The Crazy Good SEAL Series: Books 1-3

by Rachel Robinson

  “Just let me go!”

  I bang a fist on my desk. “I never had you to begin with.”

  “Of course you did. You do. I just can’t repeat the same mistake twice, Steven. Have you heard the saying, fool me—once shame on you, fool me twice—shame on me? That’s where I’m at.”

  “I am not Stone Sterns,” I yell out, voice low and commanding. “We aren’t the same mistake. I’m a different mistake. Let’s make that distinction crystal clear.”

  “You aren’t a mistake,” she says, shaking her head, black hair cascading over her shoulders. I exhale. “You are…” she stutters. “You are too much of a good thing and I don’t want to be around when the good thing comes crashing down around me. I’ve tried to be strong, because that’s who I am, but you know what? I’ve found out I’m not that strong. I’m weak when you’re not here. I depend on you to make me happy—to make me complete. Do you understand how this is the greatest disability possible? Do you understand that I’m letting you go because I can’t bear to lose you? I’m not strong enough, Steven. I can’t be the woman you love anymore because I’m not sure who that is. Being with you is the easiest and yet the most difficult thing I’ve ever done. Who I am with you is who I really am. It’s terrifying. You strip me of what protects me.”

  The truth is out. This is why she’s been distant. Instead of talking to me about her feelings, she’s bottled it up until the point of explosion. It’s unlike her. Now she’s breaking up with me for my own good. My chest aches because I knew this would happen—knew it couldn’t end well. I’m a fucking idiot. The strongest woman I’ve ever known is buckling before me in a fashion I never would have guessed in a million years.

  I watch her fuzzy face for a few silent seconds. I should talk her out of this, but I’m not that kind of man. My pride won’t let me. Pride is what kept me from taking the first chance I had with her, and ultimately it’s what will destroy our last scrap of hope.

  “That’s it, then. Am I to take it we’re to go back to being friends after this?” I swallow down the bile in my throat. If she says yes, I’ll throw my laptop against the fucking wall. But don’t I want that? Don’t I want her in my life in any capacity? Isn’t that what got me in this situation to begin with?

  I see her trying to right her face, trying to pretend this is a business transaction instead of love, and I cringe at the selfishness it takes to descend that low. Fuck. Her. She surprises me by shaking her head.

  “I know that’s not possible. I want you too badly and I’m not one to dangle temptation in front of myself. You’re my weakness. Just stay away from me, Steven. A clean break from everything…including friendship. It will be better this way for both of us.”

  Better this way? I’m shocked. Unable to move, speak, or form any coherent thoughts about what she’s said. My heart sinks to my feet and the room spins—my world sliding onto a different axis. Everything gone. Friendship gone. Morganna gone. And I can’t do a single thing about it. A fool would think otherwise.

  “Thank you for our time together. If only so I understand what I could have had if I were a stronger person. Please be safe tomorrow night. Don’t…don’t do anything stupid. I’m going to find stability, Steven. Please understand.” Her face is unreadable behind the mask she wears so well. Inside she’s splintering into a trillion pieces that won’t ever go back the same again, I’m sure of it.

  I blow out a long breath. Every negative emotion I have to my name is fighting for the spotlight. I push them all down. I need to be civil—truthful, in control.

  “I don’t know what to say. I can’t say this is unexpected. Everyone talks about this happening during deployment. How most women can’t take the pressure…the distance, and the toll it takes on a relationship. But I didn’t expect it from you, M. You know the risks and you also know that the risks are more than worth it. I don’t want to be your regret because you think you’re not strong enough. Give the blame to me. I owe you that as my parting gift. Let me be the person who wasn’t strong enough to fix you—to save you. Let me be that person, because otherwise I don’t see how any of this was worth it. I’ve lost the only girl I’ve ever loved and you’re not giving me an option to keep you in any capacity. Do you know what this will do to me? How ruined I’ll be? I put myself out there for you.” I take off my hat and run a hand through my matted, tangled hair. I look at the scratched, metal ceiling in an attempt to see anything except Morganna and our memories. She sniffles. It draws my attention back to the screen.

