Protecting Lucianna

by Tiffani Lynn

  Protecting Lucianna (Special Forces: Operation Alpha)

  Tiffani Lynn

  Dedication

  This book is dedicated to my friend Katie MacGregor. Thank you for helping me bring authenticity to this story. You’ll never know how much I appreciate your help with each book!

  Contents

  Foreword

  1. Devlin

  2. Lucianna

  3. Devlin

  4. Lucianna

  5. Devlin

  6. Lucianna

  7. Devlin

  8. Lucianna

  9. Devlin

  10. Lucianna

  11. Devlin

  12. Lucianna

  Epilogue: Lucianna

  Acknowledgments

  Also by Tiffani Lynn

  More Special Forces: Operation Alpha World Books

  Books by Susan Stoker

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.

  © 2019 ACES PRESS, LLC. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  No part of this work may be used, stored, reproduced or transmitted without written permission from the publisher except for brief quotations for review purposes as permitted by law.

  This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, please purchase your own copy.

  Dear Readers,

  Welcome to the Special Forces: Operation Alpha Fan-Fiction world!

  If you are new to this amazing world, in a nutshell the author wrote a story using one or more of my characters in it. Sometimes that character has a major role in the story, and other times they are only mentioned briefly. This is perfectly legal and allowable because they are going through Aces Press to publish the story.

  This book is entirely the work of the author who wrote it. While I might have assisted with brainstorming and other ideas about which of my characters to use, I didn’t have any part in the process or writing or editing the story.

  I’m proud and excited that so many authors loved my characters enough that they wanted to write them into their own story. Thank you for supporting them, and me!

  READ ON!

  Xoxo

  Susan Stoker

  About the book

  Entertainment lawyer Lucianna Ortiz is a survivor. After a horrific incident nearly took her life, she lives on the edge of being afraid of everything and not feeling anything at all. Pulling away from the people she loves most, she takes a trip. But when Lucianna finds herself stranded on a St. Augustine beach, she's anything but alone. Devlin’s quiet blue eyes hold her captive and his capable hands make her feel... safe.

  Navy SEAL Devlin "Devil" Byrne went into the service after his little sister drowned. Just seventeen years old, a piece of him died that day too. Consumed by guilt, he keeps to himself, saving those he can and making amends the only way he knows how. When he meets beautiful and curvy Lucianna on the beach, he can’t help but be drawn to her brokenness, which mirrors his own. He learns that protecting someone is sometimes more about their heart than their body.

  With a new year on the horizon, and Christmas approaching, both are struggling to overcome the past before it takes them under. Devlin's about to discover that protecting Lucianna could be the key to saving himself.

  Devlin

  This is the first time in twelve years that I’ve stood here on St. Augustine Beach, sand between my toes, sun on my face, staring at the tumultuous churn of the ocean as the waves roll onto the shore. The seagulls cry as they circle above my head, mocking me as if they know why I’ve come and don’t want me here.

  St. Augustine Beach was once my favorite place in the whole world, regardless of the season. Growing up, I spent as many hours here as I could, probably more than I spent in my actual home. My aunts and uncles used to joke that I was switched at birth and was probably King Triton’s son. Looking back, I can see why they said that, but 12 years ago my love for the beach and ocean was destroyed in a matter of minutes. In fact, the entire trajectory of my life was altered that day and I’ve never been the same.

  I strip my T-shirt off, toss it up on the sand and begin my jog south. All the feelings that have gathered in my gut since I decided to come here can’t be expelled any other way than running until I can’t breathe. What did I expect, waiting this long to revisit this place? Honestly, I figured I would avoid it forever, but as soon as I hit the city limits, I knew I’d come here.

  My parents have come to see me a couple of times since I joined the Navy, but only after my dad threatened to kick my ass if I didn’t allow my mother a visit. I’m not afraid of my dad. I’ve been bigger and stronger than him since I was 16 years old, but I knew by the threat that he was serious. I never meant to hurt either of them. In fact, I’d hoped that my absence would help them heal. According to my mother, it didn’t. I should have been less selfish and come home, but I knew this would be incredibly painful and I avoid emotional pain at all costs.

  After a mile of jogging at a brisk pace, several beads of sweat roll down my temples, over my cheeks and drip off the underside of my chin. It’s hotter here than it is in California. I forgot how much more until just now. The pain in my soul makes me push harder, almost as if I’m trying to outrun the memories. The burning of my muscles is better than the ache in my heart and the painful memories that never leave my head.

  The cadence of her name builds in my head as my feet continue to pound the sand. Briana, Briana, Briana, over and over again until I can’t take it one more second. Thank God I’m at a deserted location on the beach because my heart cracks open, exposing my agony in its purest form. “Briana!” I yell, as if I’m unleashing something from my soul, and hit my knees. The sting as my flesh rips open on broken shells and sand barely registers. Years of memories and bottled-up feelings pour out onto the sand as the tears mix with the sweat and flow down my face.

