BEAST: A Bad Boy Marine Romance (21 page)

She pulled a fistful of her hair and rocked her head back on the cot. “No, please don’t leave me here. You found me. You said you could save me. You came back! Come back and save me tonight! I’ll be ready. I know you can.” She rubbed her skin.

Hell if I was just going to lie there and watch her rock herself back and forth, like she was in some mental institute. She needed someone to comfort her, hold her, and tell her that her nightmare would be over soon. I took her in my arms and flipped her on top of me. She nestled her head on my chest. “I won’t let you down, Annie. I will get you out of here and back to your family. I would do anything to save you today, but I can’t. I promise you I’ll spend every moment figuring how to get you back to your family.”

She let out a pained breath. “Please, Patrick. Please, take me tonight. I need to go home. You don’t understand. We have to get out. I’m going to die here. I can’t take another day in this life. I’ll do anything you ask.”

She attempted to kiss my neck, but I pulled away and sat up, holding her to my side.

“I have to leave. But I have something for you.” I rummaged through my pocket and retrieved the necklace, and placed it around her neck.

She gasped as if it was expensive jewelry, not a cheap fake gold chain with an anchor charm. I hoped if her pimps figured it had no value, she’d be more likely to be allowed to keep it.

I stroked her forehead. “Every time you look at it, know that I’m working on extracting you. You aren’t invisible—you’re invincible. I know you’re alive. I know your name. You’ve survived this long and I will get you out of here.” My pulse raced and I was disgusted with myself for being attracted to her in her present state. Her vulnerability was like a sword in the chest and a shot to my dick. I wanted to both protect her and fuck her and it was a combination, which could get both of us killed.

Her voice cracked. “Please, take me. You said yourself you have a few hours ‘til you leave. Just go get your guns and buddies and save me. I’ll do anything.” Her hand reached in between my legs and she stroked my cock over my jeans. “Don’t leave me here. I shouldn’t be here. You don’t understand. It’s not just—”

I firmly moved her hands off my pants. “Don’t, Annie. You don’t ever have to touch me again. You don’t owe me anything—saving you is my only mission now. I’m sorry, but I have to go.”

“Patrick!” She started looking desperate, clutching me now. “Promise me you’ll tell Chris I didn’t kill myself. And my parents that I love them.”

“You’ll be able to say whatever you want to your boyfriend and your parents yourself. Soon.” I never made promises I couldn’t keep. And if I couldn’t save Annie, if she died and I couldn’t get her home safely, I’d never be able to forgive myself.

Her body was shaking. “What if I’m not here when you come back? What if they trade me?”

Fuck it. My hands clutched her body in a tight embrace. I wished she could read my mind and trust that once I committed to something, nothing would come in the way of achieving my goal. “I will find you. No matter what.”

I
pushed her off me
, and rolled off the cot. I pressed one hundred dollars into her hand, opened the door, then walked out of her room, and out of the brothel. Staying any longer would arouse suspicion, and I couldn’t fuck this up for Annie.

Every step I took away from her tore me up inside. Why should I be safe when she was stuck here turning tricks? Hadn’t she been through enough hell for a lifetime? I should’ve knocked out her pimp and carried Annie to safety. But a hasty plan like that could get us both killed. I needed to be patient to ensure the success of my mission.

I
PACED
AROUND THE LIVING quarters of our ship as we set sail back to San Diego. I couldn’t focus on anything except saving Annie.

I pulled Vic and Kyle into an empty rec room away from the rest of our Team.

Vic sat down in a chair. “Dude, what’s going on with you?”

I stared at the drab gray walls, hesitating to tell them.

Kyle glared at me. “Spill it, Walsh.” Kyle was a complete badass. He was one of only a handful of African-American men on the Teams, and unlike Vic and me, he was an officer. He’d been a linebacker in the NFL, and had been recruited through a joint partnership with the NFL and the Navy Special Warfare programs. Kyle gave up all that fame and money to join the Teams. There was a saying once on our recruiting posters, something like,
He’ll never win MVP, never get a Super Bowl ring—some heroes don’t play games.
Kyle was the living embodiment of that quote.

I didn’t want to speak. So I logged into the common computer and pulled up a website on Annie.

Kyle focused on the screen. “Yeah, Annie Hamilton. Everyone knows about her. Fine as fuck. Got drunk and vanished from a resort out here. I bet her stoner boyfriend killed her. What’s your point?”

I took a deep breath. “She gave me a blowjob last night at a brothel.”

Kyle laughed. “Sure she did.”

Vic shook his head at me, probably not sure whether or not I was joking. “Fuck you, man. She’s someone’s daughter. That’s not funny.”

“I’m not laughing. I didn’t want to believe it either. She was fucking kidnapped and forced into sex slavery. I went to a brothel last night and this chick gave me head. Afterwards, she said her name was Annie Hamilton. I thought she was trying to con me, but it’s fucking her: hazel eyes, Californian accent. And she made a point to show me her shoulder scar and ankle tattoo. Here, look at the pics.” I handed Kyle my phone and he scrolled through the pictures while Vic looked on.

