by Mia Kenney
Romeo
SEALs of Vegas
Mia Kenney
Plan B Publishing
Contents
Copyright
1. Kat
2. Romeo
3. Kat
4. Romeo
5. Kat
6. Romeo
7. Kat
8. Romeo
9. Kat
10. Romeo
11. Kat
12. Romeo
13. Kat
14. Romeo
15. Kat
16. Romeo
17. Kat
18. Romeo
19. Kat
20. Romeo
21. Kat
22. Romeo
23. Kat
24. Romeo
25. Kat
26. Romeo
Thank you!
Copyright
Copyright © 2016 by Mia Kenney
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
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1
Kat
On a sunny California morning I became an orphan. The next day I was sold. That night I escaped. I’ve been on my own ever since.
The Las Vegas Strip is always busy, but today it seems like everyone is moving extra slow. Or maybe it’s just because I’m running late for my first ever potentially paying client. My palms tingle as I think about the cold hard cash I so desperately need.
A man on the corner lets his eyes linger on my lanky body before they pause on my face. I pull a few strands of hair from my makeshift bun into the corner of my mouth and keep my head down, never making eye contact with the stranger. I shift my heavy art supply bag to my other shoulder, using the opportunity to glance back at the man’s face. But he is lost in a sea of people. My pace quickens and I scurry across the street, making a mental note to avoid this area in the upcoming days.
The pounding in my chest quickens as I gaze up at the towering sleek building in front of me. It’s gold with silver accents, mirrored windows, and what must be the largest American Flag ever waving over the main access. Even though it’s midday in August, the temperature is at least ten degrees less in its massive shadow. The words “ROMEO ENDEAVORS” are stamped over the soaring entrance, which is adorned with hulking doormen in matching black tailored suits and aviator sunglasses. It’s not the tallest structure in the city, but its flair of modern architecture combined with ornate marble pillars and a splash of good ol’ boy American patriotism makes it unique enough to standout amongst its more glitzy neighbors.
My stomach flutters and I take the last sip of my green tea with lemon before checking my cell to confirm that I’m at the correct address. Looking down at my yoga pants and worn ballet flats I mentally berate myself for not researching the name on the business card that was passed along to me. I flick the card between my fingers, questioning what sort of person uses their company address for an art consultation. Maybe there’s a misunderstanding and this person believes I’m part of a painting company and not an artist. The slim possibility of acquiring paying work provides me with enough hope to take my chances, and I nod at the twin doormen as I step into an elegant lobby and saunter my way directly to the front desk.
“May I help you, m’am?” The baritone voice behind the computer monitor belongs to a man with neck tattoos and a short buzz cut, all wrapped up in a dark tailored suit and gray tie. Not what I expected.
“Umm, yes. I have an appointment with Mr. Cruz,” I say. He raises a thick brow before leading me over to a private elevator. Without hesitation he enters a long combination of numbers and letters from memory. The doors open and he motions me in with a wave of his hand.
“What floor do I get off at?” I squeak out just before the doors close and I begin my ascent. Damn. This building must have at least one hundred floors and I don’t even know the person’s full name I’m looking for. I glance at the panel on the wall and notice there are only two arrow buttons, up and down. My stomach flips as the elevator races to the top. What the hell am I getting into?
“You’re late.”
The elevator doors close behind me and I’m immediately confronted by a surly man. His words hang in the air between us while I glance down at my phone and check the time.
“Sir, I believe I’m right on time. My appointment with Mr. Cruz is at two o’clock. It’s two o’clock now.” I shift my art bag to my other shoulder. The room is massive with floor to ceiling windows and it’s decorated in rich brown leather furniture and plush wall to wall carpeting. I don’t know what I was expecting, but it never occurred to me that I would be entering someone’s apartment. Especially not a man’s apartment. Goosebumps flash across my skin and I pull loose hair into my mouth, looking for an exit.
“Allow me to point out the obvious,” he says. My gaze moves directly to his stony-eyed face. His striking blue eyes bore through me, and suddenly I feel like he can see every detail of my screwed up life. The expensive fabric of his suit pulls at the shoulders as he places his hands behind his back and widens his stance. With perfectly coifed dark hair and a rugged jaw, he exudes a confidence while just standing there in his fancy Italian clothes. It strikes me that I’m severely underdressed for this interview. I swallow hard and wait to be dismissed. “It’s exactly four minutes after our scheduled time. Therefore making you late. I’m a very busy man and don’t have time for this nonsense. Unless you can provide me with an excellent excuse for your tardiness I will have to ask you to leave.”
