Bad Boy SEALs

by Scarlett Avery

  “You speak to her like that again and you’ll lose your fucking teeth," I warn.

  "Do you know who I am?"

  "Do I look like I give a fuck?" I retort.

  "Well, I'm sure you'll have a change of heart when my lawyers are suing your ass."

  "Bring it on," I defy.

  I shift my eyes back to Amelia. "You were saying, Miss Cavendish."

  "He... He... Oh, God...”

  "It’s okay. Take your time," Brandon coaxes her. He reaches out and slides an arm over her shoulder, bringing her body closer to his. "Whatever it is, you can tell us."

  "Shut up." Is this guy drunk or just plain stupid?

  I open my mouth to tell him off, but Amelia speaks again. "He... He pressed himself against me," she blurts out in a voice laced with pain.

  There's a collective gasp around us. The accusation hangs thick in the air. When the words register, my eyebrows hit my forehead with such force, I'm afraid I’ll tilt backwards. Fucking asshole. I open my mouth to ask her to repeat herself, but nothing comes out. I’m too much in shock.

  "I did no such thing. You're such a liar, Amelia. I assumed your father taught you better. I guess I was wrong," he shrugs.

  Amelia’s green eyes harden, huge precious stones of sheer determination. "Mr. Delaware, you're just a hateful. Filthy. Pig.” She stresses each word. More gasps. More pearl clutching. More eyes opening like saucers. A few guests surrounding us even let out a few shrieks of, “My word,” “Impossible,” and “In God’s name.” None of that seems to deter Amelia from pursuing her tirade.

  “The jealousy you harbor for my father is perturbing. Bordering on psychotic. A few minutes ago, you were boasting about your impressive eight-incher while pressing it against me and now you're telling me that I made it all up? You’re a grotesque human being." She throws that last part at him, jabbing an angry finger in his direction.

  Brandon's mouth gapes open and his eyes bulge out of his skull. His head whips towards Amelia. "That dimwit did that to you?"

  She nods.

  There are very few times in my life where I’ve wanted to murder someone who wasn't attacking me or wasn’t a threat, this is one of them.

  “It was disgusting," she says. The sadness deforms her beautiful features.

  Revulsion uncoils from the pit of my stomach up to my throat. I’m fucking angry. My mind screams for revenge. I’m so riled up, I can taste blood on my tongue. As the adrenaline pumps through me, I crank my neck left to right rotating my shoulders in small circular motions like a champion fighter ready to step into the ring. Mentally, I’m ready to knock this fucker out, but logically I know I need to approach this from a different angle. Killing him may not be the solution, but roughing him up is. What I'm about to do might land me in jail, but frankly, I don't give a damn. You just don’t treat a woman like that—especially not one I intend on claiming as mine. "Buddy, why don't you and I step outside for a minute?" I tell him, careful to keep my distance.

  "Forget it. You don't have any authority here. And, it's her word against mine," he smirks at me. I clench my jaw tight, narrowing my eyes at him. “Women lie when it’s convenient for them. My fat ass of an ex-wife was a professional at it.” There’s another collective gasp around us. What an asshole.

  My hand curls into a fist. I open and close it several times, itching to teach this fucker a lesson. I have to exert a ridiculous amount of restraint not to flatten this guy's face. "Just so we're clear, it wasn’t a suggestion," I snap. I extend my hand to invite him to walk forward, but I guess he thinks I'm about to strike him because he lunges at me. I take a step to the side causing him to stumble forward.

  He gets back on his feet and turns to face me. "You bloody wanker,” he shouts. This time, he comes at me determined to take a hit at me. Once again, I get out of the way.

  This guy must have a death wish or he suffers from the Napoleon complex. He can't be taller than five-eight. If I were that short, I wouldn’t go after a guy who’s six-six. "Knock yourself out. We can do this all night long."

