BEAST: A Bad Boy Marine Romance (43 page)

L
AST NIGHT COMPLETELY SUCKED
. I couldn’t even score with a stripper. But I wasn’t about to blame myself. Call me a conceited prick, but I didn’t usually have a problem with the ladies. Ever. Maybe I should’ve told her what I did for a living. Like the magical phrase “open sesame” opened the cave’s mouth for Ali Baba, the words “I’m a motherfucking Navy SEAL” usually opened a women’s mouth to my cock.

But who knew? This chick wasn’t American—the SEAL line probably wouldn’t work with her anyway. Her ignorance about SEALs suited me fine. I didn’t want to deal with another Frog Hog, begging to start a relationship or bragging to her girlfriends she fucked a SEAL, only to cheat on me once she got what she wanted. I wanted one woman I could fuck whenever I desired, no talk about our futures or our pasts. Ksenya was perfect.

I’d sacrificed so much for Mia, hadn’t tried out for any East Coast Teams so I could stay close to her, spend weekends with her instead of bonding with my guys. What she didn’t know was that I’d planned on proposing to her, had even asked Joaquín for his blessing. Then she’d left me while I was clinging to life in a hospital bed, her engagement ring tucked in the bottom of my seabag.

But being injured was the best thing that ever happened to me. Otherwise, I’d have married that bitch, and she would’ve divorced me the second we had any problems, which was inevitable being married to a Team guy.

Last weekend we had the big welcome-home family day, though this homecoming had been bittersweet. No Joaquín, no Mia. For a while they had both been like family. All the Team guys loved Mia then. Despite my anger toward her, I wondered how she was doing without Joaquín. She was completely alone now—no parents, no brother. I was almost surprised she hadn’t tried to contact me again. I couldn’t blame her for giving up after the way I’d shut her down after Joaquín’s arrest.

Our last homecoming rager ended with a dead stripper and my best buddy getting accused of her murder. My Team needed this party for morale, since we were struggling to get back to normalcy. And rebuild our trust.

I believed Joaquín was innocent. I hoped that I would see something tonight, a trigger, and could figure out what the fuck went wrong that night. Even on deployment, none of the guys remembered anything. Kyle, Vic, Joe, and Pat had left earlier that evening; the rest of us had all been in rooms with strippers. No one remembered anyone else being at the party, but I had to admit we were all pretty fucked up. I’d actually vowed to stop frequenting strip clubs after that girl’s death, but I went back to the club to see if I could find any clues. Ksenya hadn’t been at the party that night, but maybe she’d heard some girls talk.

My truck pulled up at the strip club. Ksenya stood out front, wearing a thigh-skimming black-and-pink skirt, with a tight black tank top. I could see her nipple buds begging me to suck on them. Tonight. I had to have her tonight.

She leaned into my window and kissed me on the cheek. “Hi, Grant. These are my friends Brenna, Eden, and Kristi.”

Another bottle-blonde, a redhead with tacky lipstick, and a brunette with sparkly nails. My friends would love these women. But unfortunately none of them had been at the party that night. “Nice to meet you, ladies.” I nodded, and they piled into my truck. The scent of cheap perfume and self-tanner filled the air.

I headed to Pacific Beach. The girls chatted in the back, but I could only focus on Ksenya’s hand rubbing up my thigh. The closeness of an exquisite woman who had not once peppered me with questions was comforting. She hadn’t interrogated me about my job, mentioned my family, or asked me what I wanted from her. It was probably the language barrier.

“You look beautiful tonight.”

“Thank you. You look to me very handsome.”

I laughed. Her accent was cute. I’d never understood the obsession some men had with foreign women. I was a diehard patriot—I bled red, white, and blue. It had never crossed my mind to date someone who hadn’t been born in the United States. But maybe I had been too closed-minded. I allowed myself to entertain the thought of dating a woman who would be there for me even if I lost a leg, who would nurse me back to health. Someone who would never betray me. Like Mia had.

Fuck. It had been so long since I’d given so much thought to Mia. Yes, I had missed her dreadfully, but that pain had soon turned into anger. Why was I thinking so much about her now? I had been with dozens of women since we split, and none had ever caused me to scrutinize our relationship so much. Was it Ksenya? Was it because I felt connected to her? Her mannerisms?
Why now?

Stop. Don’t even think about it.

