Her eyes flash, warming the cold glazing her soft brown rings. The death grip she's got on my neck loosens, and she pulls her nails more softly over my skin. It's the same soft touch that makes my heart pound and my blood sing, especially when she does it to my cock.
I can't help it anymore. I push her face into mine, and our lips collide, hot and passionate as ever.
I already feel better, and I know she does too. There's nothing – absolutely nothing in this fucked up world – that's gonna come between us.
Not my bitch mother. Not her spineless daddy. Not even all the rifles, barbed wire, and grenades I'll be dealing with tomorrow while my team infiltrates a North Korean missile base.
When she's trembling, her whole body begging for breath, I finally break the kiss and grab both sides of her head. I hold her just like that, steady, forcing her to look into my eyes with total crystal clarity.
“I'm coming back for you, babe. Fucking count on it. We'll get through this. Every last bit of it. I'm not drawing my last breath 'til you're wearing my ring someday, and we've got a couple kids in our family portrait.”
Her mouth trembles. She tears up all over again. But this time there's a smile, and that's what I kiss next. It's all my lips are able to focus on for the next hour, 'til we hear the banging at the door.
“Police!”
“San Francisco PD! Open up!”
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.#p#分页标题#e#
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.