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Chronic
The Se7eN Deadly SEALs Series
Episode Two
Copyright © 2015 by Alana Albertson.
Cover Designer: Regina Wamba of Mae I Design (https://www.facebook.com/MaeIDesignandPhotography)
Cover Models: Callan Newton and Dani Cooper
Interior design and formatting by JT Formatting (http://www.facebook.com/JTFormatting)
ISBN-13: 978-1-941665-82-4
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Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.
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Title Page
Dedication
François de La Rochefoucauld Quote
SINopsis
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Author's Note
Acknowledgments
About the Author
***
***
I DON’T TRUST THE NAKED woman asleep in my bed, the one with the bombshell body and eerily symmetrical face. The edge of her mouth curls when she smiles, she smells like citrus, she bites her lips when she lies.
This imposter is lying to me—she claims she’s a Ukrainian stripper named Ksenya, but I’d bet my Trident that she’s my ex-girlfriend Mia, her face and body masked with plastic surgery. Her brother is in jail for murdering a stripper, and she must have kept her promise that she’d stop at nothing to exonerate him.
But I’m not going to call her bluff. Hell, no. I’m going to play her game, test her strength, see how far she’s willing to go to keep up this ruse.
My beloved girl, who shuddered at the thought of lowering her inhibitions, is playing my game now. She wants to get wild? I will fulfill her every fantasy.
But I control the game now, not her. It will end when I say it ends.
I’m a Navy SEAL, and I will be the last one standing.
***
I THREW A STEAK IN the pan, the scent of grease wafting through my apartment. My ex-girlfriend Mia refused to eat meat, fucking hippie. A vegan, she’d freak when I sautéed her veggies in butter. Last night, I’d been so angry that there was even the possibility that Mia thought she could trick me. But I channeled my energy. I had a plan to test Ksenya, the girl asleep in my bed. Try to figure out if she was really Mia in disguise. My fingers tingled—this would be fun. Epic, even. If my hunch was correct, I couldn’t wait for the chance to see how far Mia was willing to go to try to fool me. Did she really think I wouldn’t figure out who she was?
I grabbed my cell phone. The girl on the other end answered, her voice breathy and sensual. “Hello? Grant?”
“Yeah. It’s me.” I said, careful to keep my voice low in case Ksenya awoke. “Hey—you were right. Something’s up.”
The girl rattled on about her theories and offered up a suggestion. I wasn’t thrilled by it, but at this point I’d agree to anything that would get me one step closer to the truth.
“Yeah. Sounds good. I’m on it. Later.”
I hung up the phone. Everything was falling into place.
First order of business was to get Ksenya to quit working at Panthers and for her to find a job somewhere I could keep an eye on her, make sure she was safe. I didn’t care that we were broken up; if there was even the slightest chance this girl was Mia, I didn’t want a bunch of jackasses watching her strip. She had lost her virginity to me for fuck’s sake. I mean, she had even told me when I last saw her at my place that I still was the only man she’d ever slept with. Joaquín would kill someone if he knew his sister was moonlighting as a stripper. Hell, I would too. I had to put an end to this bullshit today.
Before Joaquín was arrested, he made me promise that I would look out for his sister. I gave him my word, with every intention of honoring it. But when Mia came to me after Joaquín was arrested, begging for help, I broke my vow. Too consumed by my anger, by my rage toward her betrayal, I wanted nothing to do with her. How could she leave me when I needed her most? I was such a stubborn jackass. Maybe if I had listened to her, helped her—fuck it, helped Joaquín—instead of hiding behind my pride, things would be different. Maybe Mia and I could’ve worked together to exonerate Joaquín, find out who really killed Tiffany. Maybe Mia could’ve finally told me the truth about why she really left me, and maybe we could’ve started fresh. The time for second chances had passed though. It was clearly way too late.
I’d kept my own secrets from Mia, too. Secrets about how far I’d fallen without her. How I couldn’t live without her. How no matter how much success I had in the Teams, it meant nothing without her by my side.
I closed my eyes, for a moment, remembering the last time she had been mine, truly mine. She’d kept a vigil at my bedside, night after night. She’d dressed my wounds, given me my meds, even read to me. She had seen me at my worst, at my weakest. I’d let down my guard, allowed her to take care of me, the way she had always wanted to. After I could take care of myself, finally independent of the machines that were keeping me alive, when I actually felt like a man again, we’d made love one last time. And it had been different than any other time we’d had sex before. Our bodies melted into one, our kisses were passionate, our love making completely connected.
I’d made a decision that night—that I didn’t want to live one more day of my life without her by my side. I’d even asked Joaquín for permission to marry her, had him go to the jeweler and pick up the engagement ring I’d purchased for her online.
But then, without warning, Mia had left. Absconded in the middle of the night. No goodbye, no excuses, no answers.
