Crazed (Se7en Deadly SEALs Book 3)

by Alana Albertson

  I ran my hands through my hair, the fluorescent lights causing me to sweat. I’d abandoned my plan, which was to ask some stupid questions, say something in Spanish, flash mama’s ring. My brain was too cloudy. Desperation and confusion flooded my consciousness.

  Joaquín stood up, gave me a smirk and an intense glare as my world crashed down around me.

  Grant seemed pissed off too. He didn’t speak, and I could swear he sneered in my general direction.

  We walked out of the jail without speaking a word. I needed to be alone, to call Roman about the DNA sample, to reconnect with Mitch, and to get away from Grant’s intensity and bitterness.

  I asked him to drop me off at home. “Do you know where she is, his sister?”

  He shook his head, without taking his eyes off the road. “Not a goddam clue. And I don’t give a fuck.”

  I choked back a sob. I didn’t have a clue where Mia was either.

  After Grant dropped me off, I knew I had to do something to alleviate my anxiety. The lady I lived with had left to visit her family for a week, so I was alone. I drew myself a hot bath, squeezed a few drops of lavender essence into the tub, and released my body from my clothes.

  My body.

  I still marveled at my transformation. Poor Grant’s wheels were probably spinning trying to find Mia for my brother. Did he have a clue I was already in his grasp?

  My toes slipped into the bubbles, and I settled into the tub. No magazine, no music, just the calm chords of beautiful silence. I forced my mind to be still, to enjoy this moment, live in the present and not focus on the future or the past.

  When the water lost its heat, I toweled off and dressed comfortably in sweats and a tank top. I did a few yoga poses to relax and prayed that I could come up with some cold hard evidence that would exonerate Joaquín.

  But all my usual calming techniques didn’t work. I couldn’t quiet my mind, too much information. My visit with my brother had completely rattled me. I needed some answers.

  I called Roman.

  “Allo.”

  “Privet. It’s me. Did you get the DNA back?”

  He let out a long sigh. “Ksyushen’ka, I’m glad it is you.”

  I loved his pet name for me. The comfort in his voice soothed my nerves. “What? Did you get a match for the hair? Is Julián Joaquín’s son?”

  “No, I am afraid he is not.”

  I choked back tears.

  “What? Are you sure? Because I’m pretty positive . . .”

  “It was not match, I am sorry.”

  No. It had to be. I saw him. The boy looked just like my father. “Maybe Joaquín’s sample was bad? It was old. I can get another one? Or, I’m his sister. Can’t you check mine?”

  He hesitated, the tone of his voice sounded edgy, but maybe it was just his accent. “You are his biological sister, da?”

  “Yes. Of course I am.”

  “Well, brother and sister share DNA. I will see. But my guy, he is very good.”

  “Just try it again, please. I’ll send it today. Please call me when you get the results. Thanks.”

  “Khorosho. Poka.”

  “Poka.”

  My understanding of genetics wasn’t my strong suit but brothers and sisters shared DNA so I’m sure this would work. The sample I’d collected from Joaquín’s apartment was probably damaged anyway. It had been hairs in his brush. Maybe it wasn’t even his brush. I needed to wait for the new results—I couldn’t stress about it now. I had bigger fish to fry.

  Mitch.

  I sat down again to my computer to check any updates to Mitch’s trace. Again nothing jumped out, except another message to Rafael. Again with no text.

  Okay. Now I had two weird messages to Rafael. Was he a drug dealer? If my plan worked, I would find out tonight.

  I texted Mitch.

  Ksenya: Handsome. My time of month is no more. When can I see you?

  Mitch: Tonight. I can’t wait for you to sit on my face. I’ll pick you up @ 8.

  Ah, Mitch. Such a gentleman.

  I texted him my address. And plotted my revenge.

  I frantically ran around my apartment, gathering my tools into a corner of my room. My gun, handcuffs, and Rohypnol—the drug that both Tiffany and I had been given. Mitch, it had to be Mitch. I knew now that he’d been at the party where I’d been attacked, and at the party where Tiffany had died. This motherfucker would confess to me tonight, and I could free Joaquín and get my life back.

