Saved by the SEALs: A Military Reverse Harem Romance

by Cassie Cole

  We stood quietly while the chief explained our mission in fine detail. When he was done, we stared blankly at him in disbelief.

  “Bro,” Hunter said. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

  44

  Karen

  I stirred eggs in a pan while rice boiled in a pot, added salsa, and then dumped it all onto a plate. The kitchen table was too big and lonely, so I carried my meal into the living room. The view outside the window was beautiful; the building next door was only one story whereas mine was two, so I could see above it and into the park beyond. I wanted to open the window and sit on the edge, but I’d been told to stay back in case anyone saw me.

  I felt alone.

  I’d been with one of the three SEALs throughout this entire experience. Now there was nobody with me—just me by myself. It was a stark difference. And even though I logically knew I was safer in the safe house, I wished I was with my three new lovers on their mission if only to stay close to them.

  I got up, searched for alcohol, gave up, and then went back to eat my food by the window.

  Spanish television was bad. I watched about an hour of dubbed-over Friends before turning it off and climbing into my bed. Instantly my muscles relaxed. I was shockingly tired, which was probably because I hadn’t slept well while Logan guarded a terrorist from bed last night, and the night before that I slept in the lobby of a hotel at the Port of Barcelona. I closed my eyes and pretended my lovers were in the other room playing cards or something.

  It didn’t work.

  I wondered what they were doing right now. Probably flying on a helicopter somewhere outside the city, dropping in on the leaders of the CLF while they plotted the attack that would probably take place tomorrow. But that led to thoughts of them getting shot at, so I shook my head and tried to think of more pleasant things.

  They just left me here.

  I knew why. They had to, obviously. But I still felt like I’d been abandoned without so much as a proper goodbye. Logan had practically rushed out of the safe house after putting the tracker around my neck.

  As much as I enjoyed playing hideout with three gorgeous Navy SEALs, I had to accept the ultimate truth: that I was a burden to them. A liability. Extra baggage slowing them down every step of the way.

  The safest thing for them was to cut me loose.

  Tears welled in my eyes as I wondered if I would ever see them again. Once their mission was complete, would the CIA agent appear and lead me to the Madrid airport, putting me on a plane back to the United States? There were few reasons for the three SEALs to come back.

  I slept in fits, with bad dreams about them getting hurt. I relived a dream of Logan getting shot in the chest at Jack’s apartment, and of Hunter triggering the bomb at their apartment. Cairo stared at me with those amber eyes of his and all I saw was annoyance.

  I woke up to sun shining through my window. It was a beautiful day for the festival.

  Ignoring the tears on my pillow, I got up and showered. I didn’t know when I would suddenly be whisked out of the safe house, but I wanted to be clean and dressed when it happened.

  But once I did that, I had nothing else to do.

  I made some oatmeal for breakfast and then talked myself into opening the window in the living room. I sat 10 feet away from it and enjoyed the fresh air that wafted inside, bringing with it the sound of festival patrons and musical instruments playing throughout the city, even though it was still early in the day. From my narrow view I could see a wide street full of streamers and string lights, with special fans that sprayed mist on the pedestrians to keep them cool.

  I hoped that SEAL Team 13, the Lucky 13th, would be successful. That they would stop the CLF terrorists and nobody would get hurt on this beautiful day, in this beautiful city.

  But most of all, I hoped they would come back to me. Even if it was just for a final goodbye before I never saw them again.

  A knock came at the front door.

  I jerked so hard my oatmeal spilled all over the ground, the bowl rolling back and forth on the hardwood floor. Who would be visiting me? Nobody. This was a safe house. No one was even supposed to know I was here.

  Then the more obvious thought hit me: what are they knocking on?

  I rose and went to the hall. The front door was boarded up, the door sealed into the frame. I wondered if I was imagining it, but then it came again, KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK, three individual knocks rather than a rapid staccato. It was almost like someone nailing a picture frame into a wall.

