"I want a winter wedding," Miranda announced.

"Doesn't a summer wedding make more sense for Maryland? You know, beach, shore, boats and all?" he asked. Truthfully, he could care less about the details, all he wanted was the woman.

"Yes, but that's the point," she about whined. "That's what everyone does. I want something different."

"Miranda, I've told you this. You tell me when and where and what to wear and I'll be there. Literally, whatever you want."

"I know, and really, I appreciate that. I love that you're basically ok with me planning, cause God knows I live for that, but I still want to be able to discuss it with you."

"Ok," he agreed, fully aware of the fact that he was going to tune out most of what she said and just try to follow along enough to not piss her off.

"So, there is one small problem."

Ok, problems his brain did latch onto. "Yeah, what's that?"

"Well, just like every little girl around here I've dreamed of being married on the beach. You know, barefoot, flowing dress, wind in my hair, maybe some flowers if they'd stay in long enough, guy in casual-ish suit."

"Ok, so do that."

"But," she flicked both partially open hands for emphasis, "that's what everyone does. This is a McCalllisster wedding. It's got to be big, over the top, and most of all unique for the social circle."

Ken just looked at her. "So do both."

"How?"

"Well, how 'bout, we do the beach wedding first, in secret, just us."

"Like we're eloping? My parents would kill me."

"They never have to know. Shouldn't this just be about us anyway? That way you can get the girlhood dream and your parents, and the 'social circle', can still get the hoopla."

Miranda about fell over getting up from her seat to kiss him. "Ken, you're a genius," she placed a solid smack to his lips.

"That's why you're marrying me."

"No, it's not and you know it. I'm marrying you for that big dick of yours and well, everything else your body magically does to mine. Just remember if you stop, I'll divorce you in a heartbeat."

Ken had an old friend he figured he could contact to be discreet. He was a justice of the peace and a counselor. He had known Ken since his teenage years, helping him when he was still in foster care and post some of his worst military missions. Ken had also met with him following his unseasonable discharge.

They were able to secure a marriage license for early October and married, just the two of them, barefoot as planned, on the beach that Ken had brought her to previously.

The big wedding had been planned in New York. Reception at Tavern on the Green. Ken didn't want to know the price tag for renting out the whole restaurant for a Saturday.

"Let's pick January," Miranda had decided.

"Why January?" Ken asked.

"It's my least favorite month."

"Ok, so why January?" Ken said with a laugh. "Are you dreading marrying me a second time that badly?" he teased.

"No, silly," she clarified. "January is cold, grey, nothing generally to look forward to. This way I can make it have a something to look forward to. Plus, we can plan anniversary trips to the Caribbean to celebrate yearly."

Miranda had picked out a white satin dress. Rhinestones decorated the bodice, it tucked in at the waist, and trailed into a smooth flowing length. It emphasized every good feature of her figure. Her breasts and waist looked perfect, and it fit her height beautifully. They were going to have a horse drawn carriage (or sleigh, weather permitting) ride through Central Park, from the church to the reception, wrapped in furs and blankets. Old fashioned and fabulous. The day came and she felt like a snow princess with her prince charming. Well sort of, it was Ken after all, but God did she love him.

When she walked down the aisle of the church, Ken was sure he forgot how to breathe. Once he recovered, he was trying to decide which version he liked better. On the beach, other than Jack, the JP, she had been his and his alone. She had worn an off white floaty sleeveless dress. Braids and flowers decorated her hair, that the breezes had whipped around, but she hadn't cared. She had been fresh faced and just happy. Their eyes had barely left each other's, hands always holding, always touching, he had kissed her long before Jack had given them permission, chuckling under his breath, but not bothering to correct him.

Here, the statuesque, beautiful, goddess was on display, and God, did she more than pass inspection. He was marrying (well publicly marrying) Miranda fucking McCallister and being able to flaunt the fact that she was now his and his alone threw his ego into overdrive. Even his still steely father-in-law wasn't bothering him a bit. Her mother was at least typically pleasant towards him, but he was well aware of the fact that this public union was happening as Miranda's choice, not theirs.

