The Betrayed Series: Ultimate Omnibus Collection With EXCLUSIVE Post-Shiva Short Story (118 page)

“Ready?” Rebecca asked.

He simply nodded.

If Rebecca thought his son was a man of few words, she clearly hadn’t met Brandt’s father. As a matter of fact, the guy could be mute for all she knew. But none of that mattered. Not as the wedding march played. She took Mr. Brandt’s arm and followed him from the shelter of the hallway and stepped out into the church proper.

Most brides would be greeted by the sight of their groom standing, waiting for their arrival. Instead, Rebecca had a church full of freaked-out guests. Anxiety, worry, and even a tinge of recrimination painted their faces. Rebecca’s belly started fluttering. Could she be wrong? Could this crowd be right? Would Brandt stand her up?

Then she remembered the look in his eye, his bloody eye, as Brandt proposed—for the second time. His fervent promise to her.

In that moment, Rebecca felt sorry for the doubting crowd. Clearly, they didn’t know the determination of her man.

* * *

“
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck
,” Brandt cursed under his breath as he hung onto the church’s ledge with his fingernails. This was the fifth goddamned window they had tried to open, to no avail.

“Sarge,” Lopez suggested, “we’re going to have to smash one.”

Great. Now not only was he late for his own wedding, but he would have to destroy divine property.

“Wait!” Davidson yelled. “I’ve got it!”

As soon as the window popped open, the men poured through in various states of dress. Thinking ahead, Davidson had packed their tuxedoes. What they hadn’t counted on was having to get dressed on an extremely bumpy helicopter ride streaking over Charleston.

“Boss,” Lopez said, “that tie won’t do.”

Despite being the last one to be able to don his tux, Lopez was by far the most put together. Guess it wasn’t a surprise, though. It was Lopez.

The corporal trotted backward, fixing Brandt’s tie as they hurried down the hall.

“Enough,” Brandt announced as they reached the steps down to the altar. “She’s seen me far worse.”

Talli chuckled. “At least you don’t have a bullet in your belly.”

“Exactly,” Brandt agreed as he went to make his way down the steps, but Levont stopped him.

“No, Sarge, we go in reverse order,” the point man said.

“What in the hell difference does it—”

“For the video, man,” Levont insisted, nodding toward Lopez. Then the point man straightened his tux and headed down the steps. Talli followed close behind.

Lopez lingered at the landing. The first time Rebecca and Brandt had been engaged, it had been a no-brainer that Lopez would be the best man. After that stunt where the corporal didn’t bother to inform Brandt that he, too, had slept with his supposed baby momma? Lopez had kind of lost the whole best man gig.

Davidson shifted from foot to foot. “Sarge, I don’t mind, let Lopez—”

“No offense, Ricky, but you let me
marry
another woman,” Brandt said to his corporal.

“No offense taken,” Lopez stated, heading down the steps after the other groomsmen.

Which left Brandt and Davidson. At one time, he’d thought the younger man to be a brother. Not just in arms, but in his heart. Then, shortly thereafter, Brandt wanted to kill the son of a bitch. Yet here they were now. Despite all of that, they were standing here, ready to say his vows before his family, and God, he was glad for Davidson to be by his side.

“Thank you,” Brandt said, putting his hand out.

Davidson gulped, putting his scarred hand in Brandt’s. “No, sir.
Thank you
.”

Brandt turned away before they both got all emotional. Davidson led the way, hurrying down the steps. Brandt was certain he wasn’t the proper number of steps behind his best man, but seriously, he didn’t give a crap anymore. He just wanted to get to the damned altar before Rebecca walked. Nobody would blame her.

The music was still playing, so that had to be good. He couldn’t tell how far along the procession she was, as all the guests were standing, blocking his view of the aisle. A smattering of clapping went up as Davidson took his place. Brandt made his way past the men and stepped onto what he thought his spot at the altar should be, when a cheer erupted from the entire crowd.

Guess they didn’t have much faith the groom was going to make it.

Then he looked down the aisle to the angel floating toward him.

Rebecca. She’d had faith. She’d trusted he’d be there.

Breath caught in his throat as if he’d been punched in the solar plexus. She was a vision. An absolute vision. And she was
his
.