  The royal dipshit runs at me grunting like a psych ward patient, but years of martial arts have me moving like a tiger. Delaware stumbles into the crowd standing behind me. When he gets back on his feet, he starts swinging his fists like a crazy person. It's pretty comical to watch him go at it until things take a dramatic turn. In his demented fury, he strikes a poor woman knocking her out cold. A few people around us scream in dismay and suddenly the music stops. I really want to go to this injured woman, but I can’t let Amelia out of my sight. Thankfully, two men take care of her. I look up just in time to notice a sea of bodies part as the Prime Minister's four officers come rushing through. It doesn't take long for the man himself to arrive. He scours the area, assessing the situation. His eyes are hard, sharp and unwavering. He lets out a loud huffing sound.

  “Officer Haeser, call an ambulance to take care of Baroness Bathilda. Have Miss Lancaster get in touch with her family,” he barks. “Officer Osborn help him,” he commands. “I need to sort this mess out first. I’ll make my way to the hospital a little later to check up on the Baroness,” he adds. His officers nod before kneeling in front of the comatose woman lying on the floor. The Prime Minister meets my gaze. “Chief Petty Officer Barclay, what’s going on here?”

  "With all due respect, sir, this isn’t my story to tell," I respond. “Frankly, I'm not sure the words can leave my lips," I add.

  He shoots Delaware a deathly stare. “Ralph, I really hope this has nothing to do with you,” he lets out a snarly laugh. “but if history serves as a lesson, I already know the answer to that.” Ralph’s disheveled look says it all.

  The Prime Minister takes a few steps towards his daughter. He looks Brandon up and down with a calculated gaze before turning his attention to Amelia who’s now hiding behind my best friend. "Darling, what exactly happened?"

  “Victor—” Delaware begins, but quickly shuts up when the Prime Minister lifts an authoritative finger at him.

  "No!” he silences the idiot slouching next to me. He looks at Delaware from the side with an unimpressed eye-sweep. When the two men lock eyes, the Prime Minister’s jaw tightens, tension permeating the air for a few long seconds. “If I wanted to hear it from you, Ralph, I would've asked."

  Now that's a man I can respect.

  The shit’s about to hit the fan.

  CHAPTER 15

  Brandon

  “Morning,” Holden says, walking into the kitchen. His voice is groggy and his hair is all over the place. Just like me, he's wearing nothing more than a pair of boxer briefs. He halts his step just long enough to ruffle his hair and yawn. Taking another step forward he says, "You're up?" He's sporting that same pissed off look that hasn't left his face since last night’s unpleasant run-in with the number one asshole in London.

  “Yup. I am. Morning to you," I parrot. “You didn’t sleep either, huh?”

  “How could I? Have you been up long?” he asks.

  “About an hour,” I say.

  Neither of us are used to a full night’s sleep—military habits die hard. War forces you to sleep with one eye open. Always. Holden is way worse than I am—even though my problems with sleep started right after my mother married that bag of shit Jarrett Finch. But that’s old news.

  "It's the same for me. I stayed in my bed ruminating until the point where I just wanted to run out there and physically hurt someone," he sighs sitting across from me. “I decided that coffee was a better option.”

  "Dirt-bag Delaware?"

  "What do you think?"

  I raise an eyebrow. "Down boy. I'm not the enemy," I remind him.

  "Sorry, I didn't mean to snap at you. I'm just consumed with rage," he explains.

  "I feel exactly the same way you do," I sympathize.

  "What happened to Amelia last night haunts me. We were only a few feet away, yet, we weren't able to protect her. That right there just sets me off every time I think about it. I'm also irate at the fa
ct that a coward who most likely has a three-inch dick—and not eight—robbed us of our chance to get to know Amelia better.”

  Our little princess may be the epitome of poise and elegance, but she's a feisty little one. I didn't think she had it in her, but she surprised everyone. After she revealed what Ralph had done to her—in precise detail—the Prime Minister had two of his officers restrain dickhead Delaware until the police arrived. He then ordered Amelia's officers to take his daughter back to her place. Holden and I had to stand back and watch her walk away from us. Again. She did turn around for a brief second to wave and whisper, ‘thank you’. We then had to give our statements to the police. They drilled us for a solid hour, after which the Prime Minister extended his gratitude to us for coming to his daughter's rescue. We didn't make it back to the penthouse until three o'clock in the morning.