I’d enjoy the attention she was giving me while I was in town. Then I’d deploy again and I was sure she’d move on to her next client.

But this woman’s voice, the sound of her laughter, the way she looked at me, there was comfort in her presence. I couldn’t explain this unshakeable feeling that no matter how hard I tried, she was more than a one-night stand.

G
RANT BARELY SAID
A WORD on the car ride. I couldn’t tell if he was beginning to figure me out, if he had something on his mind, or if he was losing interest in me after only one date. Despite my protests, I didn’t know how long I could play the full virginal stripper act. If Grant grew sick of my games, he could toss me aside, and I’d lose my only shot at exonerating Joaquín. I really needed to pull myself together and solidify my plan.

Grant parked his truck a few blocks from the beach. A crush of tourists swarmed the streets. A young couple headed toward the water, basking in the glow of the sunset. I paused and watched them, a stolen glimpse into what had to be first love. The man gazed at the woman, their movements in sync, walking quickly, as if to erase the distance between them.

Grant had looked at me like that once—as if he thought I could do no wrong, that we would be together forever. Now he looked at Ksenya with a combination of hunger and suspicion. His skin was flushed, yet his eyes were narrowed. Was he suspicious of me? I was pretty confident that I had him fooled. Even so, I knew Grant would never look at me with such tenderness again.

Focus, woman.

I was so pathetic, thinking about my relationship with my ex-boyfriend instead of clearing my brother’s name. No more. From here on out, Grant was nothing more than a job to me.

He draped his strong arm around my waist. I pursed my lips.

We approached the door of the townhouse, and my fists tightened. I had to be on my game tonight. This was my big chance to find a clue. The last time Joaquín had been free was at a party like this. I said a silent prayer, closed my eyes, and hoped our parents were watching over me, guiding me toward the right path.

The door opened. Damn, guess I wasn’t the only one who’d brought friends. It was like bring-your-own-stripper night, with a proper threesome ratio of two women for every SEAL. At least twenty women in various stages of undress were cuddling the men, limbs draped over each other, bodies entwined. I counted thirteen men besides Grant, but I only cared about Mitch and Paul for now—SEALs on Joaquín’s squad. I needed to either eliminate them as suspects or focus my investigation on their actions the night of the murder.

My friends from Panthers dispersed and were quickly introducing themselves to the other guys. I’d chosen the girls at random, the ones who had been nicest to me, but these ladies clearly knew how to work the room. And as any girl in her twenties who partied hard in San Diego knew, these men—no matter what they claimed they did for a living—were clearly Navy SEALs.

Once you’d been to Coronado a few times, SEALs were easy to identify. Longer hair, fuller beards, massive muscles sculpted from carrying Zodiac boats, tan skin, weathered hands, cocky attitudes that oozed through the air. Basically a gang of hard bodies who could easily star in the latest summer blockbuster.

Grant seemed distracted, his gaze focused on something or someone. “Ksenya, can I get you a drink?”

I glanced in the direction of his gaze and saw a young woman with short blond hair standing near the refrigerator. “Yes, please. I want vodka and the cranberry juice.”

Grant headed to the kitchen. My eyes followed his movements.

Mitch eyed me from across the room. He could be the one who killed Tiffany. I recalled his vile comments to me at the Pickled Frog. April, his longsuffering wife, was probably sitting at home, doing his laundry and putting their kids to bed, while he was out getting lap dances from strippers.

Mitch walked over and sat down next to me. “So you’re Grant’s latest piece of ass? Nice to meet you. I’m Mitch.”

I studied his face—something was off about him. His massive dilated pupils crowded out the pigment of his brown eyes, and his nose was shaded red. “Nice to meet with you also. You sell the drugs, too?” I contained a laugh, delighted at my pharmaceutical pun.

His eyebrows lifted, but his calm face didn’t react. These men were used to covering for each other. “Nah, I’m a tattoo artist. My brother has a shop.” He leaned into me; his alcohol-spiked breath blew hot on my neck. “Man, you’re a knockout. Have I seen you somewhere before?”

I scanned the room, but Grant had vanished. And so had the girl I’d seen earlier. Did he know her? “I work at Panthers. I saw you other night when you came in together with Grant.”

He laughed and placed his hand on my upper thigh, squeezing my skin so tight I was sure he had left a mark. “No, baby. Not then. You’re a porn star, aren’t you?”

