A SEAL’s Sacrifice (Jake’s Heroes #4)

Chapter 1

PAIGE

As music thumps through the thin walls of the restroom, shaking the posters stuck to the walls, I stare in the mirror at the woman looking back at me.

Short blonde hair trimmed in a severe cut, blue eyes rimmed with thick eyeliner and rusty eye shadow to try to hide the redness.

Concealer covers the dark smudges under my eyelids.

Pulling a lipstick from my purse, Blood Red Ruby, I apply a fresh coat to my lips.

Makeup is armor, Paige. Use it wisely.

My mother’s voice jumps into my head so clearly I gasp and turn around to check the stalls behind me, certain she’s going to come out of one, lean on the stall, and shake her head at me.

Instead, the door to the club bathroom bursts open, and two women stagger in. One of them wears a red dress cut well above the knee, and the other is in a tight-fitting black number that her boobs almost spill out of.

“...deploying next week.”

Mid-conversation, they don’t even spare me a glance as they slip into stalls next to each other, their conversation continuing as the doors lock into place.

“I like the one with the dark hair,” Red Dress says. “He’s got a nice smile.”

“As long as he’s got a nice dick, I don’t care,” her friend responds, and they both cackle.

They come out of their stalls at the same time, their actions synchronized. I scoot over to give them access to the sink, and Red Dress smiles at me. “Thanks.”

There’s no competition here. The number of men outweighs the women by at least three to one, which is why I chose a bar close to a military base. There are plenty of choices.

I watch as Red Dress pulls out a lipstick as bright as the fabric of her dress. We’re all wearing armor tonight.

Finally, after the women leave the restroom, I take one final look in the mirror, slip my lipstick back into my purse, and run my hands through my hair. I hardly recognize myself, which is exactly what I want.

I pull out my compact and dab powder on my forehead, my hand shaking slightly.

You don’t have to do this.

My mother’s voice cuts into my thoughts.

“But I do.” Snapping my compact shut, I take a deep breath and head out to the bar.

The bass is so loud it feels like the whole building is shaking as I make my way through the crowded dance floor to the bar.

With every step, my heart beats a little faster, but I force myself to walk slowly as if I’ve done this a hundred times before.

Spotting a stool at the end of the bar, I slip onto it and get the bartender’s attention.

I order a beer and drink it straight from the bottle. I’m not going to pretend I like cocktails. I can only fake my way through so much.

Taking a large gulp, I survey the bar. Groups of men congregate around tables, chugging back drinks and laughing too loudly. I spot the women from the bathroom laughing by the pool table with a group of men in uniform.

I see a few other women, but it’s mostly men. Their short, cropped hair and smooth jaws give them away as military. Even if I weren’t a hundred yards from a military base, I’d be able to spot them.

The young men in training make the most noise as they sling back shots.

Then there are the older men, back between deployments or working on base, drinking for a good time or to forget.

And at the other end of the bar, a man drinks alone.

He sits in shadow, nursing a beer, his gaze on the bottle.

I consider him for a moment, then turn away. Intriguing but too morose.

Taking another sip, I scan the crowd, looking for a good candidate.

I’m not sure how this works, but something tells me if I wait on my stool, I’ll find what I’m looking for.

I don’t have to wait long.

I’ve barely had half of my beer before a man approaches. He’s young—fresh out of high school would be my guess—and he staggers toward me with a huge grin on his face.

“Can I buy you a shot?”

He’s got a pleasant face, a boyish grin, and he’s wearing a skintight t-shirt. I take a sip of my beer while my heart races. This is what I wanted, isn’t it? A stranger. This is why I stopped at Fort Bragg on my way home from college.

But I’m not looking for a boy.

“Sorry,” I tell him. “I’m meeting someone.”

He nods once, and his smile turns into a resigned nod. At least he takes the rejection well. He’s probably used to it. I get the feeling he’ll ask any woman with a pulse if she wants a drink.

“Enjoy your evening.”

As I watch him stumble back to his friends, I finish the rest of my beer and consider my options. I could go to the hotel. I could wipe this makeup off, get some sleep, and drive home to Hope tomorrow. But I came here to lose my virginity, and I’m not going home until I do.