  “It’s horrible timing, but I had no idea. Please be safe,” she stammers. Then she clicks off the chat, leaving me confused, sad, but most of all defeated…oh, and fucking pissed.

  _______________

  Our sleek black boats tracked the pirates’ ship for a couple hours. The trifecta of Steven destruction has taken effect—the scent of gasoline, rough wake, and an empty stomach. Any combination of those two things make me gag. Even thinking about those things makes me squeamish. I swallow down a mouth full of bile.

  Cody is navigating in the middle seat up front, communicating back to base on a radio. The cold water splashes over the sides of our boat, splashing water in Maverick’s face. My stomach swims up my throat. The sensation isn’t something I ever get used to. I just deal with it.

  The silence on the water at night brings peace even with the understanding of what we’re about to do. The pirates have two hostages on the ship. They’re American journalists kidnapped from their camp. One may argue that civilians shouldn’t be in a place of such turmoil. Others might say that it’s the only way to spread the message, for news to reach the larger countries that can make a difference. I try to stay neutral. These same pirates might try to do something more egregious in the future. Dealing with them now is a plus. Saving the hostages should be easy.

  Glancing at Maverick, I see he’s all business from the back, shoulders tall, stance wide. All the other guys stand, holding onto the side of the boat, taking the blows of the waves as they come, their frames dipping down when we hit the larger wake. We deployed the boats from our large ship, where they’re stored, and since we pushed back I haven’t let myself think of her.

  A mere thought would hit my system like venom and cause feelings I can’t afford to feel right now. Part of me was waiting for her to tell me she was joking, because that’s how much her callous words shocked me. Now, that the pirate’s ship comes into view in the distance, she seeps in like a virus seeking healthy cells. Mostly it’s just certain attributes. Her petite hands, her pouty mouth smiling around her straight teeth, the sweet scent of her hair blowing in my face. I try not to group them together to form the person. Just perfect features of a non-existent, heartless human. It’s how I compartmentalize Morganna from the rest of the world—from the lucid part of my mind that wants to be on this boat. What if I’d prefer to be somewhere else? What type of SEAL would that make me? What type of man would that make me? I’m embarrassing myself.

  Clearing my throat and studying my watch, I announce the time. The guys know exactly what it means—how many minutes we’re out before we make contact with the enemy. This scenario was practiced before we left. Timing has to be perfect, as does our performance if tonight is to tilt in our favor. They could easily spot us from this distance and take off, or call for back-up or—even worse—start shooting in our direction. We rely on our silence, preparedness, but mostly the cover of night for missions such as this.

  Maverick slows his throttling and Cody radios to our looming back-up in case of emergency. The rest of the guys let go of the boat and the energy shifts. It’s as quick as a summer breeze. We’re ready. I’m ready. Gray eyes, or southern accents won’t affect me for another second. Neither will curvy, naked hips, or fucking stupid chat breakups. I place her in the box that’s she’s always been in. The one I have no right to touch.

  We’re close enough to hear the waves lapping the sides of the enemy boat. Luckily, that’s all we seem to hear. Everything seems still, calm
aboard. Cody signals with his hands, letting us know it’s time to work.

  The chipping paint on the side of the old fishing boat makes me smile. They think they’ve been hiding, and they don’t have any idea that we’ve known their location for a long time. Maybe they fish every once in a while, but their specialty is terrorism with a side of hostile intentions. This boat is filled with dangerous killers.

  The only thing they have left to lose is their lives.

  We have two boats with us. The lead in front of us tosses their caving ladders up and over the side of the boat and begin climbing swiftly to the top and over the rails. Fisting my hands to make sure my gloves are tight, I shift slightly so my strapped gear is out of my way and grab the ladder.