“I went back today to be one hundred percent sure. I’d fucking bet my Budweiser on it.”

The room fell silent. We didn’t joke about “The Budweiser,” our trident, our Navy Insignia. It was pinned on every Navy SEAL, after completing the BUD/S training,

K
yle put
his hand on my shoulder. “You’re serious. You fucking think you found Annie Hamilton in a Aruban whorehouse?”

“She’s pretty wrecked, but she’s alive. A heroin junkie barely holding on. It’s a miracle she’s survived these last five years. Now, how are we going to get her out?”

Vic shook his head. “You fucked a hooker? That’s low, even for you, Walsh. Go tell Captain Marshall. You realize you’re going to get charged for solicitation.”

“Shut your fucking cock holster. Who the fuck do you think you are telling me what to do? You’re not my sea daddy. Of course I know I can get charged, but I don’t give a shit. We need to save her. We’re fucking SEALs. No one else is going to do it. Don’t you see? I was meant to be on this deployment, this SEAL Team. To rescue her. But we aren’t going to tell Captain Marshall—or anyone else on the Team, for that matter. The Navy would have to go through the proper channels. It’s too risky. There have been sightings of her before and no one did shit. I’m going to rescue her. You going to help me? Or you going to fucking rat my ass out?”

Kyle didn’t hesitate. “I’m in.”

Vic bit his lip. “So am I.” I knew Vic would help, even though he liked to follow protocol.

Kyle put his hand on my back. “Yup. Not even worried. These dumbasses are jokes compared to the guys we usually deal with.”

He was right. I’d been in firefights with the Taliban, overtaken Somali pirates, and offed members of drug cartels. A low-grade Caribbean white-slavery ring didn’t scare me.

W
e had
two weeks at sea to come up with a plan before we arrived back in San Diego. The second my feet touched the ground on shore, I was going to hop on the next flight to Aruba. She’d survived five years. I’d never forgive myself if I couldn’t bring her home to her family, home to the United States. What was the point of being called a hero if I couldn’t save her? It didn’t matter that rescuing her wasn’t an official mission. She was my mission.

M
Y MIND RACED
. HE WASN’T coming back. He had left me. Another man who used and abandoned me, but even worse, he’d given me false hope. He knew I was whom I said I was, the hell I’d been through, and he had just left me here.

It had been more than two weeks. The longest weeks of my life—even longer than the first weeks I had gone missing. Back then, I had been slipping in and out of consciousness so I hadn’t even been aware of my surroundings. I didn’t know who or where I was, drugs shooting through my veins.

Why did he have to come back and give me hope? I didn’t want to believe him, be let down again by another man. But what choice did I have?

I crept into the bathroom and turned on the shower. The lukewarm water beaded down my body, highlighting my scars. How much longer could I go on like this? I wondered what Patrick was doing at this precise moment. Was he thinking of me, planning my rescue? Or was he partying somewhere with his buddies, paying for another whore to service him? Why did I believe him? This was a man who paid for sex in a whorehouse. Sure, all men had needs, but I didn’t know if I could ever respect a man who used a woman for sex, knowing she was a living corpse with no control over her body or life.

Patrick was nothing like the men I’d known before I was kidnapped. He was rugged, masculine, and unfiltered. My father was a proud and honorable man. He and my mom had been married for twenty-six years and he always treated her and me with such love and respect. He prided himself on having the perfect wife, the perfect daughter—how did I even fit into that picture anymore? I shuddered and it wasn’t from the now ice-cold water. Thinking of the immense pain my father must be experiencing, unable to find his daughter, almost seemed worse than enduring my daily grind.

I’d had a boyfriend at the time I vanished. Chris was a marine biology major, and a world-class surfer. And Patrick said he’d been a suspect in my supposed murder? My careless decision to leave my room at dawn to take pictures ruined his life too. I’m sure he’d moved on now, not that I could blame him. Who would ever want me knowing I had been with hundreds of men? Even if I came back, I couldn’t really see his parents accepting me into their family; a smack-addicted whore doesn’t belong at the yacht club.

I scrubbed my body with the soap, until my skin was almost raw. Sometimes when I came down from a high, my skin burned and itched and I wanted to gouge it off my body. No matter how much I scoured and cleansed, I felt so dirty.

The steam filled the room and I exited the shower. Within an hour, I’d be back on the line, waiting for my next john.

I hated sex. Hated it. I could never learn to enjoy it again. It had even become more painful after Patrick had returned. Every time a man touched me, I wanted to vomit.

I’d give him a month or two. If he didn’t come back for me, I needed to consider my options. Ha—back when I was younger, the word options to me meant travel, colleges, cars, jobs. Today, the only options I had available to me were to continue to live this miserable life, or to end it all. I couldn’t go on like this forever.

But I had a reason to live. A reason to hope. And for now, that was enough to keep me going.