“I promise my heart, my soul. I promise to always trust and love unconditionally. I will follow you to the ends of the Earth if you need me. I will be your faithful, loyal wife to come home to, knowing you are forever my partner. Yes, in sickness and in health. But also through the hell of radio silence and undercover operations. I am yours, as I always have been. I vow this to you today.”

Cash had her in his arms the second she stopped speaking. He snaked his fingers around her veil, into her hair, and dipped her back, kissing her again in front of God and guests. Screw the reception. He was ready for the honeymoon suite.

Behind him, the preacher laughed. “The rings are just a formality. Skipping right along, I now pronounce you husband and wife.”

Cheers and claps echoed around them.

Husband and wife. Cash and Nicola Garrison. For real. He whispered into her ear. “How long do we have before the reception?”

She giggled. “I don’t know. Why?”

“Because I’m down to start the honeymoon before champagne and cake.”

“You’re going to make the best husband ever.”

THE END

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WESTIN'S CHASE

WESTIN'S CHASE

CHAPTER ONE

He saw no point in being the leader if he couldn’t guide his men home at the end of every job. His team. His operation. And right now, his disaster. Fire exploded around Jared Westin as he rolled for cover. Gravel dug into his cheek, and branches scratched at his eyes. Acrid smoke billowed, leaving the bitter taste of accelerant on his tongue.

Radio silence was a bitch. He was fine. He would survive, despite the bite of the bullet in his calf and the shrapnel in his shoulder. His men and the rescued hostage were his concern.

Stuck on the side of a mountain in Afghanistan, he saw that his only way out was through a hostile mess of turbans and firepower. Not the best strategic position. Jared’s only comfort was knowing the released American would soon be on their helo and out of enemy fire. Rocco and Brock had hustled the guy down the side of a cliff toward the pickup zone before the firefight got bad.

Thump, thump.

The enemy’s aim was blind, but close enough to cause harm. Dirt and rocks flew at him each time the bullets found groundcover instead of flesh.

Popping up his head, Jared eyeballed the area. He had a third man in this melee. Roman remained somewhere nearby, drawing enemy fire. A flash of a grenade hit ten yards to Jared’s right, followed by Roman’s return fire. He must’ve had the same damn thought. If I’m going to die on a cliff in Afghanistan, let me do so in a pile of empty brass shells. There was no way either of them was dying without a fight.