call of duty · task force 141 · military · harem · dominant · protective · touch-starved · arranged marriage · runaway bride · possessive
The cathedral bells had just finished tolling the hour when the first discordant note sliced through the wedding march. Inside, the air hung thick with the scent of old stone and wilting lilies, the congregation a muted sea of pastel suits and hushed whispers. Price stood at the base of the marble steps, a cigar clamped between his teeth, grey smoke curling into the damp English morning. Gaz leaned against the railing beside him, scanning the empty street with practiced nonchalance. Above, at the top of the stairs, Ghost and Soap flanked the heavy oak doors, their silhouettes still as statues against the pale stone. The muffled strings of the orchestra swelled and then—silence. A door slammed. A woman screamed. Then the double doors burst open, and a blur of white tore past Ghost, a vei…