BEAST: A Bad Boy Marine Romance

by Alana Albertson

  The words of the Navy SEAL Code, our warrior creed, echoed in my head.

  Fuck.

  But tattoos can be faked. I needed more.

  I clicked on another picture.

  Yup—the scar on her shoulder. She’d shown me that also.

  My heart beat rapidly in my chest, my jaw clenched.

  I needed to see her face again, look into her eyes. That’s the only way I’d know for certain.

  Why hadn’t anyone rescued her? She was an American for Christ’s sake!

  But this wasn’t a fucking movie. There weren’t FBI and CIA agents on the ground in Aruba searching for kidnapped Americans, especially since there was no proof she had been abducted. Any sightings of her would first be passed to the local police, who were corrupt as fuck. Her parents could’ve hired one of the many private contractor groups filled with former SEALs who did this shit for a living.

  She didn’t need a private contractor group—she now had me. I’d trained my entire adult life for missions like this one.

  There was a three hundred thousand dollar reward for her safe return. But I didn’t want any money. Giving Annie her life back would be reward enough. If I saved her, I had to remain anonymous. Any hint of an active duty Navy SEAL going rogue would ruin my career on the Teams.

  I glanced back at her pictures. Man, she’d been beautiful. Could’ve been my high school sweetheart. She was half Latina, looked almost like a young Wonder Woman. Her black hair had been shiny; her hazel eyes had been bright. A soccer star, a prom queen, a little girl in pigtails. And I had treated her like she was a piece of trash.

  Fucking traffickers. Most Americans were completely oblivious to the sex trade. They thought it only happened in third world countries. But girls were kidnapped off the streets in Middle America, and forced to service assholes like me. I wanted her to be just another piece of ass who I could use and forget, but the pain in her eyes reminded me too much of my own hell.

  We were headed back to the states tonight. What the fuck was I going to do? Tell my men? Ask my command? It wasn’t that easy. Everyone thinks Navy SEALs are above the law, that we can do whatever we please without any consequences. Like the ridiculous story about one of our snipers who shot and killed two civilian men and wasn’t even brought in for police questioning. Bullshit. There’s protocol, and busting into brothels was way out of our jurisdiction. I’d have to talk to my commanding officer. He’d send me to Captain’s Mast for going to a brothel. Any authorized rescue attempt would have to be cleared with the FBI and CIA. There would be an investigation to see if she was who she said she was. They might set up a sting operation. And the crooked cops in Aruba could tip off her pimp. If her pimp had any inkling of what was going on, he’d probably kill her without a second thought.

  I wasn’t going to let that happen.

  Were all those prostitutes trafficked? Prostitution was legal here, and I deluded myself to think that at least the women were there willingly. And I couldn’t save everyone in the place. It would cause an international incident; most of them were probably from Eastern Europe or Central and South America. But I’d be damned if I let Annie, or any other American trapped there, spend one more day than they had to in that hellhole. Other men didn’t get why I hadn’t shed a tear when I found out my ex-fiancée had cheated on me. But the national anthem? “The Star Spangled Banner” had me bawling like someone shot my dog. I’d watched my buddies die protecting our country’s freedoms. And I’d lay down my own life before I let some traffickers steal Annie’s.

  She was twenty-three now, two years younger than me. She’d spent her entire adult life in a foreign country as a sex slave. I couldn’t even fathom her miserable existence.

  Enough men had used her and then abandoned her. I wasn’t going to be one of them.

  Vic made his way through the tangled maze of hungover SEALs in our sleeping quarters. “Want to get lunch?”

  If I flaked on them two days in a row, they’d know I was up to something. “I can’t. I’m going to get a massage.”

  Kyle’s head popped up in his rack. “As long as it includes a happy ending, I’m in.”

  These men were my best friends—I didn’t want to lie to them. We’d saved each other’s lives more times than I cared to remember.

  “No can do, I’m already late. I’ll be back in a bit and we’ll go have a drink before our ship leaves.” I slipped a watch on my wrist and left the ship.

