CHAPTER ONE
Hadleigh – U.S. Navy SEAL BUD/S Training Coronado, California – Seven Years Ago – Age 20
“I f you don’t get your fat ass out of my face and move, I will throw you in the sand, hold you down until you can’t breathe, and fuck every hole you have until you die,” a voice behind me yells his daily dose of threats in a shrill voice that rattles my eardrums.
Rand Miller, the relentless prick in my squad, is determined to break me piece by piece. With limited available spots in the Jump School phase after BUD/S training, the competition is fiercer than ever.
Being hazed is part of the training. All the guys here give me a hard time. Only Miller whispers threats of death and rape. The first time it made me want to throw up. Not unlike this brutal thirty-foot high Cargo Net climb I’m currently screwing up. I’m slowing down my classmates behind me, and Rand Miller is promising to make me pay.
I want to hate the guys here, but their take-no-prisoners, no-mercy, cold, calculating, and ruthless attitudes are features the Navy wants in a SEAL. They’re not quirky bugs they hope these maniacs will lose once they’re out of training.
This is my second time going for the Trident. The first time I made it to Hell Week. I failed out when I collapsed during a thirty-mile run in the Southern California heat after not sleeping for two days.
Other women have tried before me since they started inviting women to the challenge. No one with a uterus has made it through.
I am fucking determined to be the first.
Cherise Broussard, who Miller calls Cherry , cries out, tugging desperately at the coarsely braided climbing ropes while the instructors below curse and yell about her ineptitude. We lock eyes. She’s my competition, but we’re not enemies. We’ve got each other’s back. A win for one of us is a win for all women.
Only, the Teams don’t want us here.
Just locking gazes with Cherise fuels me to keep going and energizes me with a second wind. Despite the purposeful lack of food and sleep—a SEAL in the field might have to go days with no food or water on a rescue mission—I find the strength and power in my aching arm muscles to lift me to the next knot.
Before I know it, I’m swinging over the wall.
Going up is brutal on the legs, going down is a bitch on the arms. Mine are fucked from these drills. But I hold on.
I jump from the net, worrying I’ll twist my ankle, but these boney fuckers are strong for all the hell they’ve been through. I scurry across the Balance Logs . They are deceptively easy. But if I’m not careful, I’ll fall, hit my head, and land face down in the sand.
This damn sand. I’m still digging it out of crevices all over my body from the last class.
I know I shouldn’t stop or look back for Cherise. I need to get my fat ass to the next station. A good finish will get me off the instructors’ radar. I swear they are harder on Cherise and me.
I filed a report after the last class I went through, complaining how I’d been given impossible tasks during Hell Week while others appeared to get preferential treatment.
This class seems even harder, and I’m guessing my big mouth got me into trouble.
Hearing a grunt and a thud, I glance back at Cherise, who didn’t land as smoothly as me from the logs.
“Cher! Can you keep going?”
“My ankle is fucked. Arms still work.”
She hobbles to the Transfer Ropes, and I let her go ahead of me. But I’m trampled by two men who I kept waiting on the Cargo Net wall.
“Assholes,” I yell at them.
“I hear you like yours fucked,” one of them taunts me over his shoulder.
“Funny, I heard that about yours,” I yell, dishing it right back.
Cherise hops up, and I take the set next to her. Her ankle is fucked, but she’s strong. She makes it over and across before me.
“Go,” I tell her. “Don’t wait for me.”
“Catch up, Castille!” Cherise bravely ignores her pain to keep running.
I tune out the next few challenge areas and steel my spine for the Slide For Life, a series of platforms with no ropes and no ladders. We have to grip the ends and hoist ourselves up. Thanks to rock-hard abs, I get to the top platform, but I slam right into a wall of male flesh, reeking of sweat.
“I’ve had enough of you,” Rand Miller seethes and grabs me by the throat.
Kicking wildly, I grind out, “Let me go, motherfucker. I will kill you.”
“Yeah, I hear killing is in your blood.”
My heart spikes. Does Miller know who I really am? I don’t care at this point. My fake ID has held up for two years.
