Invaluable (The Trident Code Book 2)

by Alana Albertson

  Invaluable

  Trident Code #2

  Alana Albertson

  Invaluable

  Book Two in THE TRIDENT CODE

  Copyright © 2017 by Alana Albertson

  Cover design by Regina Wamba of MaeIDesign.com

  Cover Models: Alli Lashley and Maurice Mooney

  Bolero Books, LLC

  11956 Bernardo Plaza Dr. #510

  San Diego, CA 92128

  www.bolerobooks.com

  ISBN-13: 978-1-941665-64-0

  All rights reserved.

  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products, bands, and/or restaurants referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  Created with Vellum

  Individuals play the game, but Teams beat the odds.

  SEAL Team Saying

  Contents

  Invaluable

  1. Kyle

  2. Sara

  3. Kyle

  4. Sara

  5. Kyle

  6. Sara

  7. Kyle

  8. Sara

  9. Kyle

  10. Sara

  11. Kyle

  12. Sara

  13. Kyle

  14. Sara

  15. Kyle

  16. Sara

  17. Kyle

  18. Sara

  19. Kyle

  20. Sara

  21. Kyle

  22. Sara

  23. Kyle

  24. Sara

  25. Kyle

  26. Sara

  Epilogue

  Author’s Note

  Infallible

  Also by Alana Albertson

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Invaluable

  I’ll be honest with you—I’m no saint. Sure, I turned down my 9.6-million-dollar football contract to join the Teams but I’ll never tell you the real reason why. The media has anointed me a selfless, patriotic American hero. But it isn’t that deep—I just want some action.

  A one-night stand with a San Diego coed. I picked her out of a steamy nightclub—sexy blonde hair, full breasts, nice ass. I savored her warm touch, the scent of her perfume, and the sound of her laughter. After she rode me all night, I took in the ocean view from my condo, thankful for the blissful memories she gave me to get me through my long deployment.

  I cross paths with Miss San Diego again halfway across the world in Afghanistan. Turns out she is a professional cheerleader on a patriotic tour sent to entertain my Team.

  I gaze into her beautiful blue eyes and give her my word that she’s safe with me. And my word is my bond.

  Then she is kidnapped.

  Whoever took her, took the wrong girl. Because I will tear this country apart to find her.

  I’ll never win MVP, never get a championship ring, but some heroes don’t play games.

  1

  Kyle

  Late Summer, San Diego

  Summertime in San Diego brought out all of the honeys, and the blonde doll swaying her body to the latest jam was no exception. There was something about the way she held herself that set her apart from the typical. women of San Diego. She danced on a platform while the fluorescent lights highlighted her glistening, sand-colored golden skin. I bit my lip. Man, she was fine. Her hips swirled around, and I couldn’t help but imagine them swiveling on top of me. She wore a tight, white tank top with a turquoise bikini top peeking through and a bubblegum-pink skirt that hit right at her juicy thighs—I wouldn’t be satisfied until I saw her clothes strewn all over my floor.

  I glanced at the window to see a long line of people waiting outside, hopeful to get into Green Flash Bar & Grill, Pacific Beach’s hottest nightclub. This place was always hopping, especially on Taco Tuesday. It was walking distance to the beach, had a DJ spinning dance tracks, and cheap beer and great food. I scanned the place again. Always aware of my surroundings, I also noted the green neon lights of the exits in case I needed to make a hasty escape.

  My wingman for the night, Victor Gonzales, nursed his beer. He normally wasn’t my first choice for a sidekick, but my best buddy Patrick Walsh had ditched me for his new chick, Annie, who we’d rescued. It was a fresh relationship, yet more intense than most. Poor girl had been kidnapped during spring break in the Caribbean and forced into sex slavery. But no small-time sex-ring scared us. We were motherfucking United States Navy SEALs. There was never a question—we had to save her. Now she was safe back home in San Diego, madly in love with her savior, Pat. It was like the plot of a Hollywood movie. Despite swearing to us he wasn’t interested in a relationship with her, that he was only doing his job, Pat was acting like a lovesick puppy, too. Don’t get me wrong, I was happy for the dude, but I missed my bro. And it was hard to understand how he could be satisfied with carrying on with a relationship with our lifestyle.

  At least Vic had game—boy could dance. The women went crazy over his shiny black hair, deep dimples, and tattooed arms. And he understood my logic. So that was a plus. There were no real feelings involved so no one got hurt. Just over the surface was a safe place to be. Pat normally hung out at the bar all night, drinking himself into oblivion. At least now he appeared sated. A warm body did a hell of a lot more than reaching the bottom of a bottle, that was for sure. So I couldn’t knock him.

