s not forget how the cops did nothing to catch the person. But you know who did find him? Santoro, and he killed the gunman, avenging my father and sister.”

  My breath hitches, and I squeeze my eyes closed. “Marco, we would’ve helped you.”

  “You don’t understand—can’t understand.” The words hiss out through his clenched teeth. “My grandmother’s not in this country legally. I had no choice.�
�

  “You always have a choice.” My breathing picks up, harsh and painful in my chest, and the ceiling and floor threaten to switch position. “I considered you my brother! Now, you’re nothing more than a mere sliver of worthlessness. You’re nothing to me anymore.”

  Marco snarls as he invades my space. “Good to know. Now get me that damn disc. Those pictures and audio files will never see the light of day.”

  My eyes flick to the messenger bag sitting on the floor by the closet. While Jim promised not to go into my room, I couldn’t take any chances, so I kept the disc tucked away in my bag.

  “You are so easy to read.” Marco snorts, then twists my arm behind my back and starts to lead us toward the bag.

  Every fiber of my being screams at me to do something, anything, to keep him from taking that DVD. I need to stall until Jim gets here. And then what? Hope that Jim can overtake Marco? But what if he can’t? Marco has the element of surprise and for all I know, a gun.

  No.

  I need to get rid of Marco before my past has a chance to ruin Jim’s life too.

  When my pace slows, Marco leans closer so his mouth is up against my ear. “Even if you think your husband can take me, it won’t matter. Santoro will just send someone else to finish the job. Plus, you wouldn’t want anything to happen to your friend, Marge’s, sweet little girl, would you? What is she? Four? If you play along, she might make it to five.”

  Leslie.

  “No.” I’m begging now, and there’s nothing I can do to stop. “Marco, don’t. Jim doesn’t know anything. I haven’t told him about what happened or why I really came here.”

  “What happens to them isn’t up to me, T. It’s up to you.” His voice is cold.

  I’m frozen. Ripped apart by indecision. If I give Marco the DVD, my dad’s killer will walk free. But I have to protect Jim. And Leslie. My old life, or my new one. I have to choose, and choose fast.

  In the end, there’s no contest. Jim’s safety comes first. And I only know one way to protect him.

  By giving Marco what he wants.

  When we reach the messenger bag, Marco shoves me forward until I stumble. “Get me that disc. Now.”

  With trembling hands, I search through the bag, going straight for the zipper pocket where I tucked the DVD away.

  Empty.

  The disc is gone.

  “No, no, no.” Frantic, I dig through the other compartments, but come up short. I sink back onto my heels. “It’s not there.”

  With a snarl, Marco shoves me aside and searches the bag himself. “Where is it, Taya? I’m not fucking around here.” He wraps a calloused hand my throat and slams me into the wall. “You’d better find that disc right now.”

  “I don’t know where it is. I left it in my bag.”

  Marco squeezes my throat even tighter, replacing my fear with determination and anger. I slam my head forward, driving my forehead up and into his nose and mouth. He curses viciously and releases me. “Fuck . . . you,” I gasp, while my throat spasms.

  Stumbling back, I dart past him, ceramic from the shattered mug embedding itself into the soles of my feet. I barely make it into the kitchen before his hands are on me again. I turn on him like a dervish, pushing in close before he can use his longer reach to do more serious damage, and I drive a fist into his solar plexus. The air is driven from him, and when he doubles over, I shove his face onto my knee, hitting him so hard and fast, I shriek with it. Once, twice, three times. He goes down but hooks my legs with his arms and brings me with him.

  I land on the kitchen floor and cry out, but the sound is choked off when Marco slams his fist into my face. The metallic taste of blood fills my mouth, and my eyes roll into the back of my head. The world darkens for a brief, terrifying instant.

  Marco drives his elbow into my side and a rib cracks. I scream, nausea an instant and vicious companion. I vomit onto the tile, and bright spots of red decorate the mess on the floor. Marco rolls off of me, and I lay there for precious seconds, trying to breathe past the pain. Terror is leaching the strength from my limbs, and an overload of adrenaline has me shaking so hard, my body jerks with it.

  Get up. Get up and fight.

  As I slowly push my way to my hands and knees, Marco lets out a sound of excitement. “What’s this?”

  The room spins while I lift my head, black dots piercing my vision as Marco reaches for Jim’s laptop sitting on the kitchen table. I’d been so excited to cook him breakfast that I hadn’t noticed the external disc drive sitting next to it. Then I recall my husband whispering in my ear last night, asking me about the disc so he could look through the information while I slept.