* * *

Rebecca felt tears spring to her eyes. Bunny would be so upset.

The sight of Brandt in a rumpled tux, though a bleeding cut on his forehead and knuckles raw, was everything she had ever dreamed of. Who knew where the injuries came from? All she cared about was that he was here. Ready to marry her.

The rest of the walk up to the altar was a blur. Literally a blur as tears spilled down her cheek. Mr. Brandt made certain her hand was firmly in his son’s before the older man backed away.

Brandt helped her up the small step to the altar. She clutched it as tightly as she had in their mad race down the Alpine avalanche, needing his strength to stay upright. The improbability and perfection of the moment took her breath away.

No matter she didn’t like her dress or the fact that the bridesmaids looked like baby peaches or that she didn’t have any family to witness the event. The world shrunk down to just her and Brandt.

The priest began speaking as Brandt urged her to face the clergyman. Since they’d had to cancel the rehearsal last night because neither she nor Brandt was in the country, the protocol was all a mystery to Rebecca. Her future mother-in-law had tried to explain it to her, but anything that happened before Brandt burst onto the altar was gone. Just gone.

How could she think when the dreams she’d had since she was a child were suddenly coming true. Okay, fine, they had to go through a gauntlet of bombs, bullets, and ballistic missiles to get here, but here they were now.

Nothing could spoil this day.

Nothing except the sound of feet landing on the steeple of the church. Someone was repelling onto the cathedral’s roof.

Rebecca’s head swung around to her fiancé. “Did you invite anyone else?”

In answer, Brandt’s hand flew to his hip, only there wasn’t a gun there.

Then the vaulted ceiling above their heads exploded.

* * *

Brandt threw himself on top of Rebecca, shielding her from the debris. Why the fuck wasn’t he armed? And why the hell hadn’t he posted snipers outside? He had two right here, standing next to him. A lot of good that did.

Well, it did do a little good since the rest of his men did come armed. Davidson was firing up into the Charleston sky as he yelled for the civilians to evacuate, but who knew who heard him above the terrified screams?

No one needed much prodding, though, as the guests fled the kill zone. Tucking Rebecca’s head down tighter under him, Brandt looked to his sisters, who scattered from the altar and joined his parents in the front row.

“Go!” he yelled to his father. “Get them out!”

His father seemed hesitant, though. After serving two tours in the Gulf, you could see him want to help. But given who had blown that roof, there would be no help.

“Now!” Brandt bellowed, jolting his father out of his indecision. In a flurry of peach and gray, his family rushed off.

Gunfire erupted all around him as his men laid down heavy cover fire. Was it the bullets that kept the enemy from repelling through the breach? And was it just Brandt, or was the enemy not firing back? Had the Disciples not expected them to be armed? Whatever the reason, Brandt meant to take full advantage of it.

Brandt whispered in Rebecca’s ear. “On the count of three.”

She only nodded. He didn’t need to tell her what they were going to do. Rebecca reached a hand out and grasped Bunny’s. On three, they were getting the hell out of here. Backing themselves toward the other men and their cover fire. From there, they would find a place to make a stand.

But first they had to get to three.

“One,” he whispered when a sharp piece of debris hit him in the back.
That fucking hurt.

“Two,” Brandt slurred as his body slumped against Rebecca’s. Hand flailing, he found the source of the problem. A dart. A tranquilizing dart.

What the fuck?

As the world spun and compressed down around him, he never did make it to three.

* * *

“Sarge!” Davidson yelled, but Brandt didn’t answer as Rebecca crawled out from under her groom. She checked his pulse and gave a thumbs-up. So Brandt was still alive, but why the hell had he collapsed?

They were only five seconds into the firefight, and already, things were going sideways.

“Cover me!” Davidson shouted. Before he could even make it a step closer, a harness dropped down from the breach in the roof.

A blow horn announced from above, “He has sixty seconds to live. Get him in that harness or he dies.”

Davidson glanced over his shoulder to Lopez, who technically was in charge. However, even the corporal looked to Rebecca. She clung to Brandt. Her beautiful white dress now streaked in soot.

Davidson rushed to her side, but all Rebecca could do was shake her head. He felt Brandt’s pulse. It seemed to be weakening. The church had fallen eerily quiet as the parishioners fled into the street, taking their screams with them. Far away, the distant sound of police sirens wailed. But they would never get here in time.