So, this is Mr. Cruz. Great. I really need the money and can’t let this opportunity slip through my hands just because I’m too prideful to apologize. It’s amazing how hunger and late bills can trump my beliefs.
“Mr. Cruz, please accept my deepest apology. My tardiness is due to the city public works department.” I twirl my hair around my finger and roll my bottom lip between my teeth. His steely gaze travels lazily down my body before returning to my face. His full lips part with a hard blink of his eyes. Something inside of me ricochets its way from my chest to my stomach. It’s a strange feeling but one that I manage to push away to the back of my thoughts.
“You’re wasting my time but I’m intrigued by the story your active imagination has conjured. Please continue, Miss…” he rolls his hand forward and I shiver a its size. A Rolex peeks out from under the cuff of his jacket and I’m reminded we’re from two different worlds.
“Martinez. Miss Katalina Martinez,” I reply, hating the dull crack in my voice. His head ever so slightly shifts to the right and the corners of his eyes crinkle as he squints at me. For a brief moment I wonder if he can see through my lies. Something about this man has me feeling a bit off but I just can’t place my finger on it.
“Like I was saying before I was interrupted, Mr. Cruz. It had slipped my mind that the Labor Day Holiday weekend is coming up and that the public works department would reset all of the crosswalk signs to accommodate the large crowds. The amount of time allowed to cross every intersection in Vegas has been extended by precisely one minute. I walked here from the restaurant district, four blocks away. Making me four minutes late.” I inhale deeply before switching my art bag to my other shoulder.
“I must admit I’m quite taken with your explanation. I wouldn’t have thought someone who painted for a living would be so astute in regards to how the city functions. Now Katalina, if you would just follow me I will show you the room that requires your talent. And also, continue addressing me as Mr. Cruz. I like the way it sounds.”
�
��And you can address me as Miss. Martinez,” I retort in a clipped voice. Respect. It must be earned. My mother’s words echo in my head as I follow Mr. Cruz down the hall.
My eyes watch as his wide hands push open dark mahogany double doors, revealing an empty room filled with natural sunlight that pours in from the wall of windows opposite us. Specks of dust dance in the wide beam of light, and for a moment I find myself daydreaming of pixie dust, magic wands, and flowing pink gowns. It’s a distant childhood memory, from a time when I dreamed of rainbows, unicorns, and happy ever after endings. But time and the reality of life have taught me Prince Charming is dead and only I can save myself.
A distant vision of my mom making my favorite chocolate chunk cookies in the kitchen skirts my memory. I miss her so much. My parents died on the same day, but I only let myself remember her. Every night she tucked me in bed, and when I entered my teen years she didn’t stop. When you get the chance run, Katalina, run. Never look back.
The sound of Mr. Cruz clearing his throat brings me back to the present. “Miss Martinez, since you haven’t answered my question I’m going to assume you haven’t heard a word that I've said. Am I correct?” He swallows hard and my eyes can’t help but follow the muscles moving slowly down his neck. His low-pitched baritone voice echoes in the room, making me feel small and scrutinized. My brain quickly ticks off my past due bills and the looming rent payment for my cramped studio apartment. This isn’t the time to daydream about a life I will never have.
“I’m sorry Mr. Cruz. I was just taken aback by the spectacular view of the surrounding mountains. I’ve always been fascinated that we are all baking to death in the desert heat but can look up and see snow-covered mountaintops. It’s quite fabulous.”
It’s a small lie, but the view is breathtaking. From up here the people are small and the racing yellow taxis look like children’s toys. His eyes pierce me, and a small tremble rakes down my body. I can only hope he can’t detect my deceit and desperation for this job, but something tells me this man can see right through me.
“It’s a relief to know you appreciate the scenery. You’re not the first artist I’ve interviewed but you’re certainly the only one who has commented on my favorite part of this apartment. The job is yours if you want it. Harper will be coming home soon, and I expect you to start tomorrow. I want this room to be every little girl’s dream, and I want it finished before the furniture arrives. The crib will be going over here.” His arm extends to the wall behind us but my mind is reeling over the information he is feeding me at lightning speed. I don’t know what is more shocking: that someone married this arrogant asshole, or that he has a baby. He reminds me of someone who would rather beat his fist against a punching bag than design a room for an infant.
