“Delia! Wake the fuck up. This isn't funny.” If I weren't so freaked out, I'd slap her.

She's been out for like five minutes, barely breathing. I'm about to spin around, pop one of these two hundred year old corks, and splash thousand dollar wine all over her face when she finally moans.

I wrap my hands around her and lift her up, kissing over the dark, red stamps my teeth left on her neck.

I'm not sure what the fuck I was thinking. The girl went crazy, completely loco on my dick. I matched her with my own mad thrusts, fucked her so hard she'd break. Now, I'm trying to make sure I didn't short-circuit her whole system for real.

“Did I really black out?” she whines, running her hands down my chest.

I laugh and kiss her forehead. It's slick with sweat and bathed in her hormones, some wild, feminine scent I can't ignore. It also makes my dick throb like a greedy motherfucker, and right now I know she needs to rest.

“You scared the shit out of me. I was about to start CPR. Always fantasized about fucking a chick senseless, but it looks like the reality is something else.”

“Well, you were good. It was worth it,” she says, running her tongue gingerly along her lips.

Fuck. If some crazy bastard offered me a million bucks to hang with her like this without getting turned on, I'd lose in about ten seconds flat.

This girl's a natural at getting me hard, bringing out the wild animal inside me. When we're fucking, it's like nothing else in the world matters – especially not the fact that she's my step-lover, and I'm about to leave her behind for the most dangerous mission I've ever dealt with.

“You're talking like it's already over,” I tell her, teasing my lips against hers. “Let's go upstairs and get you some water. Breathe some fresh summer air. We'll pick this up in my room, and this time you're staying with me through the whole damned thing.”

She laughs softly. Fuck, do I love that sound. If I have my way – and I will – it's all I'm gonna be hearing when she's around, nothing but bliss to make up for all the bullshit we've been through on our way here.

I throw on my pants and look for her underwear. I've destroyed one bra strap, completely snapped it in two. She gawks at me, trying to fix it on, holding one arm across her tits.

“You wanted me to leave marks,” I remind her. “Guess that extends to the clothing too. Save that shit for the long nights when you're missing me. I'll keep these.”

I stuff her cool, soaked panties into my pocket. She bugs her eyes out and laughs, shaking her head, unable to believe I'm not just screwing around.

I'm dead serious.

She'll find out soon. These are coming with me all the way to North Korea, where the poor oppressed fucks have probably never seen a pair of sexy lingerie outside Dear Leader's palace.

“Better get that dress on quick unless you want me to carry you upstairs naked.”

“You wouldn't dare,” she says, lifting it off the floor and trying to struggle her way into it.

“Try me. I already got your pussy hot in front of about a dozen people.” I step toward her, reaching for her open dress, helping get it over her shoulders again. “You don't know half the shit I'm gonna do to you, babe. You think you've seen anything? Give it a few more years. I'm gonna make you the sexiest chick on earth.”

She replies with a kiss, and I taste her as long as I can. It's only a few seconds with the way my dick starts to ache, begging to plow her again, so I grab her by the wrist and we're out the door.

She's still laughing and brushing her fingers on my arm as we step outside.

I barely notice what's in front of us, at first, too lost in the pleasure. That makes it so much fucking worse when I finally do.

When I see the bitch, Delia's soft little nail strokes become tiny daggers.

“Mom?” I push her hand away, bowing up like I'm staring down a viper. “What the fuck are you doing lurking out here?”

She smiles sweetly. Or, rather, imitates what Evie thinks a sweet, friendly smile looks like coming from normal people.

“Oh, you know how we all are with our phones these days, son. I've just been out here enjoying the show.” She flips through something on her screen, never shaking off that wicked ass grin. “Wow, and I thought the pictures I snapped upstairs while you two danced were pretty hot! Your father's going to have a coronary when he sees these, Cordelia.”

Fuck! I want to run up, rip the phone out of her hands, and smash it into a million smithereens. But I already know how futile it is before her phone pings, and she opens her mouth again.

“Oh, that's Bruce now,” she purrs, looking up at Delia. “He's got the message, loud and clear. Looks like daddy's coming home early from Atlanta. He wants to have a heart-to-heart with his son and daughter, and who can blame him?”

Delia's little hand was shaking in mine before, but now it's like she's coming apart. I pull her tighter, step forward, between Evie and her.

