“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.

Jared checked his super-mag clip—full, with lots of potential. Plus he had a Sig Sauer strapped to his thigh. It had a solid reputation of accuracy, and he needed those bullets to hit their mark.

Fire burned through the brush nearby, and he caught sight of his man. Roman’s shadow danced in the fiery glow cast against the rocky mountain. He was hunched against a boulder, reloading.

Jared reached into the gear pack strapped to his back. He needed something explosive. A bloody distraction. In the background, the chop, chop, chop split the night as the helicopter neared the landing zone. It was right on time, and he needed to get a move on. If not, they would be on their own.

Moving too quickly, his head spun. Blood loss must be worse than I thought. Spectacular. Jared rifled through the bag. More ammo. Two knives. And… thank the gun lords above, a handheld grenade launcher and two big-ass rounds.