  Once at the top we split into small groups and spread out to canvas the entire boat. Maverick and one other guy are with me as we head for the stairwell, guns raised, ready for whoever comes first. Once again, our intel was correct when mapping out the layout of the boat: one door on the bottom of the stairwell that leads to another corridor. Cody’s voice reverberates inside my head when he speaks into our radio system. Pressing a hand to my earpiece, I listen to his commands. The boat rocks as we walk, making it difficult to gain solid footing. The first room we enter is clear, as is the second, and then the third.

  The fourth room has boisterous noises coming from inside. We lighten our steps and assume they’re aware we’re coming. Speed is the only factor that matters now. I radio back to Cody, updating him. I’m lead, with Maverick directly behind me. Once close enough, we stack up beside the door, listening for anything that might give away the location of the enemies inside. The vibrations of their voices and footsteps are easy to hear and a dead giveaway.

  I feel Mav squeeze the back of my thigh. The guys are ready. I try the doorknob; it’s locked. I motion to the guys behind me and then place the barrel of my gun in the joint of the door, knowing full well that this particular door won’t take much to blow. A few well-placed shots and one powerful kick, and we’re in a room littered with enemies, their stolen guns blazing in our direction.

  Clearing the room methodically and also precisely because the mother-fuckers are shooting at us all willy-nilly, we’re able to take six men down in a matter of seconds. Head. Chest. Move on. Head Chest. Move on. They might have numbers on their side, but they don’t have skill, or any sort of game plan other than pull the trigger and kill the stupid Americans. The bloody, slumped bodies all over the room signal a job well done. A quick glance beside me reassures me that my guys are unharmed and still on guard ready for whatever comes next.

  A small closet in the corner blasts open to reveal the one last bad guy in this section. This bad guy has a small, blindfolded woman by the neck and a gun trained on the side of her head. He steps out of the closet screaming at us in a language I don’t understand. Maverick responds to his scream by yelling back in his native tongue, trying to engage him in conversation to distract. Dax, the other operator, moves ever so slightly without lowering his gun. The sweating, disgusting ferret squeezes the hostage’s throat, his fingers digging into skin. A wisp of air leaves her mouth, causing a distressed noise.

  My eyes are drawn to the only visible feature on her face. Her mouth. Bloody, cracked, full lips separate as her need for oxygen intensifies. Maverick keeps babbling in the fucking language, and Dax takes another step forward. Removing the gun from her head, the bad guy takes aim at Dax. He’s stepped too close for comfort. The woman’s head slumps forward and a cascade of matted, long black hair masks her face. Morganna. My stomach lurches and in a nano-second of complete weakness, I aim at the enemy’s head and pull the trigger twice, even though her head is far too close to his. Maverick and Dax fire after me, just to be sure, and because they had the better shot to begin with. The woman falls limp out of his arms as adversary blood sprays against the wall.

  Rushing to her side, I get the tangle of hair out of the way and feel for a pulse. It’s weak, but it’s there. Maverick greets Cody and the rest of the operators at the door. I hear the affirmation that both hostages have been secured and that the Prize crew is already on deck to take over the ship, so I take another moment to remove the blindfold. Blue eyes flutter open and her dry lips part.

  Through cracked syllables, and frail gasps of breath she says, “Save me. Please, save me.” My chest constricts.

  Her eyes close, and her head lolls to the side. With her black hair disguising her face, I pick her up in my arms and I do what she’s asked, all the while pretending I’m saving a completely different person. The one woman who I’ll never be able to save.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Morganna

  THE WORST CUT is always the shallow paper cut. It’s the one that refuses to heal no matter how much you tend to it. It refuses to cease causing you pain. Even if you forget about it for an hour or two, you’ll do something and the pain will sear you, reminding you it’s there, burning with fiery pride.

  When Steven left it was almost too much to bear. The familiarity of the situation caused me physical pain, and bore a constant reminder of Stone. It was too much. In my weakness I made a decision that I thought long and hard about. I know Steven will forgive me one day for the atrocity of breaking up with him over a computer, while he’s miserable on a boat, and on the night before he had a mission to complete.

