Hot SEAL, Vegas Nights

by Parker Kincade

  He secured his helmet and then set off on foot, using the map his mom had drawn on a napkin to guide his way. Watching his step, he wound through the rows until he found what he was looking for.

  There was nothing special about the stone marking Boss’s grave. No fancy embellishments or flowery words. Just a name, military rank, and a couple of dates. Simple and to the point.

  Boss would’ve loved it.

  “Hey, man.” He cleared the gravel from his throat. “Sorry it took me so long.”

  Aidan side-stepped the patch of grass in front of the stone and settled his ass on the ground. He propped his back against the wide edge of the marker and stretched his legs out, crossing his boots at the ankle. He glanced over his shoulder, studying the name carved there.

  Dwight T. Parks.

  He swallowed hard. “I brought you something.”

  Aidan reached into the inner pocket of his jacket and pulled out the two cigars he’d taken from the box last night. He fished out the lighter and small knife he’d stowed in the front pocket of his jeans. He didn’t have a proper cutter, so he used the knife to carve open the end of each cigar. Not perfect, but it would have to do.

  He lit the first one, drawing and puffing several times to get it good and fired up. The rich, woody scent he associated with Boss swirled around him. Filled his mouth and lungs.

  How many times had they done this together over the last ten years?

  Not enough.

  He came home as often as he could, but his job made it difficult. When he wasn’t working, he was training. What little time he had he spent tinkering with his bike, or with a willing woman’s body, if she didn’t mind giving him free reign for a night.

  He didn’t feel guilty. His life was the way it was, and he did his best to make it work. What made his chest feel tight was the time cut short. Boss should’ve had more time. They should’ve had more time.

  Aidan turned and balanced the burning stogie on the upper edge of the marble. He watched the smoke trickling from the ash-colored end, poised to rescue the thing if it decided to take a roll. He knew it might not stay lit without Boss there to smoke it, but he left it for fate to decide.

  Aidan repeated the process to light the second one, his. The last cigar he’d ever smoke.

  The thought hit him like a sucker punch. He worked too hard to keep his body in top shape to fuck it up by smoking regularly, but he’d actually come to enjoy the ritual.

  The ache in his chest dug in its heels, leaving a permanent mark. One more thing he would have to say goodbye to today.

  Might as well get on with it.

  “I would’ve been here sooner, but…” Aidan swept the area with his gaze to ensure he was alone. He was surrounded by hundreds of people, but he was the only one actually breathing. Yet, even assured of his privacy, Aidan couldn’t bring himself to discuss the details of his time away. Much of his job was classified, and keeping his mouth shut was as much a part of him as breathing. As a Navy man, Boss understood. He never pressed or made things awkward by asking too many questions he couldn’t answer, as his family sometimes did.

  Aidan held the cigar between his teeth and removed his jacket, draping the leather over his lap. He squinted toward the sun that warmed his skin. The same sun had cooked his ass in Djibouti, but here in the Mojave desert, it felt less … harsh.

  He puffed the cigar. He let his head fall back against the stone and he closed his eyes, silently replaying the fuck-hot night Dutch got shot.

  A Green Beret had gone missing during a mission to help the Saudis take out suspected Houthi missile sites. SEAL Team Three’s mission had been to recover the man—alive, and by whatever means necessary—then get the hell out.

  Under the cover of night, the team climbed aboard the Osprey that later dropped them close to the Saudi side of the Yemen border. From there, they hiked a rough mountain path into Houthi territory.

  They had solid intel. Locating Sergeant Thomas Manning hadn’t been too difficult. A group of the Iranian-backed Houthi rebel soldiers had bound Sergeant Manning by the hands and were leading him through the mountains by a tether. When they’d found him, Manning had been surrounded by more than twenty rebel soldiers.

  Twenty-plus rebels against eight Navy SEALS.

  Aidan shoved his sunglasses to the top of his head and rubbed his tired eyes. Goddamn rebels had no idea the can of whoop-ass they opened when they snatched that Green Beret. They found out, though. They fucking found out.