  Visions of Briana’s red curls bouncing as she ran down the beach trying to get a kite in the air, her snaggletoothed grin shining up at me any time she wanted something, the 19 freckles she had on her nose and across her cheeks that stood out after a day at the beach, and finally her sightless blue eyes after I finally got her back to shore. Eyes I would never see again.

  I finally roll over onto my back and stare up at the cloudless blue sky and shout at God for the millionth time, “Why not me? Why didn’t you take me?” And just like every other time, God doesn’t answer. I lie there feeling the sun bake my skin, angry, sad and probably 100 other things I can’t quite name.

  After what feels like hours, I stand up and dust off as much sand as I can and jog several miles back to the spot I dropped my shirt. The Navy shrink said I’ll feel better if I allow myself to experience emotion instead of locking it away, but I’m going to be honest and say he’s full of shit. I’m tired and I’m embarrassed, although there doesn’t seem to be anyone out here to be embarrassed in front of. My jog back is slower and by the time I return, the sun is beginning to set. Although it doesn’t set over the water on this side of the state, the sky turns various shades of orange and pink, sometimes purple when there are clouds on the horizon, and it’s always amazing.

  The first person I see in over two hours is a short curvy woman whose long dark hair is blowing in the breeze. She never looks over at me, she just stands along the water’s edge and stares out at the horizon. I snatch my shirt off the sand and shake it out before pulling it o
n over my head as I keep walking. When I’m within about 10 feet of her she turns and startles, obviously not expecting me. A chunk of hair brushes across her face and catches on her lips before she pulls it out of the way and turns back to face the ocean. My brain screams at me to stop and talk to her, but there is no way a woman as striking as she is would be out here without a friend or a date or something. Ladies that stunning only travel in packs, or so my experience in California has taught me.

  I walk a little further past her, towards my rental car. I don’t see anyone else nearby and she doesn’t look like she’s waiting for anyone. Doesn’t she realize how unsafe it is for her to be out here alone? There’s no telling what could happen. I mean, this used to be a relatively safe place, but I’ve seen some pretty terrible things in the world that lead me to believe nowhere is safe anymore. I wait a little bit longer, hoping someone will join her, but no one ever does.

  She’s not my responsibility, I remind myself so that I can leave and get cleaned up. Tonight is my grandmother’s visitation at the funeral home and I can’t go until I’ve showered. If I’m late my father will lose his shit on me, so I reluctantly walk away from the beautiful brunette and head to my car.

  Lucianna

  I’ve been standing here staring at the ocean for probably half an hour. One couple strolled past hand in hand but otherwise it was quiet until hunky ginger beach stud startled me. The guy looked like he’d been rolling in the sand and tried to dust it off but wasn’t super successful. His cropped red hair and red goatee both had sand in them too. This guy was tall and built. The fact that I’m only five foot two made him seem that much larger and more opposing, although he didn’t seem to have an aggressive demeanor. Oddly, he didn’t have any expression either. He wasn’t smiling or snarling, not lusting or annoyed. He was simply looking at me. It was strange. I briefly wondered if that’s how I appeared to him… Strange, that is.

  After he left, I stood there until my legs were aching and darkness consumed everything. Then I turned on the flashlight app on my phone and made my way back to my hotel. The whole point to standing in the sand that long was that I was hoping to feel something, anything. I spent countless hours at the beach in high school with my best friend, Simone, and probably even more while I was getting my undergrad in Miami. The sand, sea and sun used to make me feel young, alive and happy. That didn’t happen today.

  The first few weeks after I was shot I felt physical pain in my stomach where the bullet went in and the surgery wounds were healing. Then I followed that with months of crippling fear. Fear of public places mostly, but also fear of strangers. I’m an entertainment lawyer with a large caseload and more new clients coming in weekly. This was not something I could navigate around. My doctor finally put me on an antidepressant and an antianxiety medication. The problem with these medications was that by using them, numbness replaced the fear. That feeling got me through my day-to-day life, and right after the year mark of the shooting, I asked to be weaned off of both. I’ve been free and clear from them for two months, but I still feel that dullness in everything I do. At one point, I even went through counseling and then cognitive behavior therapy. Now I can go out into public without having a meltdown, but I could probably just as easily walk into oncoming traffic with the same amount of care.

  Usually for Christmas, I fly to my mom’s house in Puerto Rico—which hasn’t been the same since Hurricane Maria—or she comes to me. This year I sent her a ticket to fly to Italy and spend the holiday with my sister and her husband, who is stationed there in the Air Force.