“Playing dirty also runs in my veins, asshole.” I hook my foot around his shin the right way, and down he goes, flat on his back.
Only, he catches hold of my arm and pulls me down with him. Despite his back slamming into the wood, Miller rolls us and straddles me. I draw in a sharp breath, realizing the instructors, who are busy yelling at the others, can’t see up this high.
Miller can push me off and make it look like an accident.
I punch him in the balls and push him off me to catch the rope. It’s nearly in my grasp, but he grabs my ankle and yanks me until my face hits the wood.
Fuck.
We scuffle until he’s on top of me again, yanking my pants down. “I need to know how wet this pussy is. I can’t stop thinking about fucking you. Tonight, when I get you alone, I’m gonna plow you so hard, you’ll be ringing the bell to go the fuck home once and for all.”
Shit.
“Then I’ll break all ten of your fingers so you can’t file any more reports,” he says with one hand around my throat, the other down my pants. “My father is on the Armed Services Committee. You’re not getting the Trident, bitch.”
I’m ready to scratch his eyes out, but I hear the unmistakable click of a gun.
“Get the fuck off her, Miller,” a deep voice says.
Miller lets go of my throat immediately, but his eyes go wide. “Who the fuck are you?”
“Private security.” He speaks with an Irish lilt I didn’t hear the first time he spoke.
Private security? I expected an instructor would have flown up here to see why two candidates climbed to the top and never came back down.
“Either you get off her and finish the course, or I drag you to the vice admiral with every bone in your face broken.”
Is he letting Miller finish the course?
Fucking assholes.
Miller curses and pushes off me, smacking me in the process.
The private security guy hits Miller in the back of the head with the barrel of his gun. “Touch her again and you go home in a box. Get the fuck out of my sight.”
Miller’s rage dials up, but hooting from the Rope Swing reminds him he’s on the clock.
So am I. And here I am, lying on my back trying not to pass the fuck out.
The man who stopped Miller from sexually assaulting me reaches for my hand. “You okay?”
I snap up to my feet, ignoring the help. “Save it.”
“Impressive recovery,” he says.
“Yeah,” I snort. “Now how about you apologize to that vermin you hit because of me? He’ll come after me when I’m asleep.”
Cherise and I have our own barrack, but even if we shared with the men, twenty guys in the same room wouldn’t stop Miller from attacking me.
“Then he and I will have a chat later.” The guard’s husky brogue runs through me like an electrical current.
God, that voice. My body is ready to betray me. I’m sleep, food, and water deprived, but my pussy is purring out of nowhere for this guy. Must be some sick survival instinct.
“Good luck with that.” Wiping the sweat from my eyes, I finally take him in. All of him.
Holy shit. At six-foot-something with broad shoulders, and a brutally handsome face, he could be a SEAL. “Who are you?” I nearly stumble back and fall off the platform.
He grabs me and pulls me into his chest. “Don’t worry who I am. Just know I’m here to protect you, Lieutenant Castille.”
I breathe in his scent. The spicy cologne is a nice change from the perpetual smell of bitter sweat that lingers on every gust of warm wind. I’m sure I smell pretty bad, too, but it looks like this guy doesn’t mind. “Never saw you before.”
“That’s on purpose,” he drawls. “The regional command knows there have been issues during these classes.”
Issues? That’s what they’re calling them?
The way the men treat me and Cherise are more than an issue , but I’m shocked someone at command cares.
“What’s your name?” I ask him.
His cheek twitches. “Why?”
“When Miller rapes me later, I want to call out another man’s name to enrage him a little more.” I brush past the guard, calculating all the points I’ll lose when I blow the twelve-minute finish time.
I hop off the platform and slide to finish the exercise, leaving behind the hottest man I ever laid eyes on.
***
T WO HOURS LATER, I stand on the beach, wet, shaking, and sick to my stomach. Over the crashing waves, I hear EMS divers shouting.
When someone grabs me from behind, I take a swing, wrecked and on the edge of a breakdown.
