Iron Princess (Iron Palace Book 2)

by Lisa Ferrari

  “Not without you!”

  He comes to my side. “I’m here. Keep going.”

  I start walking again.

  Kellan splashes along beside me, encouraging me, although, through my heavy breathing, my eardrums have disequalized and I can no longer understand what he’s saying.

  My lungs burn. I can’t get enough air.

  Part of me wants to quit, wants to stop, wants to give up.

  I push back.

  I think of all the motherfuckers I have to prove wrong.

  One of them is on my shoulders.

  “Jesus, Valentine,” Newberry moans, “you can stop now.”

  But I don’t. I keep walking.

  Maybe I can make it all the way to the lifeguard tower. But it doesn’t seem to be getting any closer.

  Blood is pounding in my ears. My hearing is getting worse but I can make out the other guys clapping and chanting. It sounds like ‘Claire!’ over and over and over.

  I keep walking.

  I keep walking.

  I keep walking.

  Until I can go no further.

  I break mentally.

  Newberry slips from my shoulders. He falls in the water.

  I can’t feel my legs or my back. I hear myself making a strange noise as I’m sucking air into my lungs, trying to breathe. I think I might be hyperventilating.

  I take a step toward Kellan but my quads are jelly and I fall.

  Kellan catches me.

  He walks me out of the surf.

  I try to walk but my legs won’t work. The tips of my shoes drag behind me across the sand.

  Kellan deposits me on an overturned rowboat, letting me breathe.

  All the other guys gather around us.

  “Dude, she is Iron Born.”

  “Iron princess all the way, baby.”

  “Fuck that. Iron queen.”

  “Damn, Kearns, she is a keeper.”

  I close my eyes and breathe. “I won’t… be able… to walk tomorrow,” I gasp.

  Some of the guys laugh.

  “Don’t worry,” says Kellan. “I’ll carry you.”

  “Man, she’s crazy,” someone says. I think it’s Newberry.

  Everyone says goodbye, taking a moment to shake my hand or high-five me. The SEALs walk down the beach. Kellan and I are left alone in the cool night air. I can’t feel my body. But I can feel Kellan beside me.

  AFTER A FEW minutes, the exertion begins to wear off. My breathing returns to normal. My legs are still noodles. My quads and back muscles are already beginning to ache in a way that I know is going to hurt tomorrow.

  Being cold and wet starts to get to me and I begin to shiver. Kellan is shivering a bit himself. Goosebumps cover his muscular arms and legs.

  My teeth are chattering and I have sand and salt in my mouth.

  The lights from the hotel are soft and orange and gold on Kellan’s face and in his eyes. I could stare at him for eternity.

  “We need to get moving,” he says. “I think a hot shower is in order.”

  “I don’t know if I can walk.”

  “Yeah, that was the ultimate leg day. Come on.”

  Kellan pretty much lifts me up like I’m a puppet on strings so I can get my feet under me. “Try to walk.”

  I take a step. Then another. “I think I can do it.”

  Then my right knee buckles and I almost fall.

  Kellan’s hands catch me under my arms and he stands me up again. “Take small steps.”

  “This ever happen to you?”

  “All the time.”

  “Really?”

  “Really. It’s called Leg Day.”

  Together we make our way across the sand and up the path leading to the hotel pool, and somewhere beyond, our room and a hot shower. It seems like a long, long time ago I had a hot shower.

  My teeth are chattering uncontrollably now. I take small steps and my legs support me. As long as there aren’t any stairs.

  “You okay?”

  “As long as there aren’t any stairs.”

  He kisses me on the head. My hair is wet and plastered to my head and face. Several people pass us going in the other direction. They stare. “I must look terrible.”

  “No, you look freakin awesome. Your shirt is all wet and you’ve got sand all over you. It’s a little out of context right now because we’re the only ones. If we were at a mud run, we’d be fine. You look hardcore. Besides, you just hung in there with a bunch of Navy SEALs. That’s no small feat.”

  I realize Kellan is right. I don’t know how I did it. But I guess I did.

  “Detour,” Kellan announces.