  Vic and I sat in silence after we had just devoured a plate of tacos. They were good, but not as delicious as the ones Vic’s mom made. Vic was on his third Corona. I took a swig of my own beer and stared intently back at blondie. Would she smile when she caught me undressing her with my eyes? Or would she roll hers and spin away from me? I would put money on the former. I wasn’t a conceited prick all the time, but it was safe to say I didn’t have any problems with the ladies. At six-foot-five, I towered over the other men at this club. Height had its advantages. The bars in this coastal party town were packed with frat boys, surfers, Marines, and sailors. But I stood out. I wasn’t just your average sailor—I was a Navy SEAL and a former professional linebacker, with broad shoulders and solid muscles that resembled a brick wall. I’d left behind money and fame to make a difference in the world, do something I believed in far more than the game. Something I’d die for. It was a personal decision. One I was proud of.

  Blondie made strong eye contact with me and then ducked her head away. Just as I thought—she wanted me. I could never tell if these chicks wanted to date a brother, especially one who was as intimidating to look at as I was. Sure, everyone tried to pretend we were race blind ever since our country had elected a black president, but as one of only a handful of African-American Navy SEALs, I was reminded every day I stood out.

  I shouted to Vic, “I’m going in. You want her friend?” Blondie’s girlfriend had long, straight, dark hair that touched her ass. Petite, round booty and a nice rack. Just his type.

  Vic nodded and we set our beers down and followed the bass-filled path up to the platform. The ground thumped with vibrations. No words. I started grooving behind Barbie. If the way she had looked at me was any indication, she wasn’t tight-laced. And I
was open to any and all possibilities that got me close to her body. She shrugged her shoulders and gave me a coy smile. I was in. I wrapped my arms around her and felt her tight little ass grind up against my cock. Life was good. Inhibition was nowhere to be seen.

  Blondie smelled salty and sweet, sandy even, like she’d just spent the day at the beach. And the sensual way she moved made me certain she was a dancer. I just hoped she wasn’t the type who earned her living on the pole. Then I’d know I didn’t inspire her, it was merely her occupation. “What’s your name, sweetheart?” I whispered in her ear so she could hear me over the music.

  “I’m Sara,” she shouted back. She nodded to her friend. “And this is Maya.”

  “Nice to meet you, Sara. I’m Kyle. And this is my buddy, Vic. Can we buy you ladies some drinks?”

  Her head bobbed with the music, not fully committing to a yes, but she followed me off the platform. Always in control, I took her hand, and we found a table near the bar, where I signaled to the cocktail waitress to take our order. She would be over in a second. We were regulars, and she knew we were huge tippers.

  I glanced at her friend Maya, who clearly wanted to be somewhere else. She wasn’t even making eye contact with Vic or me. I studied her closely, taking note of her massive diamond earrings, tiny designer purse, and red-soled heels which were visible when she crossed her legs. The girl was either loaded or looking for a sugar daddy. I’d been wrong—she definitely wasn’t a good match for Vic.

  Sara, on the other hand, sported a small, gold necklace shaped like the Lone Star state, an iPhone case with slots for her ID and a few credit cards, and wore flip-flops adorned with rhinestones. I felt my pulse steady—it was refreshing to meet a girl who didn’t appear to be materialistic. Being into labels and appearing money-orientated was the quickest way to lose my interest.

  The waitress came over and Vic and I ordered two beers, Sara wanted a Malibu and Coke, and her friend Maya just asked for a glass of water. Probably because she was waiting to be offered some thousand-dollar glass of champagne. Nope. Vic definitely wasn’t getting any tonight.

  I turned my attention to Sara. Her blonde hair was cut in one of those crisp bobs, revealing her delicate neck. Her tits looked real, a rarity in Southern California. “So, Sara, what do you do for a living?”

  “I go to SDSU, getting my degree in education. Right now, I work part-time at a preschool. How about you?”

  Hot for teacher. Sounded good to me. Refreshing compared to the typical answers from many of the local girls I’d met here. Most had dreams of becoming a model, Instagram star, or reality show wannabe. And with her looks, if she wanted that life, she could easily get it.

  “I play football.”

  Her face brightened. “I love football. I grew up a huge Dallas Wranglers fan, but I also love the San Diego Wildfires.”

  She was refreshing to talk to—I loved a woman who loved sports. “I guess we have the love of the sport in common.” I paused. For a moment I wanted to tell her the truth. But I never told anyone the real reason I’d quit football and joined the Teams.

  Not my friends, nor my family.

  Not even my Team.

  And I made it a habit to never tell anyone my current job. Even if it was guaranteed to get me pussy.

  “It doesn’t matter what you do as long as you’re happy. That’s my motto.”

  I dug her northern Texas accent. Most girls started asking a ton of questions once I mentioned pro ball, but not Sara. Maybe she didn’t care about my money and actually wanted to get to know me. That would be nice for a change. I was going to find out if she was bluffing.

  The waitress brought us our drinks. A new song began. The music boomed, and I could barely hear a word of what Sara said from there on out. Vic tried to talk to Maya but neither of them seemed all that interested. That shit was brutal to watch. And I wasn’t into audiences. It was time to make my move.

