Stepbrother UnSEALed (26 page)

We share a long, agonizing look. Then I take her soft hand in mine and we stand up together, walking toward our fate, one more bump in the road to our happy ending.

We never even see a proper cell. Delia's pulled off to a separate room at the police station, and later I see her walking out behind the glass, a very angry looking Bruce at her side. It's the first time I've seen her old man oozing more emotion than a steamed turnip.

The commander shows up about an hour later. He drives me back to base and tells me he's made arrangements to have my truck taken to a trusted chop-shop he knows.

It'll be coming totally out of my own pockets since I was the reckless asshole. Never thought I'd look forward to receiving hazard pay.

The next forty-eight hours are a blur of briefings, intermittent sleep, and a whole lot of nervous bullshitting with my teammates. We're in the transport with two more SEAL teams by dawn, heading for Okinawa, Japan, our last stop before enemy territory.

There's going to be a jump to get our feet on Nork soil.

I've practiced it plenty of times in training, but this is the first mission where the sky'll be carrying us down like deadly razors, into the gauntlet.

Fuck.
I need to stay sharp. I need to let my blood crystallize into ice. Becoming a killer robot for the next twenty-four hours is the only way I'm sure I'll make it home alive, the only thing that's never failed me.

But I can't keep my mind off Delia.

Even when the commander's pushing us out the transport, parachutes and survival gear strapped to our backs, she's on my mind. There's a cold, dismal rain spattering down on us while we're falling, and it's hard as hell to make sure we're on target.

Everybody lands in one piece just a few paces outside the missile base perimeter. Guys hit the ground running, heading for the fence to plant the charges so we can break through.

That's when everything goes to shit.

The whole place lights up and the bastards are screaming, firing at us from their guard towers. I watch a couple guys get mowed down in a bloody mess – critically wounded or worse – just as they're blowing their way through the barbed wire fences.

“Go! Go! Go! Execute Red Justice,” Commander Jones roars into the radio, the only thing that's blasting in my ear over the gunfire, the cold rain, and the howl of angry, foreign voices.

I almost run straight into another explosion. It's an airstrike from overhead that takes out the guard towers, and lights every corner of the base on fire.

We're heading for the silo control station, the antiquated little building where they still control all their shit like it's the cold war. It's a thick concrete bunker lined with deadly weapons, but we've caught them by surprise.

Two scrawny soldiers in dark gray and red star fatigues come running out, shooting wildly. I cut them both down without even looking into their eyes. That's how it's done. I don't have time for guilt.

I've handled terrorists on missions before. They're all passionate, crazed devils who die like true believers.

Dealing with these Koreans is different. Most of the poor bastards here are brainwashed conscripts, cogs in the machine, malnourished and forced into our deadly fire by nothing but blind fate.

There's no time for sympathy or morals on the battlefield. It's kill or be killed, just like always, and I don't hesitate when it's them or me.

This is survival. This is for Delia. It's supposed to be for my country, my duty, and it is, but the only motivator I've got is probably crying her eyes out in a Bay Area mansion.

I can't leave her there.

Tommy, Brandon, and several other guys plow forward on my command, hurling their charges inside the bunker and clearing anything inside. We move fast. It takes less than ten minutes to break into the control room and wire the whole place up.

There's still gunfire and blasts happening outside, shaking the concrete walls like a tornado, but it seems to be tapering off. I run my hand over my face while the commander does the final checks.

We might actually make it out of this alive, as long as we can beat their reinforcements, undoubtedly streaming in from all directions by now.

We'll find out later if the mission was a success, if it hasn't triggered a wider war. Seoul and a hundred other cities across the peninsula might be burning up right now, and the DMZ could be a total wreck, but we've done our jobs here.

“Coordinates?” I hear the commander bark into his field piece. “Roger. We'll be there in four minutes.”

All the guys inwardly sigh with relief when we see our officer waving us out. The coast is clear. We just have to get to the center of the base where the other teams are working like dogs to clear a landing site for the choppers, and then we'll be on our way.

