Auctioned to the SEAL (Sold to the Naughtier List #7)

Chapter 1

Wyatt

The wind slices across the training yard hard enough to make the scar under my ribs tighten.

“Jesus, Saint,” Jackson “Tex” Briggs mutters from behind me, his Southern drawl exaggerated as his breath fogs in the cold.

He’s been in Montana for years, but the accent survived Hell Week, Kandahar, and three deployments—hence the callsign he’ll take to the grave.

“You look like your lung is trying to file for divorce.”

“It already left me,” I grunt. “Didn’t leave a note.”

Tex snorts. “You’re hilarious. Truly. America weeps for the loss of your comedic talent.”

Sawyer “Tank” Granger’s loud, unfiltered laugh booms across the yard—the way it used to be before a roadside bomb gave him a reason to stop laughing for a while.

Man’s built like a brick wall and twice as stubborn; Tank wasn’t just a callsign—it was a warning label. It’s good to hear that laugh again.

“You two bicker like an old married couple,” he rumbles.

“Shut up,” Tex and I say simultaneously.

Tank’s mouth splits his beard as he grins wider. He’s enjoying this way too much.

We’re supposed to be doing low-impact drills—doctor’s orders—but none of us are built for “low-impact” anything. The three of us were a team. A unit. Then two bullets ripped through my side, punching air out of a lung and color out of the world. Tex and Tank hauled me out of that mess.

They’re the reason I’m still breathing.

We look up as Henry Sutton strides across the yard. Henry has a three-month-old son now, and somehow he still looks like he could bench-press a tractor. The man has the face of a stone angel and the protective instincts of a pissed-off grizzly bear.

He nods at us. “Boys.”

“Boss man,” Tank says.

“Daddy of the Year,” Tex adds.

Henry’s mouth twitches. That’s basically his equivalent of a belly laugh. “I need a favor.”

Every hair on my neck stands up. Henry Sutton does not ask for favors lightly.

“A favor?” I echo.

Henry looks right at me.

Not at Tank.

Not at Tex.

At me.

My stomach drops. “Oh, hell no.”

“You don’t even know what I’m asking.”

“I can feel the trouble radiating off you like heatstroke.”

Tank whistles. “This is gonna be good.”

Henry crosses his arms. “It’s about Shay.”

That gets all three of us standing straighter. Shay’s family now. The kind you bleed for.

“She okay?” Tex asks.

“She’s fine.” Henry shifts his weight. “But… she’s worried about someone.”

That softens us even more.

Shay worrying is like the sun blinking—it doesn’t happen unless something is seriously wrong.

Henry exhales, bracing himself. “An old school friend reached out. Someone Shay knew years ago.”

“This friend… she’s in trouble?” Tank asks.

“Yes,” Henry says. “But she’s proud. Too proud to accept help directly, too smart to say what’s actually going on. All we know is she needs a place to lie low for a while.”

He looks at me as if he’s weighing my soul.

It puts something cold and familiar in my gut.

Then he says, “Shay wants her safe. And I’ll do anything for my wife.”

Tank mutters, “Whipped.”

Henry glares. Tank shuts up.

Something stirs in my chest.

Not sympathy. Something older. Sharper. A tug in scar tissue that remembers what it’s like to be too late.

I cross my arms. “And you’re telling me this because…?”

Henry steps closer. “Shay asked me to talk to you specifically.”

My stomach drops. “Henry—”

“You understand what it feels like to lose someone because you couldn’t get there in time.”

My breath stops halfway through my lungs.

The memory hits hard—the call I didn’t answer in time, the name I heard too late, the truth that I was halfway around the world while she died alone.

Henry lowers his voice. “I know you carry that.”

My jaw tightens. I look away because the alternative is letting him see everything I keep locked down.

“And I know,” he adds, “you won’t ever let it happen to someone else if you can help it.”

There it is. The truth I never say out loud.

I swallow hard. “What do you need?”

Henry doesn’t smile, but his eyes ease. “There’s an auction tomorrow night.”

Tank winces. “Oh, no.”

Tex groans. “Here we go.”

Henry continues, “Shay put her friend in touch with Marlie’s Angels. She wants out of her life, and this is her only way to do it without drawing attention.”

Another cold tug in my chest. I don’t know her, but something in me reacts anyway.

“She needs someone trustworthy to bid on her. Someone safe.”

Safe.

I don’t feel safe. But I know how to be safe for someone else.

Henry meets my eyes. “Shay wants her protected. Nothing more.”

My ribs ache—not from the cold or the scar tissue, but from the way this is already rearranging something inside me.

