Billionaire Romance: Strike to the Heart (New Adult College Second Chance Age Play Older Man Younger Woman Romance) (Contemporary BBW BDSM Wealthy Rich Alpha Male Hero Short Stories)

by Grace Rawson

  THE END

  Bonus Story 4 of 6

  Protected by the SEAL

  You’d think that being the only daughter of a millionaire meant I have it easy. But that is far from the truth. As a matter of fact, it’s quite the opposite.

  What’s that saying? “The grass is not always greener on the other side.” That’s my life in one sentence. If you were to judge me based on my father’s wealth, you’d think I didn’t have to lift a finger; however, contrary to popular belief, my father made sure I knew what it felt like to work for money.

  My father made sure I understood what it was like to earn every penny. He taught me that hard work paid off. Even so, he didn’t want me to go middle-class. I also had to know how to act rich and be rich. And I was only allowed to hang out with the rich. Talk about contradiction.

  I figured this out the hard way when I met this great guy a few years ago during a shopping trip the local mall.

  We decided to stop by the food court for a late lunch. Without even looking at the cashier, I ordered what I wanted, paid, and waited for my food.

  “Oh my,” Amy whispered to me after she ordered her meal. “Didn’t you notice the hottie checking you out?”

  “What hottie?”

  “The cashier! He kept looking at you and everything, but you clearly didn’t see him checking you out!” Amy was practically yelling now.

  I looked over at the boy standing by the cash register. Our eyes met and it was like church bells and butterflies. I saw myself in a wedding dress; my father was walking me down the aisle. It was definitely love at first sight.

  I was suddenly conscious about my movements, my facial expression, and even the way I talked. I knew he was paying close attention to me.

  “Just go talk to him,” Amy urged.

  “I don’t know what to say Amy,” I kept saying. She suddenly poured my drink in the trash. “Now go ask him for a refill.”

  I wasn’t sure what to do. I sat there and deliberated in my head.

  “Just go!” Amy kicked me off the chair.

  “Okay, don’t push.” I thought of all the ways I could strike up a conversation. What I would say. What my response would be.

  “Ummm…can I have a refill?” That was the only thing I managed to blurt out towards the cute boy across the counter as I handed him my cup.

  “We don’t give free refills,” the boy said.

  “Oh,” I blushed and turned around to leave.

  “But since you’re cute, you’ll get one on the house.” He quickly grabbed my cup and filled it. “What’s your name?” His back still turned.

  “Angie, yours?”

  “Ty.”

  “Oh.” There seemed to be a long moment of silence. My heart felt like it was about to jump out of my chest. It felt like time had stopped. I didn’t know what else to say.

  “Wanna go out sometime?” Ty asked as he handed me my drink. I was taken aback. He was so bold.

  “Um, sure.” I replied, grabbed my drink and started to walk off.

  “So, how should I get a hold of you?”

  Duh, he needed my number to call me. What an idiot!

  “Yeah, well, you can call me,” I said.

  He handed me a piece of receipt paper and a pen with a smirk on his face. He was making me nervous and he knew it.

  That was how it all started. We saw each other for a few weeks and decided to go steady. But as easily as it happened, it ended just as quickly.

  How did that happen?

  I brought him home to meet my parents. My father hated him the moment he laid eyes on him.

  Ty was rugged. Ty was abrasive. But most of all, Ty was poor. And, my father wouldn’t let me date anyone who was poor.

  “You don’t know what it’s like being poor! I’m trying to show you! If you date him, you’ll be poor for the rest of your life!” My father kicked Ty out within ten minutes.

  We continued to see each other on and off after that, but it never amounted to anything. I tried telling myself it was because we were young, but truth was my father was the reason we never worked out.

  Of course, being the obedient and approval-seeking child I was, I did as my father wished. I went on to the college my father wanted me to attend. I hung out with the rich crowd. I dated rich frat boys whom I made sure my father approved of. While it made my father happy, I was miserable.