  Zach “Z-Man” Browne gave the order for a coordinated strike. Aidan and his teammates took down eight soldiers all at once, causing the rest to scurry like rats. Z-Man was able to grab Manning during the confusion. Once Manning’s identity had been confirmed, they hightailed it to the exfil point. That was where things went pear-shaped.

  Manning had been injured and couldn’t keep up the furious pace they’d set. The team slowed as much as they could, which meant that less than a mile from their bird the rebel soldiers caught up with them. All hell broke loose. The rebel soldiers opened fire. Aidan and his teammates returned fire, but they’d been pinned down with shit for cover except some bushes and small trees.

  Aidan spent the two minutes it had taken for air support to arrive covering Nitro, who was covering the asset, and keeping the path to their ride clear. He could still hear the bullets zinging by his head, pinging off the dirt under his boots, as he and Nitro reached the helo with Manning. Compass, T-Bone, and Justus were next to load. Air support continued to hold off the rebels as Hawk and Z-Man made a run for it. As they jumped aboard, Aidan saw Dutch in an all-out, fist-pumping sprint toward them.

  About that time, rebel bullets peppered the Osprey. Being closest to the door, Hawk and Z-Man had laid down fire to protect Dutch as he came in hot. Aidan knew it was more than burning lungs when Dutch lumbered up the cargo ramp and then collapsed onto the floor of the helo. They were in the air before Dutch could get out the words that he was hit. In the ass. A bloody through and through that Nitro was quick to patch up for the ride.

  Aidan raised his face toward the sun and drew from the cigar. Since he couldn’t tell Boss any of that, he went with the other topic that had been occupying his mind since last night.

  “So,” he began slowly, watching the smoke dance and curl out of his mouth. “I met Zoe.”

  Try as he might, he couldn’t forget the perfect shape of her breasts, or that tiny glimpse of dark nipple. “She wasn’t what I expected.”

  She was … more. More beautiful. More spirited. More grown-up.

  “The way you talked, I assumed she was a little girl. Imagine my surprise…” Aidan chuckled. “She’s definitely not a child.”

  He looked back, cocking a brow at the name on the stone. He had so many questions. Where had she been all these years? Why hadn’t she been around? How long had she been visiting before…

  “She’s messy,” he blurted, not ready to think about the fear Zoe must have felt in those final moments of Boss’s life. “Your kitchen looks like a crime scene.”

  The rest of the house made sense. The packing boxes, the books, the shoes. Zoe was cleaning out Boss’s house. Her house now, apparently.

  “She has your grit. She stood her ground even before she knew I wasn’t some random stranger there to harm her.”

  Aidan smoked and told Boss what happened the night before. Obviously, he would’ve done things a little differently had he known the situation. He would’ve waited until daylight. Would’ve knocked on the door like a civilized man and introduced himself to her. Maybe asked her out for a drink so they could share some stories about Boss.

  But, he didn’t have a time machine. He couldn’t go back. He couldn’t unsee the tiny shorts that molded to her body, or the length of her tanned legs. Couldn’t unsee her flared hips, or her trim waist. And he definitely couldn’t unlearn the way her lips never quite closed when she stewed in anger, as if she wanted a head start in a verbal assault.

  Those lips gave a man ideas.
Filthy, uncivilized ideas that included her blonde waves wrapped around his fist as she looked up … Aidan frowned.

  Damn.

  He didn’t know the color of her eyes.

  He remembered the flush of her cheeks and the curve of her chin, but he had no idea what fucking color her eyes were. He closed his own lids. Conjuring an image of her pretty face was easy, but her eyes … her goddamn eyes eluded him. Brown, green, hazel, blue. He ran through all the possible colors and came up blank.

  It felt like a crime. His time served for the travesty would be every minute that passed while the mystery went unsolved.

  He had to know.

  Aidan heard his mom’s voice repeat what she’d told him earlier. She’s been through a lot.

  Take care of my granddaughter, Boss’s voice said in Aidan’s head, bringing him back to the reality of where he was.