Here I was, years later, conflicted about the identity of this empty woman whom I’d allowed in my home. My heart questioned if she was my girl, my head convinced that the only woman I’d ever loved could not possibly be crazy enough to transform her body. For my hypothesis to be correct, Mia would’ve destroyed her life to save her brother’s—and used me in the process. I’d rather believe that I was being irrational.
I headed into my bedroom and bent over the bed, watched the rise and fall of Ksenya’s chest, swollen with implants, as my min
d made a mental checklist of their similarities. Ksenya smelled like citrus, she bit her lip when nervous, her smile curled on the left side. Though a different color, Ksenya and Mia both had the same almond-shaped eyes and I could clearly see the outline of Ksenya’s contacts. Ksenya had to be Mia. Had to be. Why else would Hero react to her presence the way he had? Why did I hunger to inhale her intoxicating scent? Why did my body crave her touch? When she touched me, my pulse quickened, my heart raced. I almost felt at peace.
I wasn’t a hundred percent sure yet; there were just as many differences between these two women as there were similarities. I met Ksenya at a strip club where she was writhing against a pole, spreading her legs for everyone to see. Mia was modest—she never even wore bikinis at the beach. Man, it couldn’t be her.
I was still at war with myself. Were the parallels really there, or were they just what I wanted to see? As a SEAL, we never conducted any operations without the intelligence to back our actions up. And fuck this chick, whoever she was, for making me doubt my abilities. Yes, they had similar features. They smelled exactly the same. Their skin felt identical when I ran my fingers over it.
But this was pretty fucking crazy. Was my Mia capable of such an insane plan? Undergo fucking plastic surgery? Mia, who used to pale at the sight of blood, cringed when we would watch gory movies. And why?
No question she did love Joaquín. They’d both do anything for each other. Anything. Maybe Mia was just as determined as her brother. There’s a saying in BUD/S training—The pain of failure MUST be greater than the pain of succeeding, otherwise you're destined to be defeated by your goal. And I was certain that for Mia, the pain of losing Joaquín would be worse than enduring any life without him.
But I wasn’t ready to accept my suspicions as truth just yet.
I was sure of this; if this stripper was Mia, my Mia, I’d never forgive her. First for abandoning me when I needed her most, second for destroying her beautiful body with plastic surgery, and finally for this deception. There would be no room for her excuses when we arrived at the end of this road—wherever it was about to lead us.
If this girl was really a Ukrainian immigrant, desperate for a new life in America, the country I risked my life to defend, then I was a completely delusional asshole. And I needed to spend some serious time confessing my sins on a sofa to a shrink.
Nah fuck that, I was always right.
I felt it in my bones. My instincts had never deceived me. I needed to draw her out—fool her into admitting the truth. Just as she was beginning to trust me. I felt my muscles tighten in anticipation as they did out in the field. This might even be a little fun.
Let the games begin.
***
I WOKE IN THE MORNING groggy from sleep. For a few seconds, I almost forgot who I’d become, my heart remembering a time when I slept in this bed almost nightly, when Grant had been mine. Back then I had been loved, whole, beautiful. Last night, though I enjoyed pleasuring him, being in control, taking him in my mouth, afterwards I felt cheap. I wanted to make love to Grant. No . . . I wanted Grant to fuck me. Raw, hard, rough. But I wanted him to fuck Mia, not Ksenya. No matter what I did with Grant as Ksenya, I still loved him. But he was probably just having fun playing house with his newest Barbie doll.
I slipped into the T-shirt he’d left out for me, the scent of steak and eggs permeating the air.
I peered around the corner, watching my ex-boyfriend pouring coffee. Hero greeted me, licking my face. I rubbed his ear like he always liked, and he let out a groan.
I noticed Grant watching my interaction with Hero. Uh oh. I’d seen Hero with new people. He was fiercely protective of Grant, and would lunge at anyone for getting near his master. Hopefully Hero wouldn’t give me away.
“Morning, beautiful. Have a seat. I made you breakfast.” Grant motioned over to the reclaimed wood table that occupied his eat-in kitchen area; a warm smile graced his beautiful face. The mere sight of him made my chest tighten.
A steak topped with a fried egg awaited me, a glass of orange juice standing next to the plate. He placed the mug of steaming coffee next to me, and poured in hazelnut-flavored creamer. Dammit—I was a vegan. I’d had sushi on our date and still felt sick. But avoiding this food could raise suspicion. I wasn’t going to take any chances.
Grant used to make me breakfast every morning, no matter what time he had to go to work. Back in the day, he would always make me a special meal—tofu scramble with soyrizo. At the time, I didn’t realize how thoughtful that small act was, but now my gut wrenched thinking about how stupid I was to throw this wonderful man away. Maybe everything would be different if I had told him the truth about why I left him; maybe he would’ve forgiven me.