“So what? We weren't gonna keep this under wraps forever anyway. I was planning on telling her old man myself next week, but thanks for sticking your damned nose where it doesn't belong once again, mother.”

The same green eyes I see staring back at me in the mirror jump around in her head. She's pissed that I'm not more rattled. I won't let her see that it's taking all my military focus to hold it together right now, to avoid carrying Delia upstairs, jumping in my truck, and leaving this fucking asylum forever.

It's not good enough for mom. She marches up, shoots her hand out, and slaps me across the face. It barely stings compared to the shit I've been through overseas, but it resonates through me like a fireball, threatening to turn everything I've built with my girl to ash.

I hear Delia sniffle, feel her reach up with her free hand to wipe her eyes. The urge to put my own devilish mother out of her misery with my bare hands has never been greater than it is right now.

“You hit me like that again, and you're going away in handcuffs. I'll have the cops here in a heartbeat.” All my reason is hanging by a thread in those words.

“Sure you will, you dickless little shit. You're just like your father. Not man enough to deal with me on your own terms. Always having to run away, or get somebody else involved.” She looks at the ground for a second and honest-to-God spits, before our eyes lock again. “You're such an embarrassment. You think you're stronger than everybody else, including the woman who suffered to squeeze you out? You think running around playing SEAL means everybody has to worship the ground you walk on, including this slut?”

Evie gestures at my girl with one bright green fingernail, and I swear I'm going to break it the fuck off. My muscles are totally wound up, ready to strike, ready to kill.

If only it were that easy. I've never learned how to handle her shit when she's this evil, and now she's just dropped an atom bomb on our heads.

I do the only thing I can. I turn around, squeeze Delia tight, cradle her in my chest. All the pain inside her comes ripping out. I push my fingers through her hair, a human wall between the psycho hellbent on ruining our promises.

“Uh-huh, go ahead, keep ignoring me, Christopher. Typical. You've got about – hmmm?” I hear her pause, as if she's checking the time. “Three hours until Bruce gets back. Better start packing. I'd tell you to bring the college girl with you, but something tells me there isn't room on base for her. Never mind the poor dear being a fish out of water without this glamorous life. I don't think she's ready to be without her father's riches and no man. She knows it's just a matter of time until you leave her to go on another mission to some God forsaken, savage land.”

“Shut. Up!” Delia tears herself away from me and it comes tearing out. Before I can stop her, she puts her hands on my mother's shoulders, and pushes her hard.

“Why are you such a freak? Why!? Is it the drugs? Why do you think it's your place to get between our love?”

I'm ready to restrain my mother, expecting her to fight back. Instead, she just straightens herself and smooths her skirt, the same freakishly calm smile on her lips.

Sonofabitch. I wonder what the hell she's got pumping in her system now, giving her this cruel, otherworldly focus.

“Dears, I haven't had so much as a non-alcoholic beer since leaving rehab. I'm completely sober. That's what's so amazing about this – I can see how insane this...this thing between you is. How wrong, how confused you both are. And I'm going to put a stop to it. It's taken me a long time to save myself, and now I'm ready to save my family too.”

It's so goddamned eye rolling I almost go blind. So, she's in her manic phase today, up on her high horse, ready to swing her sword and take everybody else's heads off for her own ego.

“And Cordelia, if you ever put your hands on me again, Christopher won't be the only one calling the cops,” she says with a smirk. “Haven't you done enough damage by fucking your own stepbrother and destroying your father's fragile psyche? Are you really going to make him pick you up from jail too?”

Delia looks like she's going to explode. I need to shut this fucking demon up, before she gets us right where she wants us, in too deep. She wants us to hurt her so she can play victim. I'm not gonna let that happen.

“Get out of our way,” Delia snarls, walking several paces ahead, stopping just short of Evie in the hall.

“What's the matter? The basement was perfectly fine while you were defiling my wine cellar, kids.”

“Move, mother. I won't ask again.”

“Then knock me to the ground, big boy. Throw me flat. I know you'll try to get in touch with Bruce and twist his righteous anger into supporting this sick fling you're both enjoying. I'm going to make good and well sure you're truly separated.”

I'm about to push past her and pull Delia with me when she lunges. The crazy bitch goes right for my eyes with her jade fingernails, and I twist away. Delia and I both catch her, shove her, fling her so hard against the wall she hits with a loud smack.