None of them could do anything for Brandt in time. Except for the enemy.

“They want him alive,” Davidson said to her, not knowing what else to say. They simply didn’t have time for anything else. “We’ve got to trust in that.”

Rebecca raised her face as black mascara tear tracks etched her features. “Give me the harness.”

Quickly, they hooked Brandt into the apparatus. Once done, Davidson tugged on the rope. Immediately, Brandt’s unconscious body was pulled off the ground. Rebecca hurled herself forward, catching Brandt. Davidson feared he was going to have to pull her off of him, but she kissed the sergeant hard on the lips.

“We are
right
behind you,” she whispered, then let Brandt go.

The unconscious sergeant sped upward as the Disciples wasted no time claiming their prize. The helicopter hovering over the church banked away the second Brandt was loaded into the chopper.

Davidson spun to the other men to find out their next orders, only to find Lopez gone.

“Where’d he go?”

Talli shrugged. “Where do you think?”

With a tight smile, Davidson turned back to Rebecca just in time to catch her as she slumped to her knees.

“Are you injured?” he asked.

Shaking her head, Rebecca wiped her cheek with the back of her hand. “Why Brandt?”

“I don’t know.”

“Why not
me
?” she asked, choking back a sob.

Davidson pulled her into his arms, having absolutely no idea of how to comfort her. “I don’t know, Rebecca…I don’t know.”

* * *

Brandt jerked his eyes open, then wished he hadn’t. The world swam in a sea of reds and oranges. Whatever the fuck they had given him as an antidote, he swore he could see the blood vessels in the back of his eyes. That couldn’t be good.

Despite the terror that spiked in his veins, Brandt couldn’t move. Not his arms or his legs. Nothing. Even his eyelids were beginning to drift down. It took every effort to keep them open.

A man with a shaved head lowered himself to the floor of the helicopter. His face pierced with steel and his skin riddled with tattoos. One especially prominent. The Star of David with a rod through the center. The sign of the Disciples of Moshe.

Fuckers.

“Where is
she
?” he asked almost reverently.

What
she
?

Last Brandt had seen, Rebecca and Bunny were still in the church. Did these ass-bites screw up? Leaving the woman they wanted and taking him instead? But the Disciples were anything but stupid. The capture had been expertly done.

Then what
she
?

“Do not worry,” the man said. “You will tell us.”

Brandt wanted to punch or kick at the guy—hell, he’d settle for biting him—but his muscles wouldn’t cooperate. It was like his whole body had been injected with Botox. Not a great feeling. Worse, it was keeping him from doing the one task he really needed to get done.

He tried to get his tongue to work, but there was no way he could even form a curse let alone pop the false crown off his tooth. Nope. He was going to have to get the Disciples to do it for him.

Brandt was going to have to count on their cruelty.

Summoning up every ounce of energy he had left, Brandt spit in the man’s face.

For a moment, rage contorted the inked markings, but then his captor’s face smoothed back into the mask.

“You cannot bait me. I walk the righteous path.”

Really? Brandt got the one Disciple slow to anger?

The man rose and sat back down, his eyes closing in what looked like prayer. Seriously, a guy couldn’t get kicked in the face around a Disciple?

Then one of the mercenaries hauled back a leg and kicked Brandt square in the jaw.

Finally.

His molars slammed together so hard that the crown cracked in two. Brandt could feel his gum bleed, but that was of little consequence. His tracker was now primed. The only problem? He needed to activate the damned thing.

The guys in R&D really needed to take field conditions into consideration. Brandt wasn’t complaining—fine, maybe he was—but they needed to seriously factor in curare poisoning into the equation.

Gathering the blood into his mouth, Brandt spit again, this time at the mercenaries’ feet.

The merc reared back, kicking Brandt right in Brandt’s solar plexus. His mind careened from the pain and lack of oxygen, but damn if his jaw didn’t clamp down.

Vision blackening, Brandt could only hope that it was enough.

* * *

As Davidson released her, Rebecca imagined what Brandt would be doing right now if it were she who had been the one kidnapped. Well, besides saying, “Christ, stop crying,” because that was not going to happen any time soon. Her groom had just been kidnapped. She deserved a few tears.