  “Huh?”

  He leads me into the pool area and over to the Jacuzzi. There’s no one in it, just a young couple swimming in the pool together. Kellan strips off my shoes and socks and helps me into the Jacuzzi.

  It’s hot.

  It’s…heaven.

  Absolute heaven.

  I sink into the water. Chills and goosebumps ripple across my entire body in utter deliciousness and relief.

  I go under water, savoring the hot, swirling water on my head and face. I put my head back as I surface, slicking my hair back. I shrug out of my tee shirt and toss it on the deck. My sports bra is full of sand. I reach inside it and scoop most of it out, then do the same with my shorts, depositing it in little wet piles on the cement.

  I lie back against the side of the spa, take a deep breath, let it slowly out, and savor the hot water.

  Kellan enters the water. He’s removed his shoes and socks and tee shirt. His little workout shorts are stuck to his massive thighs. The bulge between them is impressive despite the cold, which I assume has caused at least some shrinkage. His nipples are hard and he has goosebumps all over his chest and shoulders and arms. His pecs and abs are flexed against the cold.

  He sinks into the water, dunks his head, and comes up smiling.

  “Good idea,” I say. “This is heaven.”

  Kellan kisses me on the lips. “You can say that again.”

  “This is heaven.”

  He smiles and kisses me.

  After a few minutes, I’ve warmed up and feel like myself again.

  “How do you feel?” he asks, as if he’s read my mind.

  “Good. Tired. But good. You?”

  “Same. And a little hungry. Actually, a lot hungry.”

  I realize I am, too. “Can we get food here? Or do we have to get out and dry off and go eat inside?”

  “Let’s see.”

  Kellan leans out of the spa and grabs his phone. Where it’s been all this time I have no idea. He calls the concierge. “Good evening, this is Kellan Kearns calling. Claire Valentine and I are staying in suite nine-oh-nine. Yes, it’s beautiful. We love it. Yes, yes, thank you. The reason I’m calling is because we were wondering if it would be possible to order a couple of hamburgers and some fries and have them sent to the pool. Wonderful, thank you so much.”

  Kellan looks at me. “What would you like to drink?”

  “I’d kill for an ice-cold soda right now.” We’ve just been in the pacific ocean, which is frickin freezing, but man, a cold Coke sounds good.

  “Two Diet Cokes, please,” says Kellan. “Great. Yes, same credit card. Thank you.” He hangs up. “She said it would be about ten to fifteen minutes.”

  “Time it.”

  Kellan starts the stopwatch on his phone.

  Sometime later, a server appears on the other side of the pool, carrying a big black oval tray exactly like the ones I carry at work. For a moment, I have an almost overwhelming need to apologize or commiserate with him in some way.

  Kellan stands up, waves, and the server comes over to us.

  “Good evening.” He sounds genuinely happy. “Two burgers and fries and two Diet Cokes, correct?”

  Kellan checks his phone. He stops the timer and shows it to me: 8:56.

  “Man, you guys are good,” Kellan says.

  “Thank you. We aim to please.”
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  The server brings a small table to the edge of the spa and sets everything on it. He even brought ketchup and mustard and mayo, a salt and pepper shaker, two ramekins of what looks like aioli, real silverware with cloth napkins, and a little dish of lemon wedges for the sodas. Denise goes ape if she doesn’t have a lemon wedge in her Diet Coke. And there’s a yummy-looking spear of pickle on each plate.

  “We thought you might like some dessert, so we brought a selection,” says the server. “Molten chocolate lava soufflé, New York cheesecake, and some fresh fruit. Is there anything else I can get you?”

  “No, this is perfect,” says Kellan, and he tips him, with money that I again had no idea he had on him, but I see a hundred pass between them.

  The server departs and Kellan and I doctor-up our burgers.

  “Thank you, God,” says Kellan, “for this delicious food on this beautiful evening, and bless the hands that prepared this food for us. Amen.” He takes a massive bite, his cheeks bulging. He closes his eyes and savors it.

  I do the same.

  “You know,” I say, once I’ve enjoyed a few bites, “I’ve noticed that you give out hundred-dollar bills like they’re singles.”