I stare at him. “You want me to… buy her?”

Henry shakes his head. “It’s not ownership. It’s a contract that guarantees her a safe landing place with a vetted man. No pressure. No obligation. Not binding. Just… protection.”

“You’re asking a lot.”

“It’s what Angus and Tom did for Shay last year. And look how that turned out.”

Tank grins. “Happily ever after with a baby.”

Tex nods. “And a goat. Don’t forget the goat.”

Henry, Angus, and Tom Sutton—all ex-SEALs—are the reason Tank, Tex, and I are here.

Aside from being a working ranch, Havenridge is home to the veterans’ program—a safe place for former military men struggling with PTSD, injuries, survivor’s guilt, and the harsh reality of returning to a world that no longer feels like home.

I rub a hand over my face. “I’m not looking to take care of anyone. Not in that way.”

Henry meets my eyes. “We’re not talking marriage. Just safety. A way out. A place to breathe. Shay will feel better knowing her friend isn’t alone.”

And then he pulls the one card guaranteed to hit bone: “She doesn’t need a hero. She needs a shield.”

It lands somewhere deep and bruised inside me.

Tank says, “I’m going. You going, Tex?”

“Hell, yeah.”

I scowl. “Don’t—”

Tank claps my injured shoulder. “Wyatt’s going too.”

“No.”

Tex smirks. “He’s going.”

“Absolutely not.”

Tex leans his hip against the fence and folds his arms. “Wyatt. Buddy. Pal. Brother in arms. Miserable bastard we tolerate out of habit—”

“Not going.”

Tank nods seriously. “Emotional blackmail it is.”

I blink. “Excuse me?”

Tank raises an eyebrow. “Brother, we literally dragged your bleeding carcass through gunfire.”

“And you apologized while you were dying,” Tex adds.

“I wasn’t dying,” I mutter.

“You were definitely dying,” Tank says. “You said, and I quote, ‘Tell my houseplants I’m sorry for abandoning them.’”

“I was drugged out of my mind.”

“You don’t even own houseplants,” Tex reminds me.

“I have one,” I shoot back. “Not my fault the others died.”

They look at each other like I’ve just proved their point.

Tank taps my chest with two fingers. “Come on, Saint. This is literally your thing.”

“My thing?” I echo.

“Protecting strays, lost souls, and anyone who looks at you with big eyes,” Tank says. “You earned that callsign fair and square.”

Tex sobers a little. “This auction… It’s not like the shit we saw overseas. It’s good.”

“It’s not,” Henry agrees. “It’s… good. Real good. Women who need out, men who’ll give ’em a fair shot. A fresh start. Safety.”

Tex inhales deeply, breath clouding in the cold. “Yeah. When shit goes sideways, like it did for us, you start thinking about what matters. Someone to come home to. Someone to build something with. My sister’s got that. So do the Suttons. Hell, why can’t we?”

Tank’s eyes soften in a way he’d punch me for pointing out. “It’s been almost two years since the blast,” he says quietly, glancing toward the mountains. “Maybe… I don’t want to spend the rest of my life in a cabin, drinking coffee and pretending I don’t want more.”

My chest tightens. Tank doesn’t talk about that day. Or about wanting anything.

He slaps Tex’s shoulder. “So… why not go? One night. Maybe meet someone who wants a new start as much as we do.”

Tex nods. “Doesn’t have to be anything. Just… possibility.”

Even now, they move like they’re still in formation.

I look between them—two men who held me together when bullets tried to break me.

Two men who’ve carried their own bruises in silence.

Two men who, for the first time since we crawled out of hell, look like they’re finally admitting they want something real.

And damn if that doesn’t punch a hole straight through my armor.

“It’s not even dangerous,” Tex reasons. “It’s a matchmaking auction, not the Hunger Games.”

Tank adds, “Come on, man. You can stand in the back and scowl at inappropriate men. You’re good at scowling. It’s your primary hobby. We’ll even take separate vehicles so you can leave early and go brood somewhere.”

“I don’t brood.”

They stare at me.

I cross my arms. “Much.”

“Accept the emotional blackmail,” Tank says. “Embrace it.”

I exhale through my teeth.

My side throbs like it wants to vote to go back to my cabin and never speak to anyone again.

But every excuse I reach for collapses under the look in Henry’s eyes.

I sigh. “Fine. I’ll go.”

Henry gives me a nod like I’ve just been knighted. “Thank you, Wyatt. You’re her safe place. Nothing more.”

I grunt.

A cold question curls in my gut: what the hell have I agreed to?

This feels like volunteering to reopen an old wound.

But I get in my truck the next night anyway.