He behaved himself during the ceremony, but barely heard a word the minister said. All he could think about was how long he'd have to wait to get her out of said dress.

The two of them had been having a grand time being secretly married for the past three months. There had been a lot of teasing and flirting behind closed doors of 'wife', 'husband', 'Mr. Wheatley' and 'Mrs. McCallister-Wheatley' as she had decided to hyphenate, worked into their playtime.

Ken had quit his job, moving to Jackson to be with her. He had tried to be as gracious as possible when he stepped down. Nora's family had given him an excellent opportunity when he likely didn't have any other options. Evans' boss had asked him to stay on as a consult. He had agreed, thinking that it wasn't going to amount to much. He was pleasantly surprised the first time he received a generous check in the mail, after a phone call that he assumed was just a friendly call for advice. The firm had even flown him back to New York a few times after that, so at least he had had some income. Apparently, Nora's family was still looking out for him.

They had a heavenly ten-day honeymoon at an exclusive private resort in the Bahamas. Ken spent nearly the whole time literally chasing Miranda around in her bikinis and trying to get her out of the already skimpy garments. Otherwise, they ate gourmet food, sipped island cocktails, swam, snorkeled, and lay together in a hammock under the stars. Miranda had talked him into eighteen holes of golf on the course overlooking the ocean. They were equally impressed with each other's game.

Miranda's parents had gifted her the Wyoming estate as a wedding present. Ken had a sneaking suspicious that had been their plan all along. They had to have known how much she had loved it as a child, and since they were planning on eventually handing over the keys to the kingdom to her brother, he figured it was the least they could do. Along with it, she received a monthly stipend that was enough to keep the place up and provide more than necessities. But Ken knew that they were supposed to be building wealth and he was no free loader.

When they were at home in Wyoming, they were in their own little world. It took till being at Gary and Nora's wedding, surrounded again by Maryland's elite, for it to hit home that he needed to figure out a way to keep Miranda in the lifestyle and status she was accustomed to.

Gary had, of course, been his best man at their wedding. The wedding party had been huge. Ken easily lost track of which cousin was which. He did notice that Miranda didn't have any real close girlfriends. She and Nora had at least gotten friendly, but Nora wasn't in the wedding party. Miranda had explained that she was just naturally comfortable with boys and young men when she was younger, and most of the woman she had interacted with were just too catty for her to trust.

When Gary had naturally asked Ken to reciprocate, he had been a little weirded out by the fact of his ex-girlfriend, and therefore a woman he had slept with, being the bride. Gary had assured him that it was fine, but if he brought it up during his toast, Nora would rip his ball's off.

They had flown back from Maryland Monday morning. Gary and Nora's wedding had gone off without a hitch, perfect, classic seaside ceremony and reception. They had even had a light, early morning good luck rainfall that had cleared into picture perfect weather in time for Nora to come down the aisle, an absolute blonde bombshell vision in ivory lace, breasts wrapped in a heart shaped neckline. Every man, and not just a few women, were smitten with her, and Ken had never seen his best friend smile more broadly.

Ken wasn't smiling last night. He had tossed and turned, trying to finalize his thoughts to talk to Miranda about his plans. He had been thinking about it for months, but it was time to get off his ass and take some action. It was after dinner Tuesday night, and Miranda has suggested they retire early. She didn't know Ken had slept so badly the night before, she just figured they could both use some extra rest from the weekend travel and wedding.

They were getting ready for bed in one of the upstairs guest rooms in the opposite wing to their main residence. The house was almost finished. They had had the big place to themselves, exploring options for fucking in nearly every room, on every imaginable surface, and frequently outside on the lawn. They had initiated their little hedonistic venture when they had to vacate her bedroom for it to be finished. A quick job had been done on the room at the start of construction in order to provide a living space. Now it was being finalized and they were going to have the entire upper far wing for their quarters. Now that it was to be Ken's as well, he got to give his input. Miranda was also having a gardener install seasonal flower beds and a landscaping company was putting final touches on the grounds.