The commander lights a cigarette and watches intently as we all work to help the other team sweep up the debris. The rain picks up, and so does the wind. It's hard to hear the choppers over the storm.

Not 'til they're right on top of us.

Huge, whirling helicopters descend at last. Men pile on the first helicopter as soon as it hits the ground. It takes off without a hitch. The commander and I are the last ones to board number two with our team, and soon we're soaring.

I can't fucking believe it. I let myself think about Delia again, and I clasp my knees as the realization sets in that we're all in one piece.

It's a good thing I do because half a second later, I'm upside down. There's a noise like shearing metal, and I see the Commander suspended in the air, the last of his cigarette dropping out of his mouth like a cartoon character whose jaw is about to hit the ground.

But there's nothing funny about this. There's a terrible sound a thousand times louder than a car accident, and everything goes black.

When I wake up, my head hurts like a motherfucker. There's a bright, brutal light; too warm and too close to be the sun. I can't figure out what it is 'til I hear the strange, cold voice.

“Cleveland? You are conscious, yes?”

I open my eyes, thinking I'm in a military hospital.

No, that isn't right.

No US field hospital ever looked this shitty, with cracks in the walls and rusted out furniture. I try to move, and something jerks against my hands. It's the same with my feet, totally pinned down to the old chair.

There's a sharp dressed Korean man with spectacles in front of me, red stars on his uniform, and the icy stare on his gaunt face they all seem to have.

“You've been taken prisoner as an imperialist intruder in the peace-loving Democratic People's Republic of Korea. You will tell us everything about what happened before the crash. Do you understand?”

His monotonous, awkward English fades out. All I can hear are my own thoughts pounding in my head, over and over, a mantra that kicks off the savage torture I'm about to face.

Delia, forgive me.

24 Hours Earlier

“D
ad...” I lick my lips and swallow, clenching my hands neatly in my lap, staring at the madman across the kitchen table. “Before you say anything, I need you to know this was never meant to be malicious. I don't know what she's been telling you, but –“

“Cut the shit.” His hand moves through the air like a knife, and I'm instantly silenced. “Evie didn't have to say anything. I saw it all, the way you were tangled with him, defiling our home. Jesus Christ, Cordelia.”

Dad's face softens, but only because he's so disgusted. He can barely bring himself to say it. I watch him spread his hands on our big table, and they're shaking, overwhelmed by the memory of what he saw on the screen.

My eyes burn when I look at him. I cross my arms, angry, vowing that I won't apologize. I don't care how hard he hits me with those puppy dog eyes.

“I'm trying to understand,” dad says softly, running another clammy hand across his face. “What the hell drove you to this? You're a beautiful college girl in your prime, honey. You could've had any boy on campus. Why Chris? He's strong, he's ballsy, and I get that. But I also know he's a complete bastard, and he can't be any better with his women.”

Dad's anger matches mine. I can't help but soften because he's hurt, thinking Chris really did shred my honor or something ridiculous. I don't blame him, but he doesn't get it.

“We're in love, dad.” The words just fall out.

Am I really trying to explain my love affair with my badass stepbrother to my own father?

Yes. Yes, I am.

“Love.” He repeats it, sounding so neutral, giving me a shred of hope. “Goddammit. Evie was right. Look, Cordelia, I don't know what he's done to you or what kinds of thoughts he's put in your head. She told me he has a way of doing that.”

There goes that hope.

“What!?” Dad tries to reach for my hand, and I push him away, jerking back in the chair. “It isn't like that at all, dad! I'm not some stupid little girl who decided to throw my panties at the first handsome jerk who gave me the time of day.”

Okay, maybe that isn't quite true. But what I feel for Chris deep inside is
real,
and I shouldn't have to explain it, or make any apologies.

“We love each other. We really do. We were coming out at the party, the night Evie sent you those pics. Sure, we got carried away, and it happened way more messy than we meant. We planned to sit you down when you came home, tell you all about us.”