  This was my life. No, this is my life. I rebelled in college. That was where it all changed. My father and I had a falling out and he stopped paying for my expensive college tuition. But I was determined to make me happy.

  I tried to make ends meet. I attended medical school and practically worked a full-time job at the same time. I pulled out student loans and amassed a debt so huge that I may never be able to pay it off.

  During my graduation, my mother was the only one to attend. My father would not have a thing to do with me unless I bowed to his every demand.

  Well, that would never happen. I’d gotten a taste of freedom and I loved it. I was determined to marry the man that would make me happy, not the man that would make my father happy.

  *****

  Having graduated from Medical school, I wonder what to do next. I could always apply for all the med jobs that are available, but that’s not exactly what I want to do at the moment. After searching around the web for a bit, I land on an interesting page.

  Volunteer With Us and Save Lives!

  That was the banner. Pictures flash of third world countries with no medical care. I see happy nurses and doctors caring for the old and the young. I realize at that moment that this is want I want to do with my newly acquired medical skills.

  I decide to submit my volunteer application for a medical mission to Somalia. It will give me a chance to use my skills to help the needy and the poor. The people of Somalia will benefit from it.

  As I read through the application process, it makes me nervous. They seem extremely picky about who they will take with them. One’s background must be squeaky clean.

  Oh well, I apply anyways. If I get lucky, I’ll get to go. If not, I’ll settle on applying for something else.

  A few days pass with no word. I’m getting nervous. Now that I’ve had time to let it all sink in, I really want to go on this mission. Not only will I get to travel, but I’ll get to see what life is really like for the poor—something my father always wanted me to know.

  I sit at my computer waiting for an email. Bing! I have an email. Quickly, I open it up.

  “Dear Ms. Cross, Thank you for applying for the mission to Somalia. We are happy to inform you that you have been accepted on this mission,” I read quickly. Forget reading the rest of the email. These first two sentences just made my day!

  I get on my phone and call my mom to share the news. She answers after two rings. We have a lengthy discussion and as always end it with whether or not I will come to visit. And as always, I state that I will not come to visit unless my father stops interfering in my personal life.

  This is an opportunity of a lifetime! I’ve always wanted to make a difference in the world. This may not be much, but at least I’m doing something meaningful.

  As I get to the airport, I sadden to see that everyone has someone to wave good bye to. Hugs and kisses were exchanged while I walk by without anyone to wave to.

  In the back of my mind, I still thought of Ty. You know the saying, “You never forget your first love.” Well, I never forgot Ty. He definitely was my first love. I never felt for anyone else the way I felt for him.

  Perhaps doing something meaningful is my way of trying to fill the void in my life. Regardless, this will be my chance to show my father that I don’t need his wealth.

  The plane ride is long and exhausting. But the trip doesn’t stop there. The bus picks us up at the airport and drives another few hours to a remote village.

  It’s very dry here. The sun is high in the sky at this point and it’s so hot I might just pass out. I’m starting to second-guess my decis
ion as my excitement starts to fade. What have I gotten myself into?

  Suddenly, I want to go home. I’m starting to think about apologizing to my father and admitting that I can’t make it in this world without him.

  On second thought, I can do this on my own. The poor children of Somalia need me. Our job is to provide medical care and vaccination to this poor village.

  Despite the heat, the dryness, and the dust, there’s a quaint beauty to this country. The trees along the side of the road seem to sway back and forth as though waving hello to me. I look up at the sky to see the birds fluttering by. I haven’t seen a wild animal yet and I hope not to see one.

  The bus drives past a quiet creek by the village. The gentle rapids remind me of the man-made stream behind our house which my parents filled with two beautiful koi fish. I haven’t even been out of the United States for very long and I’m already feeling homesick. I shake my head. I can do this.

  As we drive up to camp, Dr. Nickelson, the head Doctor, starts barking orders left and right. It’s quite obvious that he’s done this more than once and knows exactly where everything needs to go.

