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Grappling with the soldier restraining me until he sets me down, I spin around, frantically searching for him.
There.
In the outer office used by Dad’s secretary, Monroe is pinned to the wall by three bulky guys wearing the same dark gear as the one holding me captive.
His hands and feet are shackled too, his jumpsuit hanging in tatters around his waist. The white vest he wears underneath is ripped to shreds, showing heavily bloody stains that drag a strangled cry from deep inside me.
But…despite the unhinged look in his eyes, he’s alive. “Monroe!”
He strains at the leash as his eyes drop to where the soldier is holding me.
“I said get your hands. The. Fuck. Off. Her!”
Everyone freezes.
When the guy doesn’t obey quickly enough, I wrench myself free, earning myself a frown from a man halfway down the corridor who steps into fuller view.
He’s an older soldier with salt and pepper hair and features that look faintly familiar. He’s clearly in charge and despite the chaos around him, manages to look immaculate, if a lot icier and more ruthless then I care for.
His head swings to where Monroe is growing more feral by the second, every muscle pumped so tight, I fear he’ll hurt himself badly to get to me.
The other guys must feel the same because another man joins the tussle to restrain him. That’s how many they need to stop him from breaking free.
“Monroe,” I whimper, half in relief and half in desperate need to be in his arms.
The man whose demeanor screams commander steps to him and mutters something under his breath I can’t hear.
For the longest time, Monroe breathes in and out, his chest rising and falling in agitation as his feverish eyes drill into me, devouring me where I stand.
Then with another long exhale, he answers the man in equally hushed tones. I can’t make out their exchange but a few words filter through.
One year…one minute.
The man stares at Monroe, who ignores him, jaw set in granite, his eyes never leaving mine. Clearly, whatever conversation they’re having is over because the older guy glances over his shoulder and gives a sharp nod.
Monroe immediately quietens down. The fourth man steps away and the other three frogmarch him into Dad’s office.
The second they step away, his gaze flickers to the soldier standing next to me.
“Back. The fuck. Off.” The order is so deadly, so vicious, the soldier takes several steps back.
With a sob torn from my soul, I launch myself into his arms.
He barely manages to lower his manacled arms before my legs wrap around him and bury my face in his neck. He smells like sweat and war and sex and Monroe and I breathe him in like he’s life itself.
Because he is.
I walked into this room a naive girl who knew next to nothing about emotions and the power of finding the one. My eyes have been opened in the most gut-wrenching and euphoric way possible.
I’m not ready to let go. Not now, not ever.
Frantic but gentle hands skim over my body, his breathing agitated once more. “It’s okay, baby. It’s okay. But I need to know. Are you hurt?”
Another sob spills free and my legs tighten around him.
“I should be asking you that!” Belatedly, I realize I could be hurting him. That the blood I saw…oh God!
I try to disentangle myself from him but the bound hands beneath me curl under my thighs, somehow managing to pull me closer.