  “I will,” he said without thought.

  He wasn’t exactly sure what he was promising to do. Zoe appeared old enough to take care of herself, housekeeping skills notwithstanding. Aidan could look out for her, though. Let her know he was there for her—as much as he could be with his job, and given the fact that he lived in California and she now apparently lived in Boss’s house in Vegas.

  He would find a way to make it work, to be there for her if she needed him. The weird sensation in his gut told him she would be worth the effort.

  “I will,” he said again, with more conviction this time. He pressed the tip of his remaining cigar to the ground, snubbing it out. He got to his feet. He made sure the other cigar was out before he placed them side-by-side at the base of the stone.

  He didn’t know how long he stood there, memorizing the shape of each letter and number engraved into the headstone.

  “Don’t worry about us down here, Boss. I’ve got this.”

  Sadness filled his heart. Aidan didn’t let it overwhelm him. Instead, he let it fuel what came next. He would move forward, as Boss would want him to do. He would honor Boss by living his life to the fullest, without regrets. By continuing to be the best damn Navy SEAL he could be.

  Aidan pressed his palm against the area over his heart, then moved it to rest against the cold marble.

  Love you, old man.

  “Bye.”

  Aidan walked away knowing he’d never come back. There was no need. Boss would be with him now, no matter where he went.

  5

  “Son of a—”

  Zoe rammed the end of her shoe against the side of the lawn mower. Pain radiated up her leg, causing another unladylike word to squeeze out from between her teeth.

  Hands firmly clenched to her hips, she glared down at the stupid machine.

  She would not be intimidated by an inanimate object. She could figure this out. She didn’t need some man to help her, regardless of what her ex used to say.

  Jerk.

  She wasn’t helpless. She was frustrated. That was all.

  Determined, Zoe braced her foot against the edge of the mower. She grabbed the starter handle and pulled again—over and over until her chest heaved from the exertion.

  “Why won’t you start?” she demanded, tempted to give the damn thing another kick.

  She leaned over and studied the motor. She had no idea what she was looking at, and it was pissing her off. She had zero experience with mechanics. Until now, she’d never needed any. The men her mom dated over the years were the kind who could fix anything. Broken garbage disposal? Jimmy had it working in twenty minutes. Leaky toilet? Only took Bill half an hour to fix that one. Fuse that tripped every time her mom turned on the vacuum? Butch upgraded the fuse box.

  Unfortunately, the men her mom dated were also the kind who drank in the middle of the day, had permanent grease stains under their nails, and got aggressive when things didn’t go their way. Once things escalated to actual violence—and things always escalated to violence—her mom would kick the guy to the curb. After a few weeks, another man would take his place. Sometimes, the old guy wouldn’t want to let go so easily. The new guy would step in—her mom’s savior—and chase the guy off.

  Over and over again.

  Zoe secretly thought that was the part her mom liked the best. The caveman act. The possessive fight for territory. The drama of it all.

  For those who believe children don’t mimic the relationships of their parents, Zoe could provide a truckload of evidence to the contrary, but that was one cycle she refused to repeat. She didn’t need, or want, a man to save her from anything, least of all her asshole former boyfriend.

  Louis Maxwell. His friends called him Max. Max worked at a manufacturing plant in Carson City and belonged to a local biker club. Zoe had met him on a girl’s night out with a few of her co-workers from the Carson City Department of Motor Vehicles. After she’d polished off a gluttonous amount of wings and four beers, Max strolled in like he owned the place. One look, and her fate was sealed.

  Zoe had a thing for confident men. Add the leather and a killer smile, and she hadn’t stood a chance.

  Max was handsome in a wrong-side-of-the-tracks kind of way. Bad boy extraordinaire with a way with words. He’d charmed his way into her panties that first night and then decided to take up residence there. She hadn’t minded. Max was a decent lover, if somewhat selfish. But, weren’t all men when it came to sex?

  Things were good for a bit. It wasn’t until the third month, when he introduced her to his club brothers, that Max’s true colors began to show.