  I couldn’t wait to torture him. My depraved fantasies involved humiliation, him begging me for forgiveness, ruining his career and life. But he was a SEAL; I needed to plan out every little detail.

  One thing was certain—Mitch had fucked with the wrong woman. He didn’t have a clue what I was capable of. And honestly, neither did I.

  At exactly eight Mitch knocked at my door. His massive arms and chest bulged out of his T-shirt, and his cargo shorts hugged his muscular thighs. His brown eyes softened when he saw me. “Hey, sexy.” He kissed me on the lips, and I fought the urge to kick him in the balls.

  But I remembered my plan. It was go time.

  I kissed him back, a deep openmouthed kiss that until now had been reserved for Grant. I ran my fingers through his hair, pressing my body against his, feeling his cock poke at my dress. He reacted swiftly, shoving my ass against the door, wrapping my legs around his waist.

  “Take me inside,” I said between kisses.

  “Fuck yeah, baby.”

  Once inside my place, after a few more minutes of groping, I pulled away.

  “I have surprise for you, Mr. Mitch.”

  “Yeah, baby? Did you bring Autumn?”

  God, I didn’t think I could possibly detest this man any more. “No, but I want to give you the pleasure. Let me take care of my man. First, I made for you the dinner.”

  “Kickass. I always knew you Eastern European women were good for something. I’m starving. And I plan on eating you for dessert.”

  I forced myself to giggle and then set the table, presenting my slaved-over meal. But the food wasn’t the important part of my menu. For the beverage, I served vodka, on the rocks, laced with Rohypnol.

  I poured two glasses out of his sight, making sure I was extra careful remembering which one was his. I added cranberry juice to mine, so I could easily identify it.

  Mitch sat down, slapped my ass as I leaned over to serve him. Before he took a single bite, he downed his drink. “Pour me another, babe.”

  Fuck. I was scared. I had administered a strong dose, but Mitch was a huge man. What if he realized I’d drugged him? He could kill me. I’d considered using GHB instead, but I couldn’t risk killing him. He deserved to die, but I didn’t want both Cruz children jailed for murder.

  I slowly poured another glass of vodka, my premixed liquid doubling his dose. He downed that drink, too.

  He pointed at the food. “What did my woman make for me?”

  “Pelmeni, it is Russian dumpling, and golubtsi, it is the stuffed cabbage. I hope you like it.”

  His head shook a bit, as if he was trying to focus. “Looks great. My wife never cooked.” He dug his fork into the plate and began his feast.

  I picked at my food, for once not even caring that I was eating animal flesh. I remembered the night I’d been drugged. I’d been having such a good time with my girls, drinking, dancing, and goofing around. I remember my stomach churned and I felt like the room was spinning. I went to rest in a spare bedroom, and that was the last thing I remember, until I awoke to a man on top of me, my panties by my feet. I never saw his face, but I’d marked him forever.

  But tonight, I had turned the tables.

  “You’re a really good cook. I haven’t had a home-cooked meal in a while. I could get used to this.”

  Not happening, buddy.

  We made small talk for about twenty minutes, the entire time I was staring at him for any symptoms. Maybe Mitch had tiger blood and was immune.

  “Man, it’s getting hot
in here. Do you have air?”

  Bingo. I walked over to air conditioning unit and turned it on.

  “Thanks, babe. What did you the put in the food? You’re not trying to poison me, are you?

  Fuck. Was he kidding? “Funny. Is my cooking very bad?”

  He clasped his stomach. “Nah, babe. I’m just not feeling that well. Can I use your bathroom?”

  “Sure. It is right over there.”

  He stood up, his legs wobbly, and he entered the bathroom.

  My heart beat rapidly. Did he know I’d drugged him? Did he remember doing it to me that night? Or to Tiffany? It had to be him, just had to be.

  I paced around the kitchen, biting my nails. I considered calling Grant to help me, just in case Mitch figured out what I had done, but that was an even dumber idea than drugging a Navy SEAL.

  I heard a loud thump in the bathroom.

  “Mitch, are you okay?”

  He didn’t respond. This could be a trap. I said a silent prayer, and opened the door to find Mitch slumped over the toilet.

  First stage of my plan had worked! Pride beamed through my body. But the hard work wasn’t done yet.