I signal to the waiter and order another beer.

There’s a commotion behind me, and I turn to find another man walking toward me.

Behind him, his friends chant words I can’t make out.

He staggers the last few steps toward me and trips on his own feet, lurching forward.

I try to swivel out of the way, but he bumps into me, spilling my beer over the bar and over my top. Laughter erupts from his friends.

“Oh shit,” the guy says. “Sorry.” The grin on his face tells me he’s not sorry at all. “I guess you’ll have to take it off.” He laughs at his own joke, and his friends pick up a new chant.

“Take it off. Take it off.”

Ignoring them, I grab a pile of napkins from the bar and dab at the beer soaking into my top.

“Come back to my place, and you can wear one of my shirts,” the man slurs, refusing to give up. He puts his arm on me, and I jerk away.

“Don’t touch me,” I hiss, causing his friends to let out a long, “Oooh.”

It seems they find his harassment hilarious. It’s a game to them, but there’s nothing funny about the spike of fear that shoots through me as the realization of my situation hits me. I’ve come to a squaddie bar to pick up a man, and every man here knows it. This was a stupid idea.

I put my almost-empty beer on the counter and slide what I owe over to the bartender. But Drunk Asshole hasn’t taken the hint. He leans an elbow on the bar, angling his body toward me. “What’s your name, beautiful?”

“Fuck off,” I hiss, and after grabbing my purse, I slide off the stool.

His expression turns from amused to anger in a flash. “No need to be a bitch about it.”

He leans in to say something, but I never learn what it is. A shadow falls over us, and a thick hand lands on the man’s arm.

“She said fuck off.”

I look up to the owner of the gruff voice and see it’s the man who was sitting on the other side of the bar.

In the light, I can see his features properly, and I like what I see.

He’s got at least a decade on the boy who spilled my drink.

Dark hair I want to run my hands through skims the top of his ears, and unlike the other men in the bar, he’s got thick stubble coating his chin.

Drawing my attention away from the newcomer, Drunk Asshole stands up straight and faces him, eyeing him for a beat before retreating. But Mystery Man grabs his arm before he can leave.

“Apologize to the lady.”

The drunk guy huffs and is about to say something but clearly thinks better of it. All the fight goes out of him. Instead, in my direction, he mumbles, “Sorry.”

“You’re a soldier,” the man admonishes him. “Act like one.”

Once he releases his hold, the man staggers back to his friends, and I look up to my savior and find dark eyes staring down at me.

“Sorry you had to go through that. It gets wild in here.”

“You don’t need to apologize for him.”

He signals over the bartender, who wipes up the spilled beer with a cloth.

“That asshole should’ve bought you a drink to replace the one he spilled.

” He catches the eye of the bartender and asks me, “You want another beer to replace the one you spilled? Or do you want to leave? I can walk you to your car if you feel unsafe.”

I run my gaze over him. He’s tall and solid, with broad shoulders. His blue t-shirt sits snug over muscular arms, and tattoos snake over his tanned skin. He doesn’t look like a typical military guy.

The shaggy haircut and facial hair are only allowed in some of the elite troop units. If he’s military, then he’s special forces like my brother, Hudson, which is why I know not to ask.

“Why would I be any safer with you?”

He nods once. “Good point. You can go out to your own car, and our man here”—he indicates the bartender—“can watch you on the security cameras to make sure you get to your car safely.”

He’s giving me a way out, and I know I should take it. I can almost hear my mom scolding me to leave. But I feel safe with him, and if I’m going to accomplish my goal, he’s the one I want to do it with.

I nod to the bartender. “I’ll take another beer, please.” The man pulls out his wallet, but I shake my head. “And I’ll pay for it.”

His gaze meets mine, and he nods again, slipping his wallet away. He understands why I don’t want a man to buy me a drink. I don’t want to feel an obligation, even though that’s what I came for.

“And one for my friend,” I add.

Mystery Man raises his eyebrows at me.

“For saving me.” I give him my first genuine smile of the night.