  "It kills me that I wasn't able to flatten that scumbag’s face with my fist and knock out every single tooth in his mouth," I confess. "What a fucking degenerate." I shake my head.

  "It's my opinion morons like that should be chemically castrated, but I take comfort in knowing that the Prime Minister will take good care of Ralph." Holden pulls up the right side of his lip in a condescending smile.

  “I'm sure he had to use great restraint not to choke that perverted pig with his two hands in front of a crowd of witnesses," I say.

  Holden shakes his head and grunts.

  "What?"

  "Who in their right mind comes to an event hosted by the most powerful man in the country, knowing full well that there will be armed officers present, and pulls that kind of shit?” he asks.

  “Speaking of which, I’ve been doing Internet searches on the asshole for the past hour." My eyes shift towards my laptop. “My intention was to dig a little deeper and find out as much as I could on our little princess, but this guy Ralph monopolized my attention. I’ll spend this evening after our meeting with Sir Bennington finding out everything I can about Amelia.”

  “Wait. What? He confirmed? We didn’t even have time to contact him after last night’s chaos.”

  “I got a text when I checked my phone this morning. You’re copied on it.”

  “How the hell did he get hold of our numbers?”

  “Apparently, Sir Bennington knows Sullivan really well. He contacted the Irishman as he was leaving the event gloating about being among the first in Europe to have discovered our App, just to find out he’d been usurped by his friend who had already signed a contract with us. It's all in the text he sent,” I explain.

  “I'll check my phone later.”

  “His assistant booked a table at the Ritz for eight o’clock.”

  “All right. Noted. So back to what we were saying," Holden presses. "Am I going to need coffee for this?"

  "Probably."

  "Do you want a cup, or have you already been shooting up your veins with caffeine?"

  "Nah, I was waiting for you," I grin. He returns my smile.

  Holden walks to the cupboard and grabs two mugs before dropping a few pods into the Nespresso machine. A few minutes later, we’re both sitting in front of a piping hot cup of coffee.

  "So, what were you able to dig up on that idiot?" Holden asks.

  “Ralph started managing his father's enviable mining business in his late twenties. At forty, he took over when his father passed away. From what I've read so far, this is a company Ralph's great-grandfather started that's been passed on from generation to generation. It’s still private. He has operations in Australia, South Africa, and London. There are tons of photos of Ralph smiling and looking official. Most everything out there is corporate. In other words, it's all very boring and fairly stale. It's clear that a publicist’s skillful hand is all over most of what I've read so far."

  "If that's all you found, then you didn't dig deep enough. Knowing you, I'm sure there's way more." Holden winks before taking another sip of coffee. I shake my head with a teasing smile on my lips. You can't pass much by Holden. There's a reason why this guy has led so many men to battle and we came out victorious crushing the enemy like they were vulgar vermin.

  "A few years ago, Ralph was a force to be reckoned with. His fortune was ridiculous. He reigned supreme in the mining industry. That all changed recently."

  "What happened?"

  "About five years ago Ralph’s companies started hitting some really hard times. I mean the kind of hard times that would give any CEO a heart attack.”

  “Shit.”

  “Yeah. From what I've read, Ralph is fairly inflexible and he does a crappy job at keeping up with the times. He was able to coast through the changes unscathed until he hit an insurmountable wall."

  "What do you mean?"

  “Ralph’s competition is far smarter and astute than he is. Not to mention, that a few journalists have coined him as ‘the boss without a heart’. One even hinted at the fact that Ralph is the poster boy for sweat factory owners throughout the world. Ralph got pissed off at those allegations. In fact, it got under his skin to the point where he publicly threatened to sue each and every one of those reporters for defamation," I reveal.

  "Wow.”

  "Ralph’s huffing and puffing hasn't stopped reporters from hinting that Delaware Mining Global isn't doing all that well. In fact, some say the future is bleak for our friend Ralph."

  "Interesting. It seems that this dipshit likes to silence people and prevent them from telling the truth. Do you remember how menacing he was when we pressured Amelia not to talk?"