  I had to see Annie before they shuffled her to another brothel and I lost the opportunity forever. Tattoos and scars could be faked. I needed to be one hundred percent certain the girl with the hollow eyes really was Annie.

  Would the pimp get suspicious if I came back two days in a row? I doubted it. If she had survived five years, she must’ve gained their trust. They probably thought she was so strung out that she wanted dope more than she wanted her old life back. That’s how these lowlifes worked—strip these girls of their identities and leave them with nothing left to fight for.

  But she’d told me her name. She trusted me. And I’d walked away from her.

  Some hero.

  The streets seemed less bright today. I’d actually looked forward to my Team’s mission in the Caribbean waters. Aruba was a better destination than Afghanistan as far as I was concerned. But now I’d rather be roasting in the mountains than investigating the underbelly of paradise.

  I stopped by a tourist shop. Purchased some water, snacks, lotion, and a dress for Annie. Also bought her a small necklace, which I placed in my pocket.

  The same pimp found me on the street. “Hey, hey. You had good time? Welcome back, my friend.”

  I hated the way these vipers called me friend. Did he even know that Annie was a kidnapped American? Often these girls were traded to other pimps, so he might not know her true identity if she kept her cover. Even though he had a gun, I could take this fool in a second, even unarmed. Were there more armed men watching this place? Without my men and my weapons, I couldn’t take any chance of smuggling Annie out.

  I followed him back to the brothel. He was about to ring the bell but I stopped him. “I want the same girl I had last night.”

  “Star? Sure, sure. How about two girls? I give you a good price.”

  I shook my head. “Nope, one will do. ‘Star’ did a good job.”

  “What’s in the bag?”

  I opened it up. “Some food, water, clothes, lotion. I wanted her to dress up for me and smell good. How much for an extra hour? I’m heading back out to sea tonight.”

  He rummaged through the bag, and then squinted his eyes. “I give her to you for two hours free, for your watch.”

  I didn’t hesitate to hand it over to him.

  His face broke out into a smile. He motioned to me and led me down the hallway, to her door. Then he turned and left, probably to lure the next jerk like me inside.

  I paused before I opened the door. There was no going back; I needed to know one way or another if the woman behind this door was Annie Hamilton.

  4

  Star

  MY DOOR SQUEAKED. HAD I missed the bell? I was crashing down so hard that the only rings I’d heard were in my mind. Jose would beat me if I missed line up and then he wouldn’t give me any more dope tomorrow. It was still working hours, and I wouldn’t have a break until well past midnight.

  I glanced up from my bed, thinking it was one of the younger girls or maybe even Jose.

  But it wasn’t Jose. Or another girl. Or another client.

  It was that man.

  The bearded man from the other night stood at the door: chest erect, shoulders back, confident, strong, and sexy.

  Was he here for another round?

  Before I could say a word, he shut the door and put his hand over my mouth. His deep blue eyes darted around the walls, probably scanning to see if there was a camera. He wrinkled his face when his glare hovered over the needles in the trashcan. The stench of my dope wafted through my drug den.

  My chi
n dropped. I’m sure he saw me as nothing more than a heroin-addicted whore. I cowered, embarrassed about who I had become.

  He turned his attention back to me. Without saying a word, he knelt beside me and grabbed my ankle, tracing his fingers over my tattoo.

  He’d noticed. And my parents had actually once said to me I’d regret getting that tattoo one day. Little had they known this American surfboard might possibly save my life.

  He sat on the bed and spoke in a low tone. “Annie, my name is Patrick Walsh—I’m a Navy SEAL. Sorry for running out of here the other night.”

  Holy fuck! I was right. He was a SEAL. He’d come back to rescue me.

  I gasped. Was I still high? Was this a dream?

  My body trembled. I wanted to scream, to cry, to kiss him, but I remained frozen.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t believe you.”