  I couldn’t exactly drag a 250-pound Navy SEAL to my bedroom. I scanned the bathroom, searching for something I could handcuff Mitch to. The hand railing for my old roommate was the best option. No doubt a fully conscious Mitch could pull that thing out of the wall, but he would wake before he regained full mobility.

  I retrieved all my equipment and made myself comfortable on the bathroom floor. The hours were torturous, planning what I would say, what I would do.

  A few hours later, he began to stir, first a twitch in his leg, than a blink of his eye. I cocked back the Glock that Grant had taught me to shoot years ago, and pointed it at his head.

  After a few more minutes, he focused on my face. His eyes bulged out of his head and I could see the vein in his neck pop.

  “What the fuck are you doing? I’m gonna kill you, you fucking bitch. Lay down the weapon, Ksenya!”

  I wasn’t scared, I’d dreamt of this moment so many times, but for years I could never picture the face of my victim. I pressed the gun to his forehead, and dropped my accent. “My name isn’t Ksenya, asshole. It’s Mia. Mia Cruz.”

  What the fuck did that psychotic bitch just say? “No fucking way you’re Mia. Are you insane? Put down the goddam gun.”

  “No, jackass. You don’t get to make demands. I’m in control, now. You’re going to pay for what you fucking did to me! I know it was you, you motherfucker; I stabbed you with my fucking heel—I saw the scar the other night. I was helpless; I was your Teammate’s woman, your other Teammate’s sister. You ruined my fucking life!”

  Oh fuck. Memories of that night flooded back into my already hazy brain. She must’ve drugged me tonight, and now I was handcuffed to a railing with a gun pointed at my head. But I wasn’t scared; nothing fucking scared me. In fact, I was impressed.

  I stared at this woman, who looked nothing like the Mia I’d lusted after. This chick in front of me had fake titties, puffy lips, and a too-tight face. Mia had been gorgeous, nothing fake about her. Naturally beautiful, not like the rest of the women in San Diego. Every guy on the Team wanted to bone her, but Grant scooped her up first. On deployments I would steal a few pictures she had sent Grant, use them for my spank shots. Had she transformed herself to trap me? What a fucking waste. In my life, I’d done so many shitty things—I’d cheated on my wife, I’d killed a few men, but I’d never violated a woman.

  “Babe, please put down the gun.” I had to change my tone, smooth talk her, or she could kill me. In an unaltered state, I could rip the railing out of the wall and take her down, but I was too fucked up to move.

  She finally lowered the gun. Her shoulders caved, and she collapsed in the corner, tears streaming down her face.

  Her chest heaved. I’d get her to calm down first, then figure out what the fuck was going on. “Listen to me. I swear to God I didn’t touch you.”

  “You’re fucking lying to me. I remember. I remember you on top of me.”

  I put my toe on her leg, the only part of her body I could reach since my wrists were still restrained. She flinched back. “No, you don’t. You remember waking up with me there. I was checking to see if you were okay. I was looking for April that night, and the guy saw me and bolted. I didn’t rape you, I fucking saved you. I may be an asshole, but I’m a goddamn Navy SEAL—I would never hurt you. I swear on my Budweiser.” As a SEAL sister and former girlfriend, she should know we didn’t fuck around when talking about our trident, our code.

  “No, no. It was you, it had to be you. You raped me, you got me pregnant, you ruined my life.”

  Pregnant? When did she have a baby? Neither Grant nor Joaquín ever mentioned that she had a kid. “Where’s the baby? Do a fucking DNA test—swab my goddam cheek or test the glass of vodka you just poisoned me with.”

  She didn’t answer me, tears welled in her eyes.

  “Look, I opened the fucking door. The room was dark and smelled like weed and vomit. Everything was hazy, and I couldn’t see anyone at first, but then I saw some jerk with a fucking ski mask jump off the bed and sprint past me. I was going to run after the guy and fuck him up, but I wanted to make sure the girl was okay. I didn’t even have a clue it was you until I saw your face. I was about to call 911—I sure as hell wasn’t going to leave you there drugged up so someone else could attack you. But then you fucking stuck your heel into my groin so I got the fuck out of there so I wouldn’t get arrested.”

  She shook her head repeatedly. “Why the fuck were you at the party? You were all supposed to be deployed.”