  "Vividly."

  "I wouldn't be surprised if a scumbag like that has a lot of skeletons in his closet." Holden and I are on the same wavelength.

  "That's exactly the impression I was left with after reading a few articles online. Ralph isn't a nice person. In fact, something tells me he's fairly ruthless. Still, nothing I've read so far explains last night."

  We both sit there for a few more minutes. I'm deep in thought when out of the blue, Holden bangs his fist against the counter.

  "It bugs the shit out of me that we can't just pick up the phone or drop by Amelia’s place to find out how she's holding up," he growls. "We were this fucking close to finally getting her number." This time he bangs his fist with even more resolve.

  CHAPTER 16

  Amelia

  “Bollocks. Jasmine forgot to stock up on my Morning Green Glory juice,” I say aloud with my head stuck in my fridge. "This isn't good." Even though I reminded my housekeeper at least three times, she managed to forget my secret weapon to help me combat extreme fatigue when I’m back from Asia. I'm useless without it.

  "I guess I’m going to have to go to Whole Foods myself to get my fix," I declare as I slam the fridge door shut behind me.

  After doping up on copious amounts of espresso since seven this morning, it's clear that caffeine is doing a shit job at helping me deal with the energy sucking effects of being jetlagged.

  "I should get some work done first," I scold myself.

  As I make my way back to my home office, I check my phone for the umpteenth time to see if by a miracle of God, I've missed Charlie’s text. I've been calling her and texting her since I got up. It's already eleven o'clock and she hasn't gotten back to me. That's so unlike her. I'm desperate to talk to her. There's so much to share. Alas, not all of it good. Fuck you, Ralph Delaware.

  I shrug resigned to be patient until Charlie gets back to me. Now that I have no more excuses to latch onto, I try to focus on my list of things to do. I give it a valiant effort, but after half an hour, I'm cross-eyed. The short-lived caffeine high is gone and my energy is at rock bottom again.

  "That's it. I can't do this anymore," I say aloud. Most people are free to come and go as they wish. Not me. Even for something as banal as a couple of bottles of boosting juice, I need backup. With a long sigh, I grab my phone to dial Officer Roderick’s number.

  “Yes, madam," she says, picking up.

  "Jasmine didn't stock up on my green juice. If I don't inject
that stuff into my veins soon, I swear I'm going to die. I might as well go back to bed because this day will be a complete washout," I lament. "I just need a minute to get dressed so I can pop into Whole Foods to grab a few bottles," I explain.

  "If you let me know exactly what you need, I'll gladly go and fetch it for you, madam."

  "Thank you, but that won’t be necessary. A little fresh air will do me good."

  "I'm not sure it's advisable, madam."

  Officer Roderick and Officer Stohler’s superior woke them up in the middle of the night to brief them on what had transpired at the ceremony. This only makes me despise Ralph Delaware even more. Don’t get me started on how the cold-hearted bastard robbed me of my chance with Brandon and Holden.

  "It's only a few blocks away,” I retort.

  "Madam, things are different now—"

  "I disagree, Officer Roderick. Ralph Delaware is still in custody as we speak. My father has been in power for over a decade and it's never affected my coming and going. I'm not about to let it change."

  "Are you sure, madam?" she presses.

  "I am. I’m not denying what happened to me, but I refuse to let that wanker turn me into a prisoner in my own bloody home."

  There's a long pause between us. Finally, she capitulates. "Very well. I'll get Officer Stohler to come with us—"

  "We've never done it this way before," I interrupt. "It's usually only one of you shadowing me, unless we’re at an event or we’re traveling abroad.”

  Officer Stohler usually covers the nightshift, while Officer Roderick tails me during the day. Last night, my father ordered both women to cover me during the day. Officer Malone and Officer Keenan will cover the night shift. I protested, but my father assured me that it’s only for a few days. He needs the peace of mind while he's away.

  “Madam —"

  “We’re not going to turn our lives upside down because of an idiot with a vendetta against my father," I say forcefully.