  Footsteps silent, I walked down the hall to the former-entrance. There was no peep-hole to look through, and I couldn’t see anything under the door since it was sealed. I slowly pressed my ear against the horizontal wooden plank, hoping I could hear something outside. What did the door look like on the other side? I had assumed it was also boarded up, or even filled in with bricks and mortar so nobody would even know it was there. Clearly that wasn’t the case.

  Maybe it was the CLF. Maybe it was someone who was lost in the building. Maybe maybe maybe.

  Whoever it had been must have left, for there were no additional knocks. I didn’t hear anything at all outside the door—not a footstep, not a rustle, not even a nervous cough.

  I tip-toed back down the hall to clean up the oatmeal, annoyed and a little unnerved by the situation.

  A man stood in the living room.

  It caught me off guard for a couple of reasons. I didn’t believe there could be someone in the living room, so it took my brain two long seconds to even acknowledge him. But there was another reason I remained paralyzed with confusion.

  It was a man I knew.

  “You…” I dredged my memory for his name. He was handsome and thin, and wore all black. Just like he’d worn at the club that night, when he put a roofie in my beer. When he got in a fight with Cairo and Hunter.

  “Phillip?”

  He raised a gun at me and covered his mouth with a finger.

  He smiled.

  45

  Hunter

  This is fucking bullshit.

  We walked through Madrid in plain clothes, strapped only with our P226 pistols concealed underneath our coats. The festival was in full swing, children and adults alike running around in elaborate facial masks painted in vibrant shades of red, green, and yellow. Huge life-sized puppets of various Spanish monarchs from history bobbed up and down, controlled by the long sticks their puppeteers waved and twisted and pulled. I didn’t recognize any of them, but then again, I knew jack shit about Spanish history.

  “This is bullshit,” I said, turning my thoughts into words. “And you know it, LC.”

  “For once, I have to agree with Hunter,” Cairo said. “We’re a strike team. Not security guards.”

  I’d known Logan long enough to tell he was just as pissed off as we were. But as the Lieutenant Commander of SEAL Team 13, he couldn’t complain.

  “We don’t have any solid CLF targets,” he said patiently. Like he was convincing himself, not just us. “If we did, we’d be attacking them right now. This is how we’re most helpful.”

  “We’ve got a whole carrier full of grunts in the Mediterranean. Why not let them do the bullshit work and save us for the important shit?”

  Logan paused in the middle of the crowded square and rounded on me. “Stow the attitude, Kershaw. I’m sick of listening to you bitch.”

  I managed a bitter, “Copy that, LC,” through gritted teeth.

  We continued on our patrol through the festival. Most of the streets in the central part of Madrid were closed to vehicle traffic, and now they were crammed with pedestrians. We passed delicious-smelling food stalls and chocolate carts, and dozens of stalls selling trinkets for the festival: paper masks, noisemakers, and small sparklers like the kind I used to wave on the 4th of July back home. Spaced every 20 or 30 feet were misting fans, oscillating while spraying the crowd with cool mist. It was going to be a hot day, and heat stroke was always a problem at events like these.

&nbs
p; All the while, we kept our eyes scanning for anything suspicious. Buildings towered four stories on either side of the street, with enough windows that it would have been an easy ambush. Every time a window opened I stopped and put my hand on my pistol, even though each time it was just someone harmless. I didn’t like walking around looking for potential threats. It was a total waste of our time and skill.

  But I did my job. As much as a guy like me enjoyed bitching out loud, I did my job as thoroughly as I could. There were so many families enjoying themselves, women and children and dads who chased them while laughing. People who were innocent and carefree.

  The mission might have sucked, but we had to keep them safe. They were all sitting ducks if the CLF decided to attack the sprawling festival.

  That’s what made it so frustrating. Because I was helpless. The festival took up a chunk of the city eight blocks wide. We couldn’t defend the entire area from an attack. Neither could the hundreds of Madrid Police who were also on patrol.