  Yeah, it’s a lot to forgive, but if I waited another second to tell him, I’d self-combust with pent up emotions. Selfish should be my middle name. I’m well aware. Sometimes people do things that they aren’t proud of in the name of sanity. This is one of those times. I couldn’t even explain it to him, which made it seem that much more horrible. I’m in love with you, but I can’t be with you. It doesn’t even make sense to me.

  Now? I miss him more than I thought possible. I’ve locked myself in my home office for weeks so I can wear pajamas and cry in between phone calls. Phillipe makes sure I eat, but the sympathy in his eyes drives me insane so I send him home early most days. I’m not sleeping. The nightmares are back, except Stone’s dying face morphs into Steven’s and when I wake, heart pounding, I think that I’ve lost them both. Stone all over again and a fresh wave of losing Steven.

  I’m pretty sure these particular nightmares should be considered sleeping panic attacks. The fact that the men interchange is the only warning I needed from my subconscious. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. The logical, problem-solving side of my brain took over and I’m miserable; catastrophically miserable.

  There’s no such thing as a clean break from Steven. Our history is too deep-rooted and my love for him is too strong. I miss him as a friend, sure. But his love, the kind that wraps me up completely, and lets me know it’s always is what stokes the empty pit in my heart. He hasn’t sent one e-mail, one message, nor has he tried to contact me any other way since my video chat breakdown, break-up lunacy. His absence is unexpected, but it’s what I asked for. A barrage of unwelcome tears makes its way to my eyes and I have to blink them back. Raccoon eyes is a condition I don’t catch. Ever.

  I’ve gotten myself dressed and driven to one of my favorite restaurants to meet Lainey for lunch. From her view from the side window of her house, I’m sure she’s seen me loafing around my own house without remorse. She’s concerned. I can’t blame her. If I wasn’t still working prolifically, I’d be concerned for myself, too. I pull my car into a compact spot and take a few moments to pull the other Morganna from her hiding spot, the one everyone expects to see. The fake one. The person Steven knows I’m not.

  Lainey greets me with sad, accusatory eyes and we order items that aren’t even on the menu, but I know they’ll make for me. After the waiter leaves, she folds her hands in front of her and tilts her head, raising one brow.

  “You fucked up, Morganna,” Lainey hisses. I didn’t expect sympathy, but I surely didn’t expect this.

  I force a mouthful of tea down my throat. “I’m not perfect. Despite popular opinion.” I fake a smile. />
  She shakes her head. “I got the scoop from Cody and I’m appalled at your childish it’s not you, it’s me routine. On chat. What’s really up?” Others speaking of it makes it sound that much worse. I’m not allowed to have a weak moment; it’s the only sound conclusion. Fake Morganna doesn’t get any breaks.

  I can’t pretend her words don’t pierce or that I’m intrigued by finding out what else she knows. She has an in with Cody. I need her to tell me everything about post-breakup Steven without actually asking. “It’s complicated, Lainey. I told myself I’d never do this again. I’d never willingly fall for someone who is in a dangerous line of work. Can you blame me, really? I fell hard. I feel deep. Because Steven and I were friends for so long before, it felt like the natural progression. Swept away, I forgot…until he deployed, that it wasn’t normal. Stone and Steven are…” My voice breaks.

  “They’re similar. I get it. It’s wrong to punish Steve for something he can’t control. Personally, I think you’re insane. Steve would do anything for you. Steve isn’t Stone, Morg. You know why? He’s alive.”

  My heart feels like it may bounce out of my chest. Heartbreak wars with love and I want to clasp my chest to make sure it stays in place.

  All I can do is nod. “Well aware of that fact.” She waits for more, but I’m not giving anything else. I don’t have anything else to give. To anyone.

  “You saw the news. They’re all safe. One of them is sad and angry like a bull, but safe,” she says, smashing around her lemon water with the straw. Good lord, an angry Steven is a volatile, unpredictable person. The one I can’t gauge. I close my eyes and rub my temples. I did watch the news with their usual vague details. The media usually screws around with the story until it fits their liking, so I take it with a grain of salt until I hear from the guys. Something I haven’t done yet.