  My mother is a force to be reckoned with and I didn’t have it in me to deal with her nagging and/or babying me for a whole two weeks. Instead, I decided to take a drive up the Eastern Seaboard, stopping wherever the hell I wanted as much or as little as I wanted. Wandering aimlessly seemed like a much better idea than hanging with family or friends at their holiday dinner tables, pretending to care about Christmas. So here I am during the week of Christmas in St. Augustine, Florida.

  When I reach the lobby of my hotel, my stomach growls and not for the first time. My body is hungry but I have no idea what I want to eat. I’ll probably have to pick something I know I like and make myself eat, because if I wait, I won’t eat at all. I stride over to the front desk clerk, whose dark skin and bright smile make an attractive combination. “I’m wondering if you can recommend somewhere close by to eat. I don’t want anything fancy or far.”

  “The best food close by is Panama Hattie’s. It’s a little pricey but not fancy at all. If you can, sit on the second level. You’ll be able to see a lot of the Christmas lights in town and probably a few ships lit up on the horizon.”

  “Sounds good to me.”

  “I’ll have Jerry, our shuttle driver, take you. This is a nice town but I wouldn’t recommend you walking around alone here after dark.”

  “Thanks.” I force a half-smile to show him I’m grateful for his thoughtfulness and then I head to the entryway to wait for Jerry.

  When I reach the restaurant, my stomach is downright loud about its need for food and I’m thankful that the place appears to be having a slow night. A host greets me and asks, “Would you like first- or second-level seating?”

  I choose to follow the recommendation. “Second level.” He grabs a menu and I follow him around the corner and up the stairs to a line of booths that face the ocean. The Christmas lights around town twinkle different colors, pulling my attention in that direction. The ocean is dark and the only thing I can see out there is a couple of boats way out with their running lights on. There’s only one other couple up here and they are four tables away from me. The solitude is nice.

  I order a glass of white wine and the shrimp and scallops. While I wait, I hear the tone alerting me that I have a text coming from my phone shoved down in my purse. The text is from my best friend, Simone.

  You’re stuck in St. Augustine? How long until your car will be ready?

  I shouldn’t have told her where I was or what was going on, but I must have some level of self-preservation left because I thought it was a bad idea to be stranded somewhere and have no one know where I was.

  Yes, only a day or two. Earl, the mechanic, said he would try to get me out of here as quick as possible.

  Let Thomas and me come get you. We can take you back after Christmas and you can continue on your trip. I don’t like to think of you alone in some strange place on Christmas.

  No, the whole point of the trip is for some alone time. I’ll be okay. If I change my mind I can drive over after my car is fixed. I’m enjoying this trip.

  It only takes a second before she responds. You’re worrying me.

  Don’t be worried. I need some time to unwind. You know how stressed I’ve been. I promise to call if I change my mind. My dinner is here so I need to go. Love you.

  I shove the phone in my purse and take a sip of my wine. It’s nice to know she cares so much, but this is one of the things I’m taking a break from—worried people. My boss, my coworkers, my family and my friends have all been treating me with kid gloves since the shooting. It’s as if someone is waiting for me to crack and they are all scared it will happen when they are there. I hate to point it out, but there is nothing left to break. All of that feeling leaked out of me onto the floor of that ballroom in Miami last year. I didn’t even cry when I broke up with Titus after two and a half years of dating him. It should have hurt me to hurt him, but like with everything else I felt nothing.

  As the server is placing my food in front of me, a large party follows the host up the stairs. They are all dressed up in suit coats, ties and dresses and pile into all the booths down one section of the restaurant. They are a loud group, but not in the sense that it’s a party, just people all trying to talk over each other. I lower my eyes and focus on my food, not wanting to be distracted by the people. I’m sure to a group like that I look pathetic. They have twenty people all trying to sit next to one another while I sit here alone sipping my wi
ne and eating this delicious meal.

  I do a great job of not looking at them during dinner, but once I’m done eating and I’m waiting for my bill, curiosity gets the best of me. I can no longer avert my eyes. It’s the deep hum of male voices and the feminine giggles that pull me in. What are they talking about? Where have they been? This is part of the reason I became a lawyer, my curiosity for all things surrounding me. One person gets up, a few people adjust and the person who slides into the open spot looks just like the guy from the beach today, except this time he’s not covered in sand. He’s staring across the table at an older woman who, by the deep red hair on her head that matches his, has me assuming she’s his mother. His closely trimmed red mustache and goatee encase a polite smile that doesn’t reach his eyes as he listens to her talk. It’s very similar to the smile I’ve been wearing for the past fifteen months. I wonder how long he’s had his.

  I shift my eyes away and back to the Christmas lights of town so I won’t be caught staring at him. I find ways to sneak glances at him several times before I pay my bill, never getting caught. Don’t ask me why I’m intrigued by him, but I am. Maybe it’s because I’ve only been here about six hours and I’ve seen this same attractive man twice. I may be dead inside, but I’m not actually dead so I still notice things. Like seeing him on the beach and at dinner.