  I lightly brushed Sara’s hair off her face, letting my hand linger at the nape of her neck. “It’s too loud in here. Tell you what—I live down the street. You want to go back to my place? Hang out there for a while?” I smiled. I definitely had balls.

  She blinked rapidly and crossed her arms. For a second I thought she’d decline. She looked at the disaster happening to her right then back at me. “I’d love to,” she said under her breath.

  Well I’ll be damned.

  Sara hugged her friend and whispered something in her ear. Maya squinted, and her face showed a disapproving scowl.

  I signaled to Vic to help a brother out. Poor dude had to take one for the team.

  Vic turned to Maya, “I’ll give you a ride home.”

  Maya gave a reluctant nod, and we said our good-byes. I found it funny she’d judge her friend at the drop of a hat for going home with a complete stranger, but had no issues with getting a ride from one. Unreal. But she wasn’t my problem. I put my arm around Sara and led her out of the bar past the bouncers. A gentle breeze from the ocean was a welcome change from the stale air and sweat from the club. The neon lights of the other marquees glowed in the distance as we walked toward the beach.

  It always boggled my mind a girl would honestly go home with a man whom she’d just met in a club, especially knowing what had happened to Annie, but I wasn’t complaining. And let’s face it, Sara was safer with me than she would be with any other man, though there was absolutely no way she could be certain I wasn’t a serial killer or rapist.

  I hadn’t had a full conversation with this chick and didn’t even know her last name, but it didn’t matter—this was going to be a one-night stand. I was only in town for the next month before I deployed again, but she didn’t need to know that.

  All she needed to know was I thought she was the sexiest girl in the club, and I planned to ravage every inch of her body tonight.

  2

  Sara

  What had I been thinking? Was I seriously going home with a man who I had just met? We walked quietly down the crowded sidewalk, his hand wrapped around mine, and he smiled. Underneath that easy smile, I knew he must’ve thought I was so easy, but I swear I had never done this before. Ever. I didn’t bother to utter those words. They were so clichéd, even if they were the truth.

  I couldn’t explain it. I was drawn to him. Lord, he was sexy. He was well over six feet, with bulging muscles and smooth skin the color of my grandmother’s antique mahogany armoire, his kind, intense brown eyes being the most striking. There was a familiarity about him I couldn’t explain. I could’ve sworn I’d seen him before—and when I remembered he’d said he was a football player, it clicked. I was almost sure I’d seen him making a play on the field when I had watched a Wranglers game with my brothers. But I wasn’t one to spend game day checking out the players. Every time I went to a football game, my eyes focused on the cheerleaders. They were so beautiful, bright, and vivacious. Everything I wasn’t. I’d been an awkward teen, a loner, and had battled depression after my dad had left us. The only solace I’d found was practicing dance daily until my feet bled. If only I worked harder, turned faster, and stretched more, I too could one day be on that field.

  And now I was a rookie San Diego Wildfire Girl; a newbie Spark.

  Not that I told Kyle I was a cheerleader—I never mentioned it to guys I met. The minute a man knew I was on a pro dance squad, he would react in one of three ways. One—I was a conquest, a trophy to fuck and then forget about. Two—I was a bimbo, some whore who danced in short shorts, clearly incapable of any meaningful conversation. Or three—I was a diva, and somehow instantly way out of his league. The fanboying started, quickly followed by the, “Can you get me free tickets?” or, “Come on, babe, help me meet my favorite player,” pleas. So no, just no. I kept my secret to myself. Sure, the occasional guy recognized me from my newly released Miss September calendar picture, which said dude probably jerked off to, but this was my first season and there were so many blondes in San Diego, I seemed to blend in well.

  Now Kyle,
he was different. I knew he was a football player. But I also knew he didn’t play for the Wildfires. Ha, I had to memorize the names and positions of every member of the team for auditions. No way was I going to tell him I shook my pom-poms for a possible rival team. He’d think I lacked team loyalty. And as was the case with many cheerleaders, he’d think I was a gold digger and a jersey chaser. Most players figured that we women became cheerleaders to hook up with and be maintained by the guys on the team. That simply was not true. Besides my love for dancing, the real reason I became a cheerleader was for all the great opportunities to do charity work. Even though the season had just begun, we’d already done fundraisers for breast cancer, military families, shelter pets, and foster kids.

  I also loved that we were role models to little girls. All the ladies on our squad were either in college, had degrees, or worked full time. Our group included doctors, lawyers, teachers, and even scientists. I was proud to be part of such a strong sisterhood. But I wanted to get to know Kyle first before I explained all of this to him. So I would keep my mouth shut, well at least outside of the bedroom.

  Besides the occasional quick stops to admire the faraway waves crashing on the shore, we walked down the busy boardwalk that lined the beach. Now Kyle’s strong arm was wrapped around my shoulders and the heat from his body filled mine. I should’ve been scared; I mean, he could’ve been a sociopath. But I felt safe, protected.