I pressed my hands against my stomach. Where was Grant? Why was he taking so long? In all the time I dated him as Mia, not one of his Teammates ever so much as winked at me. They knew the rules—a Team guy’s woman was off-limits—no exceptions. But I wasn’t Grant’s woman anymore. I was a stripper. Not an equal partner, a mere possession. Did he intend to pass me around to his friends?

“No, I am not in those type of the movies. Sorry, you are wrong.”

His grip tightened on my jean skirt. “I’m never mistaken, bitch. I’ve fucking seen you somewhere before. Maybe I’ve even fucked you.” His finger moved up my thigh and hooked the lace trim on my panties. “Quit the virgin act. Go dance for me or something.” His words shot off like rapid fire, and he forced my hand against his cock.

I considered screaming, but the blaring music would’ve drowned out my voice. What was wrong with this man? With all these arrogant sons of bitches? I was in some alternate bizarro reality, where these men I’d always looked up to as honorable, steadfast heroes of character were exposing themselves to be misogynistic pricks.

But I knew this asshole from all of April’s tearful late-night phone calls. Mitch loved a challenge; I was just shocked at how disrespectful he was toward me. I squeezed him hard, his cock already rock solid in his jeans. “Ah, you are right. We did fuck. But you did not last. Better luck to you next time.”

His mouth raped mine, and I was too blindsided to resist. My lips numbed; a bitter, metallic taste filled my mouth.

Holy shit! Mitch was high as a hot air balloon.
Was it cocaine? I’d heard about some SEALs in Aruba who were arrested for smuggling kilos of coke. Was this connected to Tiffany and Joaquín?

I shoved his hands off me, recoiling from his touch. The last time I’d felt this disgusted had been that night years ago, when I’d been young and careless—the night that I had ruined my relationship with Grant forever.

He laughed and knocked back his beer. “I like you. You’re a feisty bitch. Most of the strippers here don’t put up a fight. You’re a wildcat. Tell you what, when Grant gets sick of you in a few weeks, which he will, you can come suck me off. Let me get your number.” He took out his phone.

I steadied my nerves, desperate not to screw this chance up. “Let me put it in your phone.”

He didn’t hesitate to hand it to me. He scanned the room for Grant, and I knew I had to be quick. I stroked my long hair while his eyes were averted and I popped the tracking chip, which Roma had given me, from my hair clip. As I typed my contact info into Mitch’s phone, I pressed the chip into the back under the leather case, praying it would work.

I handed him back the phone, and he winked at me. What a creeper. I wanted to shove my fist up his coke-filled nose, but before I could do anything Grant appeared, holding my drink, a jealous scowl on his face. I fought the desire to dump vodka and cranberry juice over Mitch’s head. For all I knew, that chip could lead to texts, phone numbers, some type of clue about what had happened that night. Maybe he’d come on to Tiffany after Joaquín had slept with her, and she had rejected him. He could’ve become pissed off and choked her.

“Everything okay here?” Grant studied my lips, then glared at the lipstick stain on Mitch’s face.

“Never better. Hey, man”—Mitch sniffled—“I’m pretty fucked up. You guys gonna fuck upstairs? Can I watch?”

I expected Grant to just laugh it off. But he shoved Mitch against the wall using a chokehold.

“You have ten seconds to unfuck yourself, Mitch. If you ever talk to her like that again, I’ll slit your throat. Got it?”

The rancor alerted some of the other guys, but none of them approached. “Relax, man. She’s a fucking stripper.”

Grant removed his hand from Mitch’s neck. “Get the fuck out of here.”

Mitch let out a laugh and walked away.

“Sorry about that, babe. He’s a jerk. You okay?”

I blinked back fake tears. “Yes. Thank you. Is there a bathroom?”

He pointed upstairs. “First door on the left.”

“I come right back.”

Away from Grant, I let out a deep, gratifying sigh. This was actually working. No one knew who I was.

I pushed back the door to the bathroom and saw the girl Grant was looking at earlier. She seemed younger than me, maybe not even twenty. A crisp blond bob framed her round cheeks as she reapplied pink lipstick.

“Oh sorry, I can come back.” I turned away.

“Hey, hon. It’s okay. So you’re Grant’s new girl? I’m Autumn. I used to work at Panthers. Grant’s a good guy.”

My eyes widened. “I’m Ksenya. You know Grant?”