The problem was I didn’t really know the truth myself. Yes, I knew what had happened, but since I didn’t know who was to blame, I could never fully heal. I couldn’t move on. I was incapacitated with the daily reminder of the over looming shame that had become my existence.
I halted that train of thought right in its tracks because I could feel myself retreating. I straightened out my posture and fought to meet Grant’s scrutinizing gaze.
“Thank you. You did not have to cook for me this. It is sweet.” My knife sliced into the meat, blood squirting into the yolk of the egg. I took a deep breath, shoved a bite into my mouth and prayed that I wouldn’t gag.
Grant watched me intently. Was he testing me? A huge meat-centric breakfast for a stripper he’d known less than a week? Maybe this had become his modus operandi for all the women who spent the night in his bed. I was clearly being paranoid. He was probably just infatuated with the submissive character I was playing.
My face didn’t flinch as I chewed the gummy flesh. Perhaps I should’ve forced myself to eat meat for the past six months to prepare my stomach. “It tastes very good to me.”
He winked and that devilish smile crossed his lips. “Glad you like it, babe. I know this great steakhouse downtown. Maybe we can go sometime.”
I gave him a big, wide-eyed nod, batting my eyelash extensions, like this was the best date suggestion ever. “I’d love to go to there.” It would be a blast—I could don a cow costume and pour a bucket of red paint over my head to protest the slaughter of those magnificent animals. That would definitely be preferable than attempting to have a romantic dinner there. I probably wouldn’t make it in the door without yakking all over the place. I focused my energy on remembering not to bite my lip when I lied. Lord, Grant was already driving me crazy. With my luck, for our next date, he would suggest we go hunting.
He leaned back in his chair, and crossed his arms over his chest. “So I’ve decided,” he said, and moved to scratch his jaw over his sexy morning growth that he hadn’t yet bothered to trim this morning. My eyes dropped to his fingers and I momentarily remembered peppering that jaw with butterfly kisses in the mornings to get him to wake up. “It’s time for you to quit Panthers.”
My eyes jumped back up to where they belonged because what the fuck did he say?
“Quit? No, it may not be dream job, but it is job. What do I do to get the money if I quit? I am not hooker. I will not take it, your money.” Why was he taking such a personal interest in a stripper? I needed this job to exonerate my brother. This ruse wasn’t about pleasing Grant; it was about gathering information. I had to keep reminding myself that. He’d never take me back anyway. He was too proud; I’d hurt him too deeply. He deserved better than me—someone who would never deceive him like I had.
He reached across the table and took my hand. “I don’t want you working there anymore. That place is trashy. You’re better than that.”
My eyes scanned his face. Something was off. It was one thing to take a stripper back to his place, but wanting her to quit her job after two dates and a blowjob—not to mention no sex yet—didn’t seem natural. “It is very kind that you to want to make me better person, but I am not broken bird for you to fix it.”
His face didn’t register any anger.
“Ksenya, I like you. You intrigue me. We could have something here. But you have to quit stripping.” His brow furrowed as he gave me his I’m going to kill you stare that was normally reserved for the SEAL recruits he trained. “I need to come clean. I’ve been lying to you. I don’t work in pharmaceutical sales. I’m a Navy SEAL. Do you know what that is?”
Orange juice dribbled down my chin. My heartbeat raced. He just told Kseyna the truth. Did he really want to let his guard down, let this foreign girl into his heart? A flash of anger took control of my mind. I’d purposely modeled Ksenya to be my opposite. Mia had been principled, ambitious, self-sufficient, and compassionate. Ksenya was none of those things. She took her clothes off for men, didn’t seem to have any real goals besides making money, was barely able to provide for herself financially, and was ice-cold. And physically Mia was soft and feminine, but certainly not a bombshell. After all these years, knowing that my soul mate could possibly find love with a woman with so many characteristics that I lacked gutted me. Maybe everything I thought was true was nothing more than a figment of my imagination. Maybe Grant never really loved me, he only thought he did, but in the years since I’d left, he’d come to discover the kind of woman who he truly wanted. A woman who was nothing like me.
Could it be possible that he was on to me? If he thought I was Mia, there was no way he would want me to get naked and entertain a bunch of men. A rolling heat loomed in my belly—I couldn’t read him at all. “I have heard of the Navy SEALs. You kill people, it is true? You are dangerous man.” My voice felt rushed and it should. I was beginning to feel nauseous and wanted nothing more than to get the hell out of there so I could think.
He laughed, his eyes drilling into me like a laser beam directed at my soul. “We protect America. We save people, by whatever means necessary.” He formed his hands into a steeple, and I could see the muscles on his arms tighten. “I’m not dangerous to you. But I’m not going to get involved with a stripper and have other men checking out my girl. I don’t want you taking off your clothes for anyone. Only me. So that’s the offer. You quit stripping and I can help you find another job, or you can forget you ever met me. What’s it gonna be?”
Chronic (Se7en Deadly SEALs Book 2) Page 1