“It’s me.” Cherise pins down my arms.
Damn her strength. I never knew just how strong she was. And I’m too weak to fight her after the day I had.
“What happened to your raft?” Cherise asks, watching Technical Rescue search for Rand Miller near the rocks.
After the obstacle course, he and I were paired up for a two-man boat exercise in the rough surf.
“Um.” I’m still in shock and can’t voice what actually happened. What I did.
My brain hasn’t caught up. Blackness clouds my vision and my shallow breaths won’t fill my lungs.
Cherise hands me some water. “What happened on that raft with Miller? He sounded extra agitated after completing the obstacle course.”
Wiping the sand from my lips I try to drink the water, but my hands won’t stop shaking.
“Hadleigh, please. You can trust me.”
I hate not knowing if that’s true. Cherise just turned twenty-eight, the top age limit to attend BUD/S. This is her last shot, I can’t mess up her head.
At twenty, I can try again. My recruiter said he’ll make sure I’m invited to every challenge. He wants bragging rights that he recruited the first woman SEAL.
“First, I need you to know,” I choke out. “This doesn’t really have anything to do with it.”
Softly, I tell Cherise what happened on the platform, the fight, the threats, and the hot Irish guard who stopped me from becoming a statistic. Even if that security guard wasn’t there, Miller wasn’t getting into my pants unless he punched me and knocked me out.
“Who was the guard?” Cherise asks, sounding like she’d never seen him either.
Although now I can’t imagine how I could have missed seeing a man so utterly stunning. Even with brain fog.
I glance behind me. “He said we’re not supposed to know they’re around. Cher, we’re not the first women to be threatened here.”
“Where is he now?”
“Back in the shadows, I guess.” I brush my arms.
When pain radiates up my bicep from the obstacle course and Miller’s blows, I yank my hand away and notice a large, dark bruise forming on my skin.
Evidence... My motive...
“What happened on that surf challenge?” Cherise asks me like an interrogator, calm and smooth.
After a breath, I close my eyes and start spilling. “He stuck me in the back of the raft, so I had to do all the steering. The waves were so rough. My arms were ready to fall off. The salt was stinging my eyes. I didn’t see those sharp rocks at the southern basin until it was too late. Miller tried to push me into the water, and I know that’s not part of the drill. I fought back and we overturned. I saw his hands and thought he was swimming toward me. I swam away, fearing for my life.”
Cherise gawks at the ominous waves. “The undertow there is deadly.”
“No kidding,” I bark and open my eyes to look around, but neither the instructors nor the Masters-at-Arms standing nearby on the beach notice.
“Did you drive your raft right into the rocks?” Cherise asks me point-blank.
“I tried my best, but he wasn’t helping. At all. I’m convinced he wanted us to crash.” And I knew in my bones he’d let me drown.
But me giving up and letting us crash was no accident. The Greek rage that flows through my family’s veins rose up in me. It was purely self-defense. Only, I’m here on the beach, and Miller might have drowned instead.
I swam to the shore and called out for help. One of the master chiefs sent the dive team to look for Miller. With no body cameras and no one else in the raft, it’s his word against mine— if he’s recovered. There’s a strict code of honor here, commanders and instructors would never for a minute suspect foul play.
EMS treated me for hypothermia and saltwater poisoning while I vomited and explained what happened, no further questions asked.
When they saw I was fine, they rushed into the water to save Miller. Me, forgotten.
“What are they saying back at The Center?” I ask, my stomach feeling queasy again.
Cherise stares warily at the crowd forming on the shoreline. “I’m like you, I don’t socialize with these—”
“Don’t... They’re not all bad.” I respect these guys and don’t take their hazing personally.
In fairness, they haze each other just as much. Miller is a bad seed who sullies the guys because they don’t call him out on his extra vile shit against me and Cherise.
“Cher, this is taking too long. Do you think he’s dead?”
She opens her mouth but steps away with her hands behind her back. “Sir.”
A senior instructor gives me a once-over. “You’re looking a little pale again, Lieutenant. Go to medical. Broussard, escort her.”