Miranda came back from brushing her teeth and Ken directed her to sit at the padded bench at the foot of the spare bed. She was in a chemise and matching lace robe. He was just in his boxers. For a moment his brain shifted to the possibilities of the bench they were sitting on, but he took her hands in one of his, resting his other hand on his knee and pulled his head out of libido. He needed to talk to her.

"Babe, I need to talk to you," he started.

"Ok, that sounds ominous. Let me guess, you realized giving up blond, big boobs was the worst mistake of your life and you're leaving me?"

"Not the nicest way to talk about your friend, but no," he paused to tease, "'lthough Gary is a lucky son of a.."

He didn't get further as Miranda smacked his arm. He leaned in to kiss her back.

"Miranda, dear, you know you're it for me. But, seriously, listen," he paused again, "I've been wracking my brain for something to do around here, you know to keep things up, with the money and all."

Miranda didn't want to voice it, but she had too. She was much better at the planning, the organizing, the managing and executing of a plan, an idea. The entrepreneurial aspect, that wasn't her. They could survive on the stipend and the little bit of money that Ken had been bringing it, but that wasn't fulfilling her expectations, it wasn't her birthright. She had just about made the decision to ask her parents, or even her brother, if there was another project she could oversee, try to prove her worth. She had been tasked with the estate renovations for well over a year now, and they were almost complete. At the time, she believed that it was to benefit the family somehow, now she realized that the entire project was somewhat selfishly an end goal of providing a home for herself to start her own legacy. Now she had no idea what to do with moving that legacy forward.

Ken brought her back to the conversation. "So, anyway, the only thing I've ever really been any good at is military operations," he started. "And I obviously can't go back to the military. So, I figured, why not create my own?"

Huh? "Ken, what are you talking about?"

"I can create a small militant group, here. Highly trained. I'll get guys like me, well not just like me, guys that are better than me, you know that had something go wrong, got a bad rap, that need a job, a home. We've got plenty of room. There's always rich people that need something done, something that no one else can or is willing to do, and they'll pay for it."

"Ken, that's crazy. This isn't West Virginia, you can't just start some backwoods militant group. What's the other term for people like that, mercen-something? You'd be what, like guns for hire? Sounds like a damn good way to get yourself killed or in jail, and not regular jail, but like bad jail."

"Um, honey, I think you're looking for the term mercenaries and jail isn't good, no matter how you slice it. Regardless, I think I need to try this."

Miranda just looked at her husband. She didn't like it, but he looked earnest. If anyone could make crazy work, it was Ken. "Can you promise me you won't get killed, or wind up in jail?" she asked.

"I can promise you that I'll keep you out of jail," he answered. "I'll make sure you have plausible deniability and all that."

"Is it legal?"

"Legal-ish."

"I guess that will have to do."

"Miranda, I'm not a nice guy."

She held his gaze, "I don't need nice. I just need you. My family doesn't have the best track record with playing nice or keeping everything legal anyway. Why do you think my brother got a law degree? They certainly didn't make their fortune doing everything by the books. And besides, you're nice to me."

"That depends on your definition of 'nice'," he countered, as he bent his head to suck the skin over her collarbone.

"Mmmm," was her only response as she opened herself up to his touch. Conversation was definitely over for the evening.

In truth, Ken had every intention of only going after men that were better than himself. There was just no way he was going to put Miranda in any sort of danger, and in order for his plan to work, the men would have to be living at the estate. The next thing he had to do was find them. Military guys, the best in their respective fields, that the military didn't want anymore, who had way stronger morals than himself. Then he had to get those men to accept him as their leader, give him their allegiance, and keep everything legal enough to avoid getting arrested, and secure enough that no one got killed. That would be a piece of cake, right?