  “We were in country. They always fly us in to an undisclosed location to detox after a mission before we’re allowed to see family. It’s called third location decompression.”

  “So Grant was in town? Joaquín too?”

  “We were in Arizona, Grant was being transferred to the hospital here. April and I got into a huge fight, she’d told me she was going out to that party with you. I was so fucking pissed off, I drove straight to San Diego. But when I got there, I couldn’t find her. I went door to door, and that’s when I found you. I would never rape you, or any woman. I’m not that man.”

  She exhaled, her lip trembling.

  “Try to remember, Mia. You just drugged me, right? I’m fucked up but I know what’s true. What do you remember about that night?”

  “I—I . . . I remember pain. Hand around my throat, my panties ripped off, blood between my legs, then I remember you.”

  I locked her eyes. “When I entered the room, he was pulling up his pants. You have to believe me. Look at me! I’m not lying to you.”

  She remained silent. Well, that was better than her pointing a gun at my head.

  “Uncuff me.”

  She cautiously grabbed the key from her pocket and freed my wrists.

  I immediately reached for the Glock and emptied the chamber. My strength was coming back, and I could handle her. I wanted to be pissed off at her, for drugging me, for pointing a gun to my head, but I just pitied her.

  I wrapped my arms around her, inhaled her scent, and pretended for a moment that she was my girl. But I knew that her heart would forever belong to Grant.

  “What’s going on, babe? You can tell me. What did you do to yourself? You said you were pregnant? Where’s your baby?”

  She turned around and curled into my chest. It felt so good to have a woman who needed me, even if it was only for tonight.

  “I lost the baby two years ago. I . . . I did this for Joaquín. He’s innocent, Mitch. I know it. He’s all I have. I don’t have anyone anymore. My parents died, Grant despises me. I had this crazy idea that I could free Joaquín. I got plastic surgery, learned Russian. I thought if I could go undercover I could figure out who killed Tiffany. But all I’ve done is fuck everything up. Joaquín knows what I’ve done, and he’s talking all crazy in jail. And his lawyer does, too. Grant still doesn’
t have a clue I’m Mia, but he will kill me when he finds out I lied to him. I hate myself.”

  I brushed her hair out of her face, resisting the urge to kiss her, fuck her until I made her mine, until she forgot about Grant forever. “You’re fucking crazy, do you know that? But you’re my kind of crazy. Look, I know you love Grant, but you’re right, once he finds out you’re Mia, he’ll cut you out forever. Forget about him. Be my girl, as Ksenya. We can start a new life together. I won’t ever hurt you. When I saw that guy in that room with you, it took every bit of self-control I had not to murder the motherfucker. I’ll die for you, Mia.”

  She looked up at me and then kissed me. Not one of our fuck-me kisses, but a real kiss, like she cared about me, like she loved me. It had been so long since I’d felt that passion from anyone.

  “I’m sorry, Mitch. I believe you. I was wrong. I don’t even know what is real these days. Thank you for saving me that night. But I didn’t change to seek revenge on you, or to get back together with Grant. I did this for my brother. And I’m going to see it through. Will you help me?”

  My heart sank. Years of lusting after Mia, watching her with Grant, the way she loved him, the way she looked at him like he was the only man in the world. She never flirted with any of the other Team guys. She was loyal and loving. April always tried to make me jealous, and I reacted immaturely. But she didn’t love me the way Mia loved Grant. I’d never felt the devotion that I could see they had between them.

  “I’ll do anything for you. Tell me what you need from me.”

  My skin broke into chill bumps, and my stomach lurched. I’d drugged Mitch, but it was me who felt high.

  Mitch was still fucked up, so I helped him to my bed so he could sleep it off. I’d been so fucking sure I was right, but his story made sense. I didn’t remember who raped me—I remembered pain, blood between my legs, tightness around my throat, and a man on top of me. The man I’d scarred was Mitch, but his story could easily be true.

  I’d just lied to him again, though. I told him I believed him, and I did about raping me. But he wasn’t off the hook yet for Tiffany’s murder. And I still needed to figure out who the fuck was this Rafael guy he was texting. Mitch didn’t have a clue I was tracking his phone.