I'm surprised there isn't a hole in the drywall. Mom spins, sputtering, one hand near her abdomen like she's got a broken rib.

Shit.

“Now look what you've done,” she growls, pressing her fingers gingerly into her side and wincing. Delia's hand goes clammy and cold in mine as we watch her dial something on the phone, lift it to her lips, and start talking.

“Hello, Sheriff? It's Evie Cleveland at the Burr estate. There's an emergency here. Yes, Bruce and Evangeline Burr, that's...”

She starts rattling off our address. I jerk Delia forward before my asshole mother can block our way again. We're flying upstairs.

She's in full tears, barely able to move, so I hoist her up and carry her. The house is completely dark upstairs, but it doesn't stop me from leaping over drunken stragglers on the ground, heading for the garage.

“Jesus, Chris, what's going on? What are we going to do? We're fucked.”

I clench my jaw. It's the last time I ever want her saying that word unless there's something sexy behind it.

I don't say a word until I throw her in the passenger seat and start buckling her seat belt. She isn't protesting anymore by the time I start the engine. The slowest garage door in the world opens, and I'm tearing down the long, winding road downhill.

My fingers tap the alert for the snob in the guardhouse over and over again, but he isn't opening shit. I stop next to his window for about three seconds.

A single look inside tells me everything I need to know. He's standing up at full attention, a stern look on his face. He doesn't even open his window, just shakes his head and points back at the house, one hand near the taser on his hip.

He's got balls for wanting to tango with a Navy SEAL in full combat mode, I'll give him that. Tonight, balls aren't enough.

“Baby, hold on.”

It's all the warning I give her before I floor it. The guard panics, shouts, and then there's nothing at all but the screaming crunch of metal-on-metal as my truck smashes through the gate.

Delia bursts into tears all over again and covers her face. It takes us a full minute on the open road, roaring down it like we're riding a bullet, before she starts laughing.

“What's so damned funny?” I snarl, trying to decide where the hell we should go. I remember the mid-tier motel the navy set us up at, and I start heading in that direction, wondering if my beautiful girl's truly lost her mind.

“It's nothing,” she says, wiping at her tears. “I knew what we're doing is wrong, Chris. Taboo. But I never thought it'd make us wanted. How many laws did we just break? How long before Evie sics the entire city PD on us?”

It's a good question, and I don't know the answer. All I can do is reach across the space between us and clasp her hand. I don't let up 'til we're in the hotel parking lot, ready to see if they've got any spare rooms.

Fuck me. This isn't how I imagined my last night going before deploying to Korea.

* * *

An hour later, we're holed up in a room with the AC on full blast, and Delia still feels like she's melting. I've got her on my lap, stroking her hair, doing all I can calm her down.

She's panicked. The poor girl's never had to deal with the cops before, much less being a possible accomplice to property destruction.

Whatever, I plan to turn myself in. I'll shell out the money to replace Bruce's gate myself. I doubt her old man will let her get in hot water too, and between his money and my commander's national security excuses, none of us are going to be serving any time or drowning in debt.

I've already placed a call to base. Commander Jones was irate, but he's more worried about me missing the flight tomorrow morning than my bullshit antics.

Too damned bad. I've got my connections, and I'll use 'em to help us both. Only thing I regret is having Delia sitting there listening to the call, overhearing the gravity in our voices when we're talking about tomorrow.

It sets her off all over again, and I've been trying to unwind her for the last twenty minutes. It's the first time I've been able to put a cap on that raging hunger in my blood each time her body's against mine.

I still want to fuck her. I always want to fuck this chick, through tragedy and triumph, morning, noon, and night. But I want her heart to slow down first, and I want to taste her lips on mine without so many salty tears in the way.

“Goddammit,” she moans, shaking her head for the thousandth time. “What if this was all a big mistake? I have a really bad feeling about what's going to happen when we leave this hotel room.”

My finger flies to her lips, and I push it in hard, right down the center.

“Quiet. You're whipping yourself into a frenzy, babe, and as shitty as this all is, it's gonna blow over. I don't want to hear anything else leaving your lips unless it's to talk about our future after I get back, or how much you still love me despite the way I've put you through the grinder.”

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.

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.