  “How was your two days in the barn?” Logan asked.

  I walked through a misting fan and sighed as the water cooled the right side of my face. “I thought you told me to stow it, sir.”

  “I told you to stow the attitude. Don’t be a smartass.”

  “Our stay was fine,” Cairo answered for me. “Not as nice as Sofia’s palace, but…”

  “Yeah, how was your trip?” I asked with more than a little attitude. I wanted to see if he’d reveal to us what had happened between him and Karen. “You guys have a good time?”

  “Sofia was a lovely host, as always. No caviar this time, though.”

  “And Mallorca?” I added.

  Logan scanned a side-street and shrugged without looking back at me. “Mallorca wasn’t much to write home about. Didn’t get to do much before we were attacked.”

  “Right, right. Did Karen enjoy herself?”

  “She was fine.”

  “F-I-N-E fine,” I said. “Karen’s a hot little thing. I’m surprised you were able to resist her charm, LC.”

  I waited for his response. I didn’t know what I would do if he lied. It would crush the trust I had for him. I’d probably call him on it instantly. I didn’t have much discretion for those sorts of things.

  But Logan turned to me and said, “Who said I resisted her?”

  “Oh shit!” I punched him in the shoulder. “You mean you actually let loose for once?”

  “How’d it happen?” Cairo asked. “Did you write her a poem?”

  “Unlike you two fucksticks, I’m a gentleman, Logan said. “And a gentleman doesn’t tell.”

  “Fuck yeah!” I said, which drew a few glances from the crowd. I put my arm around Logan. “I knew you had it in you, LC.”

  Cairo frowned. “Why are you so excited?”

  “It’s less weird when it’s all of us,” I said. “Going forward, we don’t have anything to feel awkward about.”

  “What do you mean, going forward?” Cairo pointed out.

  I didn’t want to accept that our time with Karen was nearing an end. I rubbed the back of my neck and said, “I dunno. I was thinking about all of this…”

  Logan stopped in mid-stride and held up a hand to signal us to stop. I put my hand on my weapon and gazed around the road, which was filled with children shouting and playing. One of them bumped into Logan’s leg. He didn’t notice.

  “LC?” I called. “What’s up?”

  When he turned, I realized he was looking at his phone. “I just got an alert.”

  “What kind of alert? From Madrid PD?” Cairo asked. “Do they have a target for us?”

  “It’s Karen,” he said. There was dread in his voice and fear in his eyes. “She just left the safe house.”

  46

  Karen

  I stood in the living room, paralyzed with confusion. Seeing Phillip there broke my brain long enough for him to aim a gun. Then he lunged at me, clamping his hand over my mouth before I could scream.

  There wasn’t much of a struggle. He pinned me with his weight, and then traded his gun for a knife. “Scream and I poke you.”

  I stopped resisting because the thought of his knife piercing my skin and flesh filled me with enough terror that I almost pissed myself. I lay very still on the ground while he tied my hands with duct tape. He smelled faintly of cinnamon, a smell which jogged my memory.

  “You’re in the CLF,” I whispered. “You were with Aina Jimenez in the warehouse when I was interrogated. You wore a ski mask. I smelled you then!”

  He slapped some duct tape over my mouth, then pulled a festival mask over my face. He yanked me to my feet and led me to the window. “Yes.”

  And then he put a hand on my back and threw me out the window.

  My stomach lurched as I was weightless, falling through open air. Falling to my death. I wanted to scream but the duct tape stopped me, and I was terrified of hitting the hard street below, because I wasn’t ready, no, I had so much I wanted to do in life…

  I landed in the arms of two angels, who gently lowered me to my feet. I was lightheaded from the sudden fall as they guided me out of the street and into an alley. I caught a glimpse of Phillip climbing out the safe house window with my bag of things over his shoulder.

  The alley ended at a parked car. I was afraid they would shove me in the trunk but they put me in the back seat instead. One of the men pulled a black bag over my head.

