Excerpt for Angel’s Truth by Liz Borino

So begins Angel’s Truth, the sequel to Angel’s Hero. Army Captain Jordan Collins arrives home, only to find the man responsible for his imprisonment, torture, and near-execution with his husband. Had his Angel moved on without him?

Aaron “Angel” Collins has driven his family and friends away in his quest to learn the truth of Jordan’s fate, leaving only Major General Troy Hart willing to help him. When Jordan miraculously returns, with a spirit more broken than his body, Aaron realizes Hart was really a liar with an agenda of his own. Aaron is unable to take time to heal his own emotional wounds, because he and Jordan learn Hart’s betrayal is even greater than they originally believed, threatening the entire nation. Now the reunited couple must race against time to keep a promise to Jordan’s savior and prevent Hart from bringing terrorism once again to American soil.

“Freeze or I’ll shoot!” Aaron yelled and aimed the gun at Jordan’s chest.

“Angel, no, please.” Hacking fluid-filled coughs broke up Jordan’s words as he sat sprawled on the kitchen floor.

“Jordan?” Aaron whispered his name as recognition and memories of their life together

“Yes.” He coughed red into his dirty hand. “Please help.” After being imprisoned for more than two months in Afghanistan, Jordan needed his husband more than ever.

“No! Jordan’s dead.” Aaron’s hand shook so hard his grip on the gun loosened.

That’s what the Army told him. Now I have to deepen those memories. Show him they’re real. Jordan met Aaron’s gaze, and found confusion with a flickering spark of hope. “Not unless you shoot,” he replied, and somehow knew he had nothing to fear even with a gun pointed Aaron set the Glock on the table. He held it down while keeping his eyes locked on Jordan’s. Not moving closer. “How?”

Before Jordan could answer, the front door shut. “Who was that?” he asked, struggling to sit straighter, his gaze darting around the room. The faint click of the far away lock sent his pulse into overdrive.

“Um,” Aaron glanced at the door and back again, “Troy.”

Hart! No! Jordan’s breath came in short spurts, increasing his coughing… and blood on his sleeve. Blood that Hart caused by leaving him in that godforsaken prison. Angel doesn’t know that… and I can’t fucking tell him.

Aaron crouched down in front of Jordan. “You need to go to the hospital.”

“Not yet.” He coughed again. “Are you seeing him?”

“No,” Aaron answered. “He’s my only friend right now.” At Jordan’s confused expression, Aaron explained, “When they told me you died, I lost it because their story sucked. Cost me my job. Troy stuck by me and helped me investigate your ‘death,’” Aaron put air quotes around the last word. “Then he…” Aaron’s words trailed off.

“He what?” Jordan prompted.

“Showed me a picture of your body after they executed you,” Aaron answered. “But… it  obviously wasn’t you.”

“No,” Jordan responded.

“Troy must have made a mistake,” Aaron tried.

“You don’t believe that,” Jordan said.

Aaron shook his head. “Why were you scared when I told you his name?”

“He kept me there on purpose,” Jordan sputtered. And ordered my death.

“Jor-“

His head snapped up and he caught Aaron’s gaze. “Don’t give me that condescending tone.” More coughing.

“I’m sorry,” Aaron whispered. “I just…”

 “Angel.” Jordan softened his voice. “I can’t tell you how I know yet, but I promise you, I do.”

Aaron hesitated only slightly and then said, “I believe you.”

“Thank you.” Jordan extended his hand and brushed Aaron’s cheek. “My Angel.”

Aaron’s tears streaked a line through the dirt Jordan painted on his face. “Oh, Jordan,”

Aaron cried, kissing his palm, igniting his husband’s own wet cheeks. “I love you is not strong enough.”

Jordan leaned forward and kissed Aaron’s cheeks. “Maybe not, but we are. If …”

“If what?” Aaron questioned.

“If you want to be,” Jordan replied, flitting his gaze away again.

“Yes, more than you know,” Aaron answered. “Let’s get to the hospital.”

He shook his head. “I can’t.”

Aaron scrutinized him. “You’re coughing blood and pale.”

As pale as a mixed race Korean and African American could be, anyway. “I have either TB or pneumonia, an ankle that’s been broken repeatedly, and I haven’t slept in at least three days,” Jordan reported between coughs.

“Um. Yeah. You need a doctor. Probably a team of doctors.” Aaron started to stand up, but Jordan grabbed his arm.

“The Army thinks I’m dead.”

“Uh-huh. We’re not making them prophetic,” Aaron told him as he extracted his phone from his pocket. As Aaron dialed the last one, Jordan snatched the phone and threw it to the other side of the kitchen. “Jordan!”

 “I can’t! Angel, what if they lock me up?”