  But he did believe me. He’d come back; no one had ever come back for me. Over the years, a few tourists gave me knowing glances, as if they might have recognized me. One fat American businessman spent so much time staring at my tattoo, I’d been convinced he was going to report seeing me, but that had been over two years ago. This other American, who I’d thought was former military, acted so strange I’d been convinced he’d been sent to save me. But I’d never had the courage to utter my name to any client until the other night.

  “Why don’t you start by telling me what happened.” He placed his strong hand on my knee, trying to comfort me.

  In an alternate reality, I’d be so wet right now. Fucking a fine-ass Navy SEAL had once been my fantasy. Back in San Diego, I would’ve dropped my panties so fast for this man, begged for him to dominate me, screw me senseless.

  These days, being touched revolted me, but his hand was different. Rough and blistered, yet firm and calming.

  My lips parted and despite his warm skin, chills radiated through my body. For years, my hope had died. No fairytale ending was in store for me.

  I tried to speak but I had lost my voice. Before I could tell him my sob story, tears stained my cheeks. I didn’t want to come down from this high, and for once I wasn’t talking about heroin, I was talking about the high of hope.

  Could this man be my hero? The one who could finally break me free and give me back the life that was stolen from me?

  The only thing I could imagine worse than the hell I had endured was to think, even for a second, that I had a chance of getting my life back. A chance to be whole again. And having nothing come of it. I wanted to enjoy this moment, this fantasy. Even if it only lasted one night.

  5

  Patrick

  ONE LOOK BACK INTO HER hazel eyes and my doubts melted away. After five years, extensive manhunts, and expensive private investigators, I was the one who stumbled upon the long lost Annie Hamilton.

  This time, she wasn’t wearing sexy lingerie, probably because she hadn’t been called out to the line. She was clad in a stained white tee shirt and pink cotton panties.

  I debated apologizing for paying her to give me a blowjob. As much as I felt like a jackass for hiring a captive sex slave, deep down I didn’t regret it. Probably from growing up listening to all of my mom’s new age bullshit, but I believed everything happened for a reason. I’d found her. That was all that mattered.

  Annie sobbed quietly. I could handle that. Being raised by a single mom, I’d comforted her so many times growing up, it was as if I were the parent. Every time she had her heart broken, she lost a job, or she didn’t have enough money for Christmas presents, I was the one who reassured her everything would be okay.

  “Hey, hey, it’s okay. I’m going to take care of you.” I embraced her, her tiny frame almost disappearing in my strong arms. She buried her head into my chest. I would do anything to protect her—she’d been through hell and back and if she needed me to hold her, wipe away her tears, and tell her everything was okay, I would do that. I wanted to comfort her as much as I could. “You can relax. I’m not going to have sex with you, or make you touch me—that’s not why I’m here.” I had a thousand questions to ask her, but I didn’t know how to start. She didn’t release me, and just softly sobbed in my arms. When was the last time someone just held her and told her it was okay? The seconds turned into minutes and I didn’t have the heart to let her go. How was I going to walk out of this room in two hours and leave her behind?

  Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, she released me. I brushed back the hair on her face and handed her the paper bag. “I picked you up some things, clothes and stuff.”

  Mascara ran down her face. She opened the bag and took out a sundress, fresh panties and a bra, and some vanilla-scented lotion. I kept the necklace in my pocket.

  Her tongue poked in her cheek and she swallowed.

  “You can put the dress on if you want.”

  She nodded, stood up, and turned away from me as she undressed. Her sudden shyness surprised me, as less than twenty-four hours ago she had my dick in her mouth. I forced myself to not stare at her, and focused my glare on my feet and not her ass. A dull pain heaved in my chest. I hated myself for adding to her nightmare. At least I came back to do the right thing.

  I needed to figure out the daily routine at the brothel; how far gone she was on heroin, and try to make a plan. There was no Intel team on the ground making action plans for me. I was in charge. And alone. No one to watch my back...or hers.

  There wasn’t even an embassy in Aruba—the closest one was in Curaçao so even if I could somehow smuggle her out of here, she’d have nowhere to go. I needed to get her out of here and safely back on American soil as soon as possible.

