Keeping his bride

Aria

“I’M SORRY, ARIA,” Mateo whispers.

My entire body trembles at his words. What is he sorry for? He’s sorry because of the situation we’re in, or he’s sorry that he has to kill me now? With the gun poised against my temple, it’s hard to not think the latter.

No, Mateo would never hurt you, I internally assure myself. Deep down in my gut I know that’s the truth. And so, I relax in his grip, fully trusting him even if I shouldn’t, considering he has a weapon pressed against the side of my head. But I know he’s scared. Scared of so many things right now. Afraid of the FBI taking me away from him. Afraid of losing everything he’s ever worked for.

Mateo holds me tightly against him, his familiar scent enveloping me. As the smoke dissipates completely, I stare at the large group of FBI agents, and I can feel Mateo’s muscles flexing. I don’t think either one of us expected this. The front line is dressed in full tactical gear with numerous weapons pointed right at us.

“Drop the gun!” one of the men yells.

Mateo’s arm tightens around my waist, holding me closer. He keeps the gun trained at my temple, and I close my eyes, focusing on our breathing and our racing heartbeats. The devastating realization slowly dawns on me that there’s no easy way out of this situation. The FBI is going to take me and arrest Mateo. That is the only possible outcome here. The only variable is dependent upon whether Mateo cooperates or not. And if he doesn’t, I fear they will shoot him or even kill him.

As far as the FBI is aware, Mateo kidnapped me and held me captive in a foreign country. While that was true in the very beginning, I eventually became a willing captive. But they don’t know that and probably wouldn’t even believe me if I told them. Any way we try to spin it, none of this looks good for him.

“Drop your weapon or we’ll shoot!” another agent calls out.

“Don’t shoot!” I call out. “We’ll surrender. Please don’t shoot him!” I cry. Turning to face Mateo, he slowly lowers the gun, staring down into my eyes. “I don’t want to go, but I have to,” I explain. Tears stream down my cheeks as he cups my palm, swiping away the rivulets with his thumb.

“I’ll find you, Aria,” he vows.

I close my eyes, savoring his words. “Promise?” I ask, opening my eyes once again.

His dark gaze burns into mine as he says, “Yes.”

Then, I hear his gun clatter to the floor beside us as he drops it. Nothing will stop them from taking me away from him now. And just the thought of being taken from Mateo and never seeing him again has me panicking. I know this is the way it has to be, but I hate it.

I always wondered what I would do in this kind of situation when I made up this sort of scenario in my head. Would I run away screaming from Mateo, or would I run towards him, never wanting him to let me go? What would I choose?Please check at N/ôvel(D)rama.Org.

And as a set of hands grabs me, hauling me away from Mateo, I know exactly what choice I would make. I would choose him. I will always choose him.

“Don’t hurt him!” I call out as I watch four FBI agents descend upon him, knocking him to the ground with force. I watch one kick him with his boot, and it sets me off. Fighting against the agent holding me, I scream, “Leave him alone!”

I wrestle with the man who has his arms wrapped around me in a vice grip. I fight him like a wild animal as I have an overwhelming need to get to Mateo, to protect him somehow. “Let me go!” I scream. “Let me go!” We wrestle, and he suddenly twists me at an awkward angle. I cry out when I feel my shoulder popping out of its socket. The man immediately loosens his grip, and I stand there with my arm dangling by my side, gritting my teeth from the intense pain.

When I find Mateo’s darkened gaze, I can see the switch being flipped. One moment, he’s calm, accepting his fate. And the next, he’s seeing red.

“Get the fuck off of her!” Mateo roars, stalking towards us.

The agents swarm him then, tackling him down to the ground, and I watch in horror as he fights them. Two of the men fall to the ground with bloody noses and a third is cradling a broken arm. And then Mateo is coming for me again, his face bloody, his shirt torn, his visible tattoos flexing as his muscles tense with rage. His steps are determined, his gaze unwavering.

And that’s when the first shot rings out. It’s almost deafening, and I gasp when I see Mateo jolt from the force of the bullet hitting him. Crimson blooms through the hole in his shirt, and yet he’s still standing. His eyes meet mine, and I can see the resolve inside of them. Gritting his teeth in pain, he steps towards me again. He’s willing to die to get to me, to protect me.

“No!” I scream just as I see another agent raise his gun and shoot.

This time I see Mateo’s shoulder tearing open from the bullet. He staggers backwards, but doesn’t fall.

“Mateo, stop!” I cry out. “Please!” He’s going to get killed trying to come for me.

But he doesn’t stop. He takes another step, and then another.

A third shot rings out, and this one causes Mateo to crumble to the ground. He roars like a feral animal, but his gaze never leaves mine. He’s willing to take bullets for me. He’s willing to die for me.

“Please!” I beg him with tears rolling down my face. “Please stop.”

I can see a myriad of emotions in his piercing gaze as he studies my face. He’s probably wondering if I want him to stop because I want to be rescued or if I’m telling him to stop because of my feelings for him. I wish I could tell him it’s because…I’m in love with him. Lord help me, but I love him with every part of my heart and soul.

I finally manage to pull out of the agent’s grip and run to Mateo. He’s broken and bloody, but he manages to grab me and hold me.

“Are you okay?” he asks before drawing in a rough breath between his teeth.

I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. He’s been shot three times, and he’s asking if I’m okay? Before I can even answer, I’m suddenly being picked up and dragged away from him. I scream, kick and fight while calling out his name.

The last thing I see before I’m taken out the door is Mateo’s eyes slowly rolling into the back of his head before he collapses to the floor in a pool of his own blood.