“Yeah.” She paused, glanced toward the window. “We hung out once at another party. But things got crazy. There was this murder. I’m sure you read about it in the papers.”

My breath stopped.
She was there.
“I’m new to area.”

“A SEAL killed one of the girls there. I was so scared. Grant and I were in the next room when this guy Joaquín found the girl dead. So tragic. Grant hasn’t told you about it?”

“No. We do not know each other so well.”

“I get it. Well, good luck with him.”

“Thank you.” My mind raced. I needed to grill this girl, find out every detail about that night. But I had to get her away from this party—away from Grant. “What do you do now for work?”

Her mouth twisted. “I work at this new club downtown, Diamond. It’s very high-end, very classy. We don’t even go topless. Guys respect you way more. I’m sure the owner would love to have you. You’re a knockout.”

I couldn’t tell if she was just super friendly or she was hitting on me. Either way, I didn’t care. I couldn’t let her go. “So are you. Can I get it your number and I can go to see it the place?” I reached inside my purse.

She snatched my phone from, didn’t say a word, and tapped in her number. “Call me anytime. Nice to meet you, Ksenya.”

She shut the door. Holy shit. This was huge. I bet some of the other strippers who were at the party that night worked at Diamond. Maybe even Emma? I was getting closer to the truth, to Tiffany’s real killer.

I scrubbed Mitch’s touch off of me and met Grant back downstairs.

“Babe, come to the rooftop deck with me. I want to show you something.”

I kissed Grant on the cheek, grateful to him for inviting me to this party. His sharp stubble burned my lips. A warm flush ran through my body, imagining that stubble grazing my thighs.

I followed him upstairs—a light giggle, a deep moan, and a passionate scream pierced my ears. Was he taking me up to one of these hidden rooms? My palms were sweaty, my hands trembled.

We passed the bedrooms, and he led me out to a small deck.

My heart stopped. I knew what he wanted to show me.

“Sit, babe. Make a wish.”

A wish. Grant had brought me up here to watch the sunset. To see the Green Flash.

The Green Flash wasn’t a myth, or even an optical illusion. If you ever sat on a San Diego beach at sunset and noticed a group of people staring silently in the same direction, they were looking for the Green Flash. That moment when the sun set and emitted that last glimpse of light, a flash the color of the Emerald City in Oz.

Grant pulled me to him, and I sat in his lap. His arms wrapped around me. “Babe, study the sky. Legend has it if you see a flash of green light, your wish will come true.”

Was he feeling a real connection with me or did he share this with all of his dates? It took every ounce of training I had not to question him. I wanted to know how many other women he’d taken to see the flash. He’d taken me to a restaurant on this same beach on our first date, but I’d been unable to spot the flash. My eyes had been clouded by my love for him, the sadness for my parents’ death still fresh in my heart. We’d planned to go back and see it together for our second anniversary, but we broke up a week before. Tonight I vowed I would finally see it.

I made my unspoken wish. My throat felt thick, my pulse quickened. I wished for Joaquín to be free, as a good sister should. But another brief wish passed through my head for Grant to forgive me and for us to fall in love again.

His arms tightened around me and I studied the fogless sky, determined to experience this phenomena with my true love. The hues from the sunset hung over the horizon; the sun dipped toward the water. Every nerve ending tingled and stirred inside me. My eyes focused; the final ray of light beamed right at me. My heart beat strongly in my chest. This glorious green spark filled my soul.

Grant whispered into my ear. “That was it, babe. This writer Jules Verne described it as ‘the true green of hope.’”

Oh my God. He was quoting Jules Verne now? “You are so romantic to me.”

His shoulders fell. “You just seem to have so much on your mind. I’ve gone through some rough shit too. When I’m really down, I look at the sunset and the flash pulls me through.”

A chill pulsed through my body. Grant had told me that during BUD/S looking for the flash had kept his determination not to quit strong. I remembered nursing him back to health afterward, so proud of him and my brother for finishing. Surviving five and a half days of extreme training on less than four hours of sleep was still unfathomable to me, though I had gone through my own version of Hell Week to get here.

After taking care of him then, I’m sure he was baffled why I left him when he had been injured. But I could never tell him the truth.

My resistance to Grant was weakening, despite my disgust for this new version of him. I loved the real Grant, knew now I always would. He was the only man I ever wanted to be with—if I couldn’t find my way back to him, I’d rather be alone.