  “Set up this!”

  “Do that!”

  “No it goes right here!”

  He had no problem bossing everyone around. We set up the camp according to Dr. Nickelson’s liking. Afterwards, Dr. Nickelson gathers everyone into the main tent for a meeting.

  “Now, before I let you go I have to give you a safety brief,” Dr. Nickelson warns.

  “Be with a friend at all times. Don’t go anywhere alone. Please remember that you are in Somalia. It’s dangerous here. This is not like the United States. Please be safe.” Dr. Nickelson pounds a fist into the palm of his other hand at this statement.

  “Enjoy your day Medics! Tomorrow we’ll officially start!” He waves us all off. I was so glad he decided to give us the rest of the day to enjoy ourselves even if it means we only have a few hours.

  “Lord knows I need a little time to unwind, even though it is only a few hours until sundown,” Tiffany says. She read my mind!

  On the bus ride here, I managed to become friends with Tiffany, an older single woman in her late 40s. She’s been a nurse for over 15 years. She occasionally volunteers for these type of events and enjoys doing this.

  “Tiffany, would you like to go exploring with me?” I ask her.

  “Sure Angie. Let’s see if we can get one of the locals to go with us though. We’ll need a guide you know.” Tiffany was never a mother, but she sure acts like one. “Always safe. Always careful. That’s my motto,” she told me during the bus ride.

  As she goes to find a local who would be nice enough to show us around, I start thinking of where my life will go. Would I be like Tiffany in 15 years or so? Still single? Still doing the same thing?

  *****

  Tiffany comes back with a young guide.

  “This young girl said she will show us around,” Tiffany says.

  “Sure.”

  It appears that on previous missions, these kids were taught how to speak English. This means I wouldn’t have a tough time trying to communicate with the villagers.

  “What’s your name?” I ask her.

  “Ashkiro.” She answers in an accent I wouldn’t be able to reproduce.

  “Can I just call you Ash for short?” I ask. She nods.

  “Well, I saw a creek outside the village. Can you take us to it?”

  “I know secret spot! This way, follow me!” says Ash. Her eyes light up as she pulls my hand toward the road. A sudden excitement rushes through me. I turn to see Tiffany following behind with a child-like grin on her face.

  This may turn out to be a great idea after all.

  Ash takes us outside of the village along the road. The small creek runs parallel to the road. After about a quarter mile in between two big trees, she leaves the road and follows a small trail toward the sound of the creek.

  “Here secret place,” Ash says.

  The creek emerges behind two big boulders. It’s livelier here. I look up toward the plateau far out in the distance and at the horizon. The sun is starting to set now, and the air is cooler. I lean up against the boulder and look into the water. It’s very clear, but there are no fish.

  “We need to get back now,” Tiffany pulls me up. “It’s getting dark. It’s not safe.”

  “Sure, mother,” I giggle.

  “Oh to be young and carefree again,” Tiffany murmurs as she walks back up towards the road.

  “You tell no one,” Ash pleas as we walk back towards the road. “This my secret quiet place.”

  “Sure Ash. My lips are sealed,” I assure her.

  Half way back to the village we hear a gunshot fire off in the distance. Then another, and more. It sounds like a fire fight. And it sounds like it’s getting closer.

  “We run now!” Ash yells behind her as she dashes off toward the safety of the village.

  “Tiffany, let’s go,” I yell at her as I start to run off. I turn back to see a look of horror on Tiffany’s face as she stands still, frozen. I run back to grab her hand and drag her towards the village.

  At the village, everyone is in disarray as they all fear that the gunfight will come here.

  *****

  Everyone is hunched together in the main tent in the village. Dr. Nickelson is trying to keep everyone calm.

  Then, as quickly as the gunfire went off, it suddenly stops.

  “Let’s just wait a minute before we go back to our beds people,” Dr. Nickelson says.