  A faint whirring sound fills the room and then Marco clasps the DVD in his hand. Seconds later his boots thud against the floor just as I sit back onto my knees. The shrill clang of metal fills the room and makes me curl in on myself. Once again, I try and get to my feet. Once again, my vision goes white with agony, and I collapse back down to the floor.

  The next moment, Marco’s hands are in my hair. He holds me down, breathing hard against the shell of my ear, his body a crushing weight that drives my broken rib into places it shouldn’t go. “I really didn’t want to do this, but you left me no other option. I’m not going to jail for assault. Luckily, I found my scapegoat. ‘Emotionally unstable SEAL murders cheating wife.’ Works for me. How ’bout you? But first, I’ll take this.”

  Before I know what’s happening, he’s yanking Jim’s engagement ring over my knuckle.

  His calloused palm covers my mouth and he punches me.

  Once.

  Twice. Where he strikes, my muscles go cold and numb. It doesn’t hurt. It just feels strange, invasive in a way I have no words for. It isn’t until the butcher knife clatters against the tile that I realize what’s happened.

  My breath sounds ragged, my heartbeat loud. I try to crawl again, but my body weighs a ton. My cheek presses into an ever-growing pool of blood. Briefly, I see Marco’s boots disappear through the garage door, but I don’t wonder where he’s going. I don’t especially care anymore. I’m too tired to care.

  But I can see the sky through the panes of my window nook. The scene is overpowering, even from where I lay. The clouds rise up like mountaintops into the sky, the sun a heavy disc of warmth filtering through the trees. Everything dances, even the leaves.

  Especially the leaves.

  I wish Jim was here to see it.

  It would have been nice not to die alone.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Jim

  The dozen giant helium balloons enter the house before me, jockeying for position and filling my view with their reflective surfaces. My other hand holds a huge bouquet of colorful flowers, and I have a pink pastry box nestled to my chest. I push the balloons and take a few steps into the foyer, sniffing the air. “Hey, is that food I smell? Unburned food, even?”

  The next step I take, something crunches under my shoe. I glance down, and that’s when every cell in my body turns to ice. Broken ceramic punctuated by bright red blood. Both droplets and a trail.

  The balloons slip from one hand and float up to the ceiling. The pastry box and flowers crash to the floor. My body kicks into fight mode.

  My heartbeat is anything but gentle, my pulse drumming away in my ears. “Taya!”

  The tips of painted toes peek around the corner into the kitchen. Taya’s toes, but with the angle all off. Like she’s lying on the floor. Not moving.

  A hard body slams into my legs the second I round the corner into the kitchen. I fall backward, twist and roll while kicking out with my foot, breaking my fall and connecting with something solid.

  I scramble to my feet while my attacker does the same. We face off in the foyer, circling one another. I recognize the dark-haired man from the picture on the disc and too many thoughts pulse through my head, accompanied by the taste of fear. “Marco.”

  “Sorry it had to be like this. It’s just business.” He smiles and then rushes me, som
ething silver flashing in his hand. I whirl away just in time while bile fills my mouth. The end of the blade glistens red with blood.

  Taya’s blood.

  Fury on a scale I’ve never experienced before erupts beneath my skin, spewing like an active volcano. So intense, that I’m half waiting for lava to explode from my pores. I want to explode so badly, but I know I can’t. One wrong move and Taya is dead for sure.

  So I dig somewhere deep down and tap into every bit of training I possess, until a cool detached calm clears my head. If you don’t see an opportunity at first, that’s okay. Bide your time until you can make one. Be brave, but smart. Brave men die all the time. Smart men live to be brave another day.

  All I need is for him to make one mistake. Just one. Then I’ll have that knife out of his hand. I search the area for anything I can use, and my gaze lands on the disc in Marco’s other hand. “So you found it. Good for you. Too bad I made copies.”

  The other man’s nostrils flare before his eyes narrow. “Liar.”

  I shrug like I don’t have a care in the world. Meanwhile, another piece of my heart dies, every second I can’t reach Taya. When Marco hesitates, I try a different tactic. “Why don’t I make you a deal? Let me go make sure Taya is okay, and then I’ll call my friends and have them all dump the discs at a location of your choosing, no questions asked. Either that, or you can take another run at me.”

  When Marco’s hands dip the slightest bit, I stomp on the piece of shattered glass next to my right foot. The sharp crunch causes his gaze to drop down toward my feet, and that’s all the advantage I need. I feign to the right and lunge, grabbing the wrist of the arm holding the knife and ducking beneath him while using my other hand to brace his shoulder so that I can crank his wrist until he screams. A bone cracks and the knife clatters to the floor.

  I kick the cutlery away and punch him in the kidney. Again. And again. And again.