  “I’ve found that you get what you pay for. Giving out nice tips assures good service. I used to tip fifteen percent just like everyone else. But once I could afford to do so, I began tipping better. Usually thirty percent on a card. And giving people a hundred-dollar bill is like… magic. I used to get okay service. Sometimes it was excellent, and sometimes, not very often but sometimes, it was crap. Someone didn’t do their job or there was a mistake or whatever. But as soon as I started giving out hundreds, everything changed. It’s worth it. Trust me. That guy just made a hundred bucks for ten minutes worth of work. He’s happy now. And he’s going to remember us for next time.”

  Kellan opens the ketchup bottle and pours a bunch on both piles of fries. He grabs a handful and shoves them into his mouth. He gets ketchup on his fingers and licks it off.

  He sucks his fingers clean.

  It’s primal.

  It’s hot.

  “That is a good burger,” he says, once he’s washed everything down with a drink of soda. “Wow. The lettuce and tomato and pickles are cold and crispy. The onion is the perfect amount. Wow. This might be the best burger I’ve ever had. How’s yours?”

  “Have a bite.”

  I hold it up for him and he takes a bite of it. His mouth is full.

  “Oh my God,” he mumbles around the food. “I’m just going to sit here and savor this moment. You’re right; this is heaven.”

  I lick my fingers clean. I make a show of it, too, trying not to giggle as Kellan stops chewing and watches me. He takes a long sip of his Diet Coke through the straw and studies me as I lick my fingers.

  “It just got even better,” he says.

  WHEN WE’RE DONE with our burgers, we dive into the dessert. The chocolate soufflé has been sitting under an overturned bowl, and it’s still hot in the middle.

  We take turns feeding one another, alternating between bits of chocolate soufflé and bites of cheesecake.

  When the molten chocolatey center oozes out, Kellan scoops some up with his finger and feeds it to me.

  I suck his finger clean.

  He watches intently.

  It’s hard to believe that just a little while ago I was sloshing through the cold ocean with a bunch of Navy SEALs and now I’m in a Jacuzzi with Kellan’s chocolate-covered finger in my mouth.

  I’m warm and happy.

  I’m not sure I’ve ever been this happy. This is a perfect moment. One I hope will go on forever.

  WE FINISH EATING, luxuriating in the Jacuzzi until it closes at 1:00 a.m. and a kind security guard informs us he has to lock up so the pool maintenance guys can get to work.

  Kellan and I return to our room, take a hot shower to get the last of the sand off of us, and go to bed.

  Despite my exhaustion, I am surprisingly horny. My legs have recovered somewhat and I was able to walk from the spa to the suite.

  But when I sit down on the bed to finish drying my hair, my legs give out and I collapse on the soft white blankets.

  Kellan turns off the lights, gets into bed, and makes gentle love to me. Halfway through, he carries me to the window and deposits me in a chair, on my knees. He takes me from behind in front of the window while we look out at the moonlight shining on the ocean.

  THE NEXT MORNING, we wake up together.

  Kellan rolls out of bed and makes coffee for us.

  I can’t take my eyes off his naked body. His smooth, sun-kissed skin. His perfect, round behind. His muscular legs. His long, thick penis, which I am concerned for because I’m afraid he’ll somehow spill hot coffee on it.

  But he doesn’t.

  He hands me a mug and we sit in bed together, sipping the delicious coffee while we wake up.

  We eventually get dressed and do our morning ablutions so we can go downstairs, where we enjoy a lavish Sunday brunch in the Crown Room. To my surprise, the SEALs from last night’s beach adventure are all there, with their respective girlfriends, wives, and kids.

  Everyone remarks how crazy I am and how impressed they are with my performance last night.

  At first, I think back to Kellan and me coming together and gasping loudly as we made love doggy-style in the chair in front of the window, with moonlight painting our naked bodies.

  He was so deep. I don’t think he’s ever been that deep.

  But then I realize they’re all talking about our workout on the beach.

