Page 75 of Under Fire

Dean drew her closer against him, grinning as he spoke with the reverend, fondly recalling how they’d met, fondly detailing the course of their four-year ‘situation-ship’. All of it was false.

She saw him for what he really was.

Her mother’s proud face flashed before her eyes once again.

Then Warren’s.

“I deserve better,” Alisa whispered.

The way Dean’s eyes flashed at her told her that he had heard her words—and he didn’t like it.

“What was that, dear?” the reverend asked, leaning forward.

Dean’s expression threatened—speak, and I’ll fucking kill you.

Alisa opened her mouth but froze.

He really would kill her, wouldn’t he? It was just a matter of time.

Yelling crashed through her mind. She should have never agreed to the deal. She’d always deserved better. She’d made a big mistake through all of it, but not the same type of happy mistake she’d made with Warren.

She backed up, peeling herself from his arms.

“What is this?” Dean kept his fake smile up, seeming to know that the reverend wouldn’t marry them if she was under duress. “You okay, doll?”

“I—” she started but chewed her lip as his eyes changed to murderous.

The reverend looked back and forth between them, about to say something. But then, something unexpected happened.

“Y’all need a witness?” A booming masculine voice fired down the beach—a voice Alisa would never forget.

Relief washed over her.

Dean and Alisa spun in unison to find Warren barreling toward them. Alisa sucked in breath as she watched the damn fine SEAL stopping right behind them in all his dominant, confident glory. Arms crossed, his face cold, intense—he stared Dean down like he was ready to fucking kill him.

Alisa didn’t doubt that he actually was.

Dean stepped forward to face the SEAL. Alisa never realized it before, but Warren was that much taller, that much more muscular. If she wasn’t scared shitless, she’d actually be enjoying how wet he instantly made her—and how intimidating he was to others.

And how he’d shown up.

“We haven’t met,” Warren said.

“No, we have not,” Dean responded.

Squaring themselves to each other, it looked like a goddamn duel. Alisa darted her eyes back and forth, realizing she was standing before a ticking time bomb.

Or a goddamn nuclear explosion.

“I’m Warren,” he said, but did not give his hand.

“Dean,” he replied. “Can I help you?”

Warren said nothing, flicking his gaze up and down Dean in disapproval. He sucked his teeth, the icing on the cake. His gaze traced the club patches on Dean’s jacket, seeming to put all the pieces of the puzzle together—all the things Alisa should have told him.

Finally, after letting the question hang for too long, Dean asked it again.

“I said, can I help you?”

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