“Yes, sir.” I spin around and fight to stay vertical as I walk off the beach. “What do I do, Cher?” I ask, grabbing her hand.
Forcibly, she says, “Do not tell anyone what you told me about the waves and the rocks.”
Those words anchor into my soul. The secret I’ll take to my grave. One more fuck-up like today, that’s where I’m headed.
Passing the chow hall, a crowd of candidates watches us with judgment, loathing, and the fiery passion for revenge in their tired eyes.
“Listen up,” Goodwin, one of the commanders, bellows in front of the coffee station. “We will be pausing instruction to take care of some internal business. As of now, you’re all off duty. Be back here tomorrow at 0600 to resume training.”
Eyes race to me, but quickly they turn back to their brothers, stunned looks on their faces. Others like me, who’ve been through this phase, have never gotten some kind of break.
“That’s not a good sign.” Cherise steers me to the medical building.
I’m briefly checked out and sent away with a couple of stomach soothers in a plastic sleeve.
“I need something stronger,” I say, chewing the tablets.
“I saw a great dive bar on the way here.” Cherise raps stubby fingernails on her sunburned cheek.
I need to get lost in loud music and strong whiskey. I finger the loose, saltwater strands of my bleached hair that’s not seen a blow-dryer in two years.
“Did you pack makeup by any chance, Cher?”
“No, but I know where we can get a nice glow-up.”
***
A FTER SECURITY CHECKS , we’re let off the base. Cherise and I find a salon where we get our hair washed with real shampoo. A sweet stylist blows out my long blonde hair and crimps it into sexy waves.
When one of the stylists offers to do makeup for me, I stare at myself during the transformation. A piece of the old me peeks through. I gasp, liking the blonde I had to secretly keep bleaching all these years for the first time.
Dressed in a newly purchased denim mini skirt and white tank top that pops off my olive skin, I step into the dive bar with Cherise next to me, who looks fab in a yellow sundress. I’m technically underage, but no one gives a fuck in a place like this.
I’m not there for five minutes when a pair of midnight blue eyes finds me from across the bar. My heart skips a beat.
“Cher, that’s him.” I motion to the guard from the obstacle course. “The guy who stopped Miller from attacking me on the platform.”
“Jesus,” she mutters, her jaw dropping at the sight of him.
With my head clear, I soak in his features to another degree. And that degree is scorching hot. He’s a stunning example of male masculinity. I look at SEAL candidates all day long and thought I’d be numb to another perfect male form.
Nope. Not this one.
A private security guard is forbidden. I like a challenge. That gets my juices flowing.
His square jaw, muscular tattooed forearms, thick thighs, and full head of wavy, rumpled auburn hair have heat flooding my cheeks. His cheeks are sculpted with old-school wide sideburns connecting to a neatly-trimmed golden-brown beard. He’s in a black-as-night V-neck waffle shirt that hugs his body and mine heats up for the first time in hours.
After a thorough once-over, I see a silver braided chain around his neck and most importantly, there’s no ring on his finger. I have just one thought.
Mine.
I thought I needed alcohol tonight to forget about Rand Miller. No, I need me some of that. Although, I doubt he’d be interested in me. I’m one step away from being a cavewoman. But from across the room, he catches me staring.
Raising his glass, he smiles at me. And doesn’t look at all surprised that I’m here. He must have heard about the accident and the rare twelve hours off we were given.
I think that’s it, that’s all I’ll get, a smile and a collaborative good riddance to Rand Miller, who I heard left in an ambulance with the status: condition unknown . He probably died and, in some way, it’s my fault.
Right now, I don’t give a flying fuck.
My sexy guard kicks the chair out next to him in an invite. I crack what I remember is a smile. I haven’t smiled in months. Or is it years?
“He’s calling me over there, Cher.” I try to act cool and am surely failing.
“Go.” She nudges me, but whispers in my ear, “Remember, do not say a word about Miller.”
The way the guard licks his lips, watching me saunter to his table, it looks like I’ll be calling out this guy’s name tonight after all...