Reclaiming His Wife

I look into Russell’s eyes—I look into my husband’s eyes—and my heart starts to gallop. And when his hands circle me and pull me into his orbit, I fall willingly.

This can’t be real, but there’s nothing imaginary about the heat of him against me, or those eyes holding my awe-struck gaze.

“You—”

“I said I’d always come back for you, Juliana,” he whispers, his voice almost cracking as his hands tighten on me and his eyes blaze.

“Not even death would keep me from you.”

The kiss comes hard and fast, and I’m drowning in his lips as everything else on Earth melts away. Russell kisses me deeply, and nothing else matters. Suddenly, it’s like I’m whole again. Like I can breathe again. And I have no idea how long we just stand there locked lip-to-lip on that alter, but when he slowly pulls away, it’s like there’s a shade being pulled away from the window of my life.

Slowly, his smile fades, and this fierce fury clouds over his face. He whirls, making me gasp at his intensity as he suddenly rushes Darren. My would-be-husband shrieks as Russell slams him back, eliciting a collective gasp from the crowd. His hand circles Darren’s neck, and I can see the veins popping out on his muscled arms as he grits his teeth, snarling at Darren.

“You,” he hisses, rage boiling off of his shoulders like smoke. “You—”

“Russell! Man!” Darren smiles weakly, his face the color of chalk as he feigns a crooked smile. “You’re—you’re alive, man! I can’t—”

“Stop it.”

The whole place goes silent at the pure power in Russell’s voice. He’s shaking, his hand tightening on Darren’s neck, and I can almost see the fire blazing out of his eyes.

“Run,” he spits at Darren through clenched teeth. “Run and hide in the smallest, darkest, dankest little hole you can find. The only reason you’re not dead right now is that I won’t be kept from her anymore. Not by you, and not for killing you.”

Darren starts to open his mouth, but he whimpers as Russell slams him back into the wall again.

“You’re alive right now because I choose not to kill you. You’re alive because you’re going to live to regret it all, Darren.”

He whirls back, and I gasp at the fierceness as he suddenly scoops me up into his arms. My pulse races as my hands slide around his neck, my eyes locked on his as he turns and starts to carry me down the steps from the alter A few people run forward to stop him, but one snarl from his perfect lips, and they shrink away.

“Let’s go, beautiful,” he whispers.

“Where?” I hold his biceps tight.

“Anywhere. As long as I’ve got you.”

Russell strolls right down the aisle, me in his arms, stealing me from my own wedding.

3

Russell

Five years ago:

I spit dust and blood through cracked lips, the desert wind whipping across my face. Acrid black smoke billows around me, and the silence deafening.

The hulking wreck in front of me was a truck of some kind—that is, before it got hit by whatever it got hit with. Roadside IED, maybe one of our missiles. Who the fuck knows. I can see the remnants of the Taliban flag on the side of it, so I know it’s not one of ours. I spit into the scorched dirt.

Good.

The man next to the wreck has been dead at least a day. Bloodied, burned, but he was alive when he got out of the truck, I can see that. But it’s what’s in his hand that has my brows knitting. The fuck is… It’s a silver, stainless steel cylinder. And the fucking thing is handcuffed to his damn wrist. I’ve seen my share of dead terrorists over here, but not a one of them was carrying a case that looks like it’s got fucking nuke codes in it chained to their limbs.

I’ve also seen a lot of burned out trucks, but none of them quite look like this one. None of them have the giant, fire-blackened-but-intact stainless steel… I guess you could call it a small shipping container, secured to the back of it. The rest of the truck is toast, but this thing? It’s beat up, but whoever torched the truck carrying it couldn’t destroy it.

My interest is piqued.

Prying the case away from the dead guy isn’t hard. Cracking it open takes a single shot of my sidearm to the clasp. My eyes narrow at the little key inside, and when I glance at the scorched door to the small shipping container and spot the lock, my jaw clenches.

Opening it changes my whole world.

I stare, blinking back grime and sand, my jaw dropping.

Gold.

The fucking thing is filled with solid gold bars—easily a thousand of them or more. My pulse jumps, eyes darting over the gleaming bricks before I glance around me at the empty desert. Fuck me, I know what they are. I’ve heard of them too, even if I thought it was a bullshit rumor Marines tell each other. But there they are. Stamped with the royal crest of Saddam Hussain and all.