  He would love this if he could see her now, she thought. He’d laugh and carry on about how incompetent she was. He’d take great joy in telling her to go play with her “little drawings” while he took care of things.

  Zoe jiggled a wire that ran into the motor. Jerk wasn’t a strong enough word.

  She checked the gas level again. She straightened and palmed the starter handle.

  She was done with all of that now. Tug. Done with selfish, arrogant men who tried to make her feel small and ignorant. Tug. Done with men who would kill someone for touching their motorcycle, yet would laugh and yell git you some if one of his friends grabbed her ass. Tug. Done with men who thought she was nothing more than a possession.

  Tug. Tug. Tug.

  No more leather-clad, motorcycle-riding—

  “You need some help with that?”

  Zoe jumped, a startled scream bursting from her throat. Her foot caught on the edge of the mower and she stumbled sideways. Gravity did the rest and down she went. Before she had time to react, a thick arm went around her waist and jerked her back against a chest made of solid concrete. When they hit the ground, the impact forced the air from her lungs.

  Correction: when he hit the ground. Aidan. He’d turned at the last minute, taking the brunt of the fall and shielding her from bodily injury. Except, of course, her lungs.

  Oxygen. She needed more oxygen.

  “Easy,” he murmured. When he sat them up, she didn’t hear his grunt as much as she felt it. The movement placed her fully onto his lap. “I’ve got you.”

  His words, low and rumbly against her ear, had an alarming effect on her body. A shiver worked its way along her spine; the sensation of it pebbled her skin. She didn’t have to look down to know her nipples followed suit. She felt them draw tight against her lightweight cotton bra.

  Embarrassment burned her cheeks at her body’s insane reaction to this man. Annoyed to be turned on so easily by a man she didn’t know, Zoe all but stomped her heels against the grass. “Stop sneaking up on me!”

  “I didn’t sneak. Didn’t you hear me open and close the gate?”

  “Obviously not.” She struggled to climb out of his lap, but he wasn’t having it. The arm around her waist tensed as his other hand curled around her upper arm.

  “Slow and easy,” Aidan coaxed, his grip firm, but gentle. “You get up too fast after losing your breath like that, you’ll get dizzy.”

  “I’m fine.” She shifted her butt, causing another grunt and a whispered curse t
o sound behind her.

  “Not that I don’t appreciate when a beautiful woman squirms on my lap, but under the circumstances, now might not be the time for a lap dance.”

  Zoe froze. His words were like a laser, drawing every bit of her focus to where she sat. The initial connection she’d felt with him didn’t change the fact that he was a stranger. And she was sitting on his junk. There was no mistaking the bulge pressed against her backside.

  “You’re an ass.” And blind to boot if he thought she was beautiful. She was a sweaty mess.

  “So I’ve been told.”

  She hooked her thumbs under the arm circling her waist, trying to loosen his hold. “Let me go.”

  The second he complied, Zoe surged to her feet and was immediately sorry. Her knees weren’t exactly ready to clock in for business. She weaved a step and then Aidan was there, his hands on her arms to steady her.

  “Whoa. I warned you about what would happen if you stood too fast.”

  The world spun. She groaned and closed her eyes, wishing she hadn’t skipped lunch.

  “Here, lean into me.”

  A big hand cupped the back of her head. Light pressure urged her to lean in. Too woozy to do more than follow his lead, Zoe let him guide her forehead to rest against the center of his chest.

  “I’m good,” she told those hard muscles. “It’ll pass in a second.” She kept a jar of peanut butter in the kitchen for occasions such as this. Her blood sugar tended to drop when she skipped meals. An empty stomach coupled with the physical activity was the recipe for a blackout.

  He ran a hand down her back. “No rush. I’ve got you.”

  He smelled nice. Cool and crisp and fresh, like he’d just had a shower.

  Zoe liked that he had her. A little too much.

  She blinked open her eyes, only to realize she had the perfect view down the center of his body. His olive green t-shirt hung loose around the waistband of tan cargo shorts.