  Outside the tent we all hear footsteps.

  “Dr. Nickelson, we need help!” yells the village leader from outside. “There are wounded.”

  Dr. Nickelson pops his head outside the tent and talks to the village leader. He turns back toward the group and states, “Alright people, looks like our day officially starts tonight.”

  He starts barking orders again. “Set up the IV there. You work this station. You go over there. Pull out the cots. Set up the syringe.” Everyone starts scrambling around.

  “Alright, bring in the injured,” he yells.

  In come two military men dressed in U.S. Navy uniforms carrying a wounded Somalian man. Their faces are painted black, making it hard to make out any specific features. They approach my station.

  “This one first,” says one of the Navy men, pointing to the wounded Somalian.

  “Angie, work that guy,” Dr. Nickelson orders. “What about the rest?” he asks the two men.

  “They’re not ours. They can drag themselves in here.”

  I pop my head to look outside and see a few more wounded Somalians huddling together. Four more military men with guns drawn stand watch.

  “What happened?” I ask.

  “Just fix him,” one of them barks. The voice sounds familiar, almost like I’ve heard it before—somewhere.

  I ignore the military man, and speak directly to the Somalian. “What’s your name?” I ask.

  “Just Max,” he murmurs.

  “Ok Max, can you tell me what happened?” I ask again. He looks up at the men. They shake their heads.

  “Can’t tell you Ma’am,” he answers.

  “Call me Angie,” I smile at him. “Let’s just patch you up real good so you can heal fast, ok?” I start to clean out his wound.

  This wasn’t exactly what I signed up for. I wanted a peaceful mission helping the sick. I wasn’t expecting to be caught in a war. Around me, the other wounded Somalians were making their way in, with their hands tied of course.

  “What’s different about you Max?” I ask. I notice him flinching from the pain. In med school we were taught to ask questions so the patient would have something else to keep their mind occupied rather than having to concentrate on the pain.

  “I’m their interpreter,” Max replies.

  “I see. Do you like your job?”

  “I want to do what’s right,” Max says.

  “Yes, but that doesn’t always mean you have to be the
hero,” I tell him.

  “Just keep working and be quiet,” the taller of the two military men tells me this time.

  I finally take my eyes off of Max to look at this incredibly rude man. I stare straight at him, into his eyes, trying to peer into his soul.

  What I find is not what I expect. Despite his rude demeanor and cruel words, I can see a hint of kindness. I can see he cares deeply for his friend Max, and wants to ensure I patch him up quickly.

  “I’m doing my best, Sailor,” I say sternly with authority in my voice. I want him to know he can’t just bark orders at me. I’m not one of his guys.

  I finish patching up Max.

  “Who’s next, Mister?” I ask the tall man this time.

  “Don’t give me any attitude,” he barks. Clearly this man is agitated. Must be from the gun fight, or just that he has a stressful job.

  “Relax Kirk,” the other man instantly jumps in. “Let her do her job.”

  Kirk. Why does that name sound so familiar? I search for a badge, a tag, or something on his uniform to jog my memory, but find nothing.

  I can’t tell the color of his hair because of his hat. His arms are all painted in black paint. There’s nothing on him that helps me distinguish him from his buddies besides the fact that he’s tall.

  What I do find, is that he’s also wounded.

  “Can I patch you up?” I ask him with no attitude in my voice this time. I’m not going put myself at his level.

  “Don’t be a hardhead. Let her help you, man.” Sounds like his friend is on my side. Kirk paces around for a bit, takes off his jacket and his shirt and sits down.

  I can finally assess his wound now. He has a deep gunshot wound on the side of his chest. Now that he settles down, I can tell the pain is starting to catch up to him.

  “Just pull it out Angie!” he says rolling his eyes. “It’s not going to hurt any more than it already is.”

  I’m shocked. He’s talking to me like he already knows me. I push it aside for now since I need to concentrate on the task at hand. I call over a nurse for assistance.