  The car moved. It was difficult to breathe with duct tape, a mask, and a bag over my face. I sucked in the hot, recycled breath through my nose and tried not to have a panic attack. If I did, I would probably suffocate.

  Phillip and the others whispered while we drove, but I couldn’t make out any words.

  The car stopped. I was yanked out the door. I had the choice of either going limp and forcing them to drag me, or walking along. I chose the latter out of fear for what they would do if I pissed them off.

  Hands held my arms tightly as we went down some steps. Through the tiny holes in the bag I was aware of the sun disappearing, and the air grew cooler like the basement of the safe house. We were going underground.

  My foot hit the bottom step hard, sending a jolt of pain up my heel. We walked for a while after that. I heard a dripping noise, and the hum of distant machinery.

  After walking for at least 10 minutes I was stopped, twisted around, and then shoved into a chair. The bag was removed suddenly, and then the mask.

  The room was dark, but my eyes still needed a few seconds to adjust after the bag. The room was the size of a convenience store. The wall directly in front of me was covered in pipes running horizontally. Valves jutted out from the pipes, along with a glass cut-out backlit with lights so you could examine the water flowing inside each pipe. The wall to the left had a built-in desk filled with dials and small computer screens, and a laboratory’s worth of chemistry glassware. To the right, the concrete floor ended at a flowing tunnel of water, like the lazy river at a water park where people could enter and exit with their inner-tubes. The water flowed into the next room, where I saw a peek of spinning machinery like a blender.

  I tried to piece together what I was looking at. Was this the inside of a dam, with turbines and pressure readings? No, this was more like a water treatment plant.

  All thoughts disappeared as a woman stepped into view. Aina Jimenez, the leader of the Catalan Liberation Front. The Red Bitch.

  She leaned down to smile at me. “Hello again!”

  I yelped as she tore the duct tape off my mouth. That made her smile wider.

  “It gives me great pleasure that the CIA cannot hide from me, whether in Barcelona or Madrid.”

  I clenched my teeth. “I’m not in the CIA. I’m a microbiology student!”

  “So you say. And yet, you were hiding in a hidden apartment with no visible access points other than the window. Curious, yes?” She spat at my feet. “We caught you hiding in a safe house, yet you continue to lie. You are pitiful.”

  The panic I
’d been trying to avoid finally took hold. I’d been kidnapped again by the CLF. Which meant whatever mission my SEALs had been on wasn’t successful. They might even be dead.

  They probably weren’t coming for me.

  “You… You don’t have to do anything,” I said in a rush. “Nothing bad has to happen.”

  Aina spoke with Phillip and another black-dressed man and then turned back to me. “I used to believe it. That bad things did not need to happen. I was a young girl growing up in Catalonia with my brother. We were poor, but we were happy. I wanted to become a police officer when I grew up. My brother wanted to go into politics. Run for mayor of Barcelona, then eliminate the corruption so prevalent in the city. He had dreams.”

  She sighed, as if suddenly shouldering a burden.

  “But he joined the army instead, and was sent off to die. My innocent, loving brother.” Aina pointed at me. “An independent Catalonia will never send young men off to die for nothing.”

  There was pain and anger in her shimmering eyes. I knew that if I challenged her, she could make my life very unpleasant. But in my hopelessness, I stopped being afraid of what would happen.

  “So you’re killing innocent people?” I asked. “How does that make your brother’s death okay?”

  “A small investment now will save countless lives later,” she explained. “Temporary pain for permanent freedom. The math is simple for someone with the stomach to see it through.”

  She went to the desk with all the computer equipment and spoke softly to the man next to Phillip. His grey hair and weathered face marked him as older, and he constantly adjusted silver glasses while talking. Aina gestured at two big cannisters which looked like oxygen tanks. The man nodded and spoke more urgently. I heard the phrase yersinia pestis.

  Where did I know that from?

  Aina gestured at me. The man turned his gaze toward me and nodded.

  “What are you going to do to me?” I asked.