  Maybe I should’ve told Vic. But Vic played by the rules. He would’ve never let me go rogue. Or accompany me to a brothel, for that matter. Vic was a good man, a deeply pious Catholic. When his wife cheated on him during our last mission, I didn’t know if he would make it. He spent every minute he could back in the States with his daughter, Carina. I knew he missed her like crazy. I couldn’t imagine having a child. My dad left before I was born, so I wouldn’t have a fucking clue about how to be a father.

  Annie turned back toward me, dressed in her sweet yellow sundress, her hands fidgeting, as if she wanted approval.

  “That looks nice on you,” I offered, careful not to compliment her body. Though she was way too skinny, and her skin was speckled with bruises and welts, she was still sexy as hell. Her pouty lips curved up, her wild hair framed her face. My mind flashed and I wondered if the situation was different, if she was my girl, what it would feel like to hike up her sundress, rip off her panties and feel her wet pussy clench around me. I knew I could never again cross the line with her. From now on, she was nothing more than a mission to me.

  She sat on the cot next to me. I wanted to move over and put an invisible line of distance between us, but I kept her close by my side.

  I whispered into her ear, “I need to take a few pictures, okay?”

  She shrugged and I took out my phone. Took a shot of her ankle, her scar, and her face.

  “What happened, Annie? Tell me everything.”

  She remained silent, her dilated pupils fixed on the wall.

  I pulled her to me and stroked her hair. “I’m sure they think by now they’ve broken you so much you’d never consider running. You can trust me. But I can only help you if you let me.”

  Her shoulders dropped and she blinked rapidly.

  I didn’t want to talk about myself, but I guess she needed more from me in order to open up. “I believe you, Annie.” Every time I said her name, more tears welled in her eyes. “I saw your tattoo, your eyes, and your scar. I’ve read the news reports. Once I heard you speak, I knew you were an American, but I was spooked. I don’t run away from problems, I fix them. If anyone can save you, I can. But if I told my command I found you, I’d have to go to Captain’s Mast for going to a brothel. My career would be over, and then I’d never be able to get you out of here. And they would have to clear any rescue plans through the
CIA and FBI, which could take months. The closest embassy is in Curaçao. I’m confident I can rescue you, I just need some more info. So please, help me help you.”

  She still didn’t say a word.

  I ran my hands over the scabs on her arms, her skin was clammy. “So, you shoot heroin?”

  Her voice trembled. “Yeah. I can’t stop. I want to, but they keep us high.”

  Right. Can’t say I blamed her. “I get it. How long have you been in this brothel?”

  “Don’t know. I’ve been traded around.” Every word she spoke I had to earn. The edge in her voice gutted me. “Different islands. Curaçao, Columbia, Venezuela. I speak Spanish so I don’t stand out. I’m so fucked up, it’s all a blur.”

  So that’s how she’d survived so long. Her exotic looks and language skills must’ve helped her blend in with the other girls. “Are there any other American girls here?”

  “No,” she whispered. “There was a girl, Nicole.”

  Nicole Race? She’d disappeared on a family vacation a few years ago—I saw her name when I was researching Annie. She was last seen talking to a bartender at a popular tourist club in Curaçao. Was finding these girls not a priority? Didn’t the FBI and CIA have Intel out here? “Where is she?”

  “Dead.” Her head shook a bit. “She OD’d. I’d convinced her we were going to be saved, but I’d been wrong. She gave up hope.”

  My breath shortened, the sense of urgency mounted. I needed to get Annie out of here before she succumbed to her addiction, or a fate even worse than her current life.

  Annie brushed against my arm. I didn’t want to touch her any more than necessary to comfort her. Enough men over the years had fondled her. “Who kidnapped you?”

  “Renzo, the ballroom dancer at the resort. It was my fault. I left our room to go to the beach alone to take pictures of the sunrise and he grabbed me in the elevator.”