His face goes pale. I watch him slick back his hair again, looking like some middle aged broker who's just watched his favorite investment plummet on the ticker.

“I'm worried about you, honey. For real. I think you need some help.”

His last sentence reaches through my chest and strangles my heart. That's it. I've had my fill. I can't sit here a second longer and listen to this slimy, sympathetic crap – especially when I know it's
her
twisting him.

Evie's going to ruin everything if she has a chance.

“I'm not crazy. There's only one person in this house who still needs help, and I wish you could see it.”

Dad's brow furrows. “If you're talking about my wife, frankly, she's turned out to be the sanest all this time. I only wish she'd brought this thing between you and Chris to my attention sooner. I would've stopped it before it became a bigger problem.”

“Stopped it? Like, you think you get to control who I choose to love?”

It's dad's turn to get up. He steps toward me, trying to twist his face into a mask of concern, but I only see anger. Shame. Bitter disgust.

“You don't love him, Cordelia. That's bullshit. You're not going to wreck your life with some kid who's too busy chasing skirt when he isn't getting shot at. There's about a month left of summer. Before you head back to campus, he's going to be out of your system, one way or another. I don't care how much in therapy fees I've got to throw at it.”

Therapy fees? He wants to force me to go to a fucking shrink?

Something inside me snaps. I'm channeling Chris when my hand shoots up and my middle finger pops out. Dad stares on in shock, his mouth hanging open, too stunned to say anything else.

“Fuck you, dad. This is my choice. Not yours. I only decided to sit down and talk about it as a courtesy. I thought we were both adults.” I pause and sigh, readying the final blow. “When Chris gets back, we're taking off together. I'll move in with him while I'm waiting for the proposal. If you settle down and get over yourself by then, maybe I'll send you an invitation to the wedding.”

I stop right there. He's not the only one who's paralyzed. I'm seething, too angry to do anything else except march past him and towards the stairs, heading for my room.

I'm up on the second floor before I hear him running after me. “Delia! I didn't excuse you. We're not done talking about this yet!”

Yes, we are. I keep going, straight to my room, and slam the door behind me.

He doesn't have the balls to come after me. The wicked contrast with my father's weakness makes me think about Chris, and it hurts.

I can't stand it. I wonder where he is, what he's doing, if he's still alive. He wouldn't come out and say it, but I know he's on a dangerous mission. And it's a special kind of hell when I need him more than ever.

I'm so confused. So alone. So trapped, caught between this screwed up family and the last man on earth I ever expected to care so fucking much about.

There's no denying it, though, especially when he's on my mind every waking second, the whole reason I'm fighting with my dad like never before. The only person on earth who ever loved me and pursued me like a lion is thousands of miles away, doing God knows what, and I need him more than ever.

I'm not a religious girl, but I stare out my window and pray that night. I ask whatever gods or forces of nature are out there to protect him, bring him back to me, mend our hearts.

I can't lose him now. And I'll never let another human being tear him away from me either.

The next couple days are a blur. I throw myself into my work, finishing up my seventy page research draft in a matter of hours.

It's a good thing too, because the professor is hounding me again. But this time it's because he likes the synopsis, and he's eager to see if the rest of it lives up to his high expectations.

I make myself scarce. I hear Bruce and Evie talking in the hallways, muttering about me, adding their voices to this sick, dark cloud that's descended over our house.

As far as I'm concerned, it's all in their own damned heads.

All my worries are focused on Chris, Chris, and only Chris. I haven't heard a thing for several days. I keep watching the news, eyeing the Middle East and Asia especially, two hotspots that are always ready to blow.

I'm worried. I wonder if he's in some desert hellhole, alone and dying of thirst, or if he's gotten himself locked up in some third world prison.

Will he ever be the same if he comes home with a broken body, mind, or spirit? Will the same man come back to me?

I'm starting to understand all the agonies of a military wife, and we're not even married.

It's hard to admit it to myself, but I wish we were. I want to be his, for the rest of my life, and if worrying about him being a super soldier thousands of miles away is the price, then I'm willing to accept it.