  They even have video of it, as one of the guys had a GoPro on his chest and recorded the whole thing. Especially the epic conclusion where I carried Newberry almost five hundred yards.

  Chavez asks Newberry how much he weighs.

  “One eighty-five.”

  “How much do you squat, Claire?” Chavez asks me. “It must be a lot because you’ve got some serious wheels on you. I wish my legs looked like yours.”

  “Me too,” says Jenkins.

  “Me too,” says Newberry.

  I find this both amazing and very difficult to believe. No one has ever told me they wanted any body part of mine. The closest I ever got was once when I was twelve and Beth was ten and she hadn’t started to develop yet and I was already a healthy C and she said she hoped she gets boobs like mine one day, but not quite as big because big boobs hurt your back and make guys think you’re a slut.

  And thus my unhealthy body image was born.

  “I haven’t done a one-rep-max yet,” I explain. “Kellan says I’m not ready. But I have repped two plates on each side, so two-twenty-five. So, how often do you guys do that crazy beach workout?”

  “Usually once a week,” says Tank.

  “Just a typical Saturday night,” says Washington.

  “So, is that what combat is like?” I ask. “All crazy and loud and noisy and chaotic and everything is happening really fast and you’re struggling to keep up, but it’s also kind of a rush? And when it’s over, you’re glad it’s over, but you also kinda want to do it again?”

  I observe a heightened level of expectancy and observation from the wives and girlfriends. I realize I’ve just asked the question they’ve wanted answered but either they were too scared to ask or their man wouldn’t, or couldn’t, lay it out for them. Probably because he wanted to prevent her from knowing what he knows; what people can do to other people.

  “That’s an excellent description, Claire,” says Tank. “Throw in some live rounds, some cordite, and men screaming, and you’ve got yourself a proper firefight.”

  “Wow.” I feel suddenly utterly, utterly stupid.

  To validate my sudden self loathing, everyone at the table gets really quiet and stops talking. The guys all look away, out at the beach or down at their hands.

  They all turn inward. I see it happen.

  They’re all back there in it, deep in some firefight that, for them, was one of the tough ones.


  I want desperately to undo it. “Sorry I brought it up. I didn’t mean to bum you guys out.”

  “Just another day in the teams,” says Chavez. He raises his glass of orange juice. “A toast. To Claire Valentine. A-K-A Iron Born. The most intense woman I’ve ever had carry me on her back.”

  “TO CLAIRE!” Everyone chants and drinks. People around us glance our way, wondering what all the noise and bravado is about.

  “You best get that part in that movie,” says Chavez. “If you don’t, they’re loco. If you have any problems, you show them that video. If that doesn’t convince them, have them call me. We’ll bring everyone out to the beach for a little workout and you can show them that you’re the baddest seniorita west of the Rio Grande.”

  “Second that,” says Newberry.

  All the other guys nod and offer their agreement and endorsement.

  It’s humbling. “Thanks, guys.” I’m embarrassed.

  AFTER BREAKFAST, EVERYONE says goodbye.

  The SEALs wish me well with the movie once again.

  I hope I get to see them again sometime.

  Once Kellan and I are alone, we stroll leisurely hand in hand around the hotel. He asks me what I want to do today.

  “Lie by the pool and recover. Maybe read that book I bought last night about the ghost of Kate Morgan.”

  “That sounds good. My lower back is a little tender.”

  “How much does Tank weigh, anyway?”

  “He said about two-eighty-five.”

  “How tall is he?”

  “Six-six. He makes me look small. He told me that if ever there was a woman who could be a SEAL, it’s you.”

  “Me?”

  “That’s what he said.”

  “Are there any women in the SEALs?”

  “Not that I know of. I know for a long time, the Navy didn’t allow it because of the close-quarters living situations, like on submarines. But last I heard, they were going to open it up to women who want to do it. I know there are women who have successfully completed the course to qualify as Army Rangers. That’s pretty hardcore, too.”

  “Do you think women should be in the Special Forces?”

  Kellan shrugs. “It’s kind of a tough call. Not because women aren’t capable of doing the job, but because women may not be capable of doing the job.”

  “What does that mean?”