“Daydreaming again, Miss Martinez?” His head tilts to the side and he makes no attempt to hide his gaze as it sweeps down my body. Something inside me tightens and my hips move from side to side. I can’t afford to lose this opportunity. Success in Las Vegas is a combination of good luck and the people you know. Having Mr. Cruz as my first paying client could open doors I never even knew existed.
“Not at all, sir. Just thinking of designs to please your wife and new baby.” I hate the way my voice sounds, raspy and breathless.
A slow grin spreads across his face, revealing perfect teeth. I’m sure his other half has perfect teeth too, with the body to go along. A man like this wouldn’t settle for anything less. A pang of jealousy chips at my heart. It’s like I’m watching my childhood dream come true for someone else. Without thinking I reach for a tendril of hair and begin twisting the strands around my finger. My hips wiggle side to side and I’m sure I must look like I have to pee. I want to tell him he makes me nervous, but I need this job.
A deep sound vibrates in this throat and his sharp intake of breath only expands his immense chest. His eyes narrow before he cracks his neck to the side. Tension rolls from him and I briefly consider suggesting a cup of green tea with lemon but before the words can pass my lips he interrupts my thoughts.
“Good. I’ll send you a detailed list of my rules and expectations. Your salary will also be included. And remember Miss Martinez, I’m not a man who tolerates lateness.”
2
Romeo
“Damn it, Finn. I thought I told you not to let those no good motherfuckers out of your sight,” I say, letting my hands slap against the cold steel table. My eyes meet and hold the gaze of every one of my men. They are all my brothers, maybe not by birth but from the blood any one of us would voluntarily spill to save the other.
They are the baddest motherfuckers ever produced by the Navy SEALs. For the last ten years we’ve served as a band of warriors, tracking down and killing the most dangerous terrorists, human traffickers, and drug king pins to ever walk the earth.
Finn scratches behind his ear. It is his tell, and he isn’t even aware of it. I know each of my men better than they know themselves. Overseas their lives had been my responsibility, and now that we’re back on American soil I will be damned if that is going to change. “I want to know what the fuck happened,” I bark.
“Well, Rocco and I were tailing Johnny Alverez and walked into a shit storm. He had some of his men pull a girl right off the street in broad daylight. Shoved her in the back of his blinged out caddy and took her for a ride in circles throughout the city. No doubt to disorient her,” Finn sighs, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back in his chair.
“Yeah, she was only a kid, maybe fifteen or sixteen years old. Hell, Crew, you know what guys like him do to young girls,” Rocco grunts out and continues. “We followed his sorry ass all the way to a marina in San Diego. That ugly ass car he drives with the gold rims and dice swinging from the mirror makes me fuckin’ sick. Anyway, Alverez and his men took that kid and dropped her in the ocean in the middle of night. Apparently his gang is using it as a rendezvous point.”
Every fucking cell in my body is on fire. More than anything else I hate fuckers who screw with children. Little kids can’t defend themselves, and these assholes prey on them. Johnny Alverez and his gang will regret ever crossing paths with my SEAL team and me. Even though we are no longer officially in the military, we still have our contacts around the world. There are a lot of people who owe us.
“A rendezvous point for what?”
Rocco looks over at the other men around the table before lifting his chin to Finn.
“We think they were looking for a boat. They all had binoculars out scanning the water. After fifteen minutes Alverez pulled the girl from the backseat. She was bound with duct tape and blindfolded. Two of his guys picked her up, dragged her to the end of the dock before chaining a cinderblock around each ankle and tossing her into the water,” says Finn.
“Fuck me. You two have been following this gun runner and his men for two months and this is the first time you’ve seen him do this?” I ask.
Alverez is a notorious illegal arms dealer. The FBI and Homeland Security have been watching him for years smuggling AK 47’s and other military weapons out of San Diego and selling them to the highest overseas bidder. With the crack down of “illegally” obtained information and accusations of “listening to cell calls” traced from America to overseas terrorists the government turned to my team to take care of business. Apparently the feds forgot to mention the human trafficking part of Alvarez’s operation.
“How’s the girl?” My jaw clenches. Why can’t these assholes just stick to weapons? I have no doubt Finn and Rocco saved the kid, underwater rescue is what SEALs do best.
“Lucky for us those scumbags are a bunch of dumb asses. She sank to the ocean floor like a brick, so she was easy to find in the murky water. Once Finn slipped her shoes off the chains followed. We placed her and her mom in a safe house. They’re on their way to a new life in Cedar Springs, Iowa.” Rocco chugs from his water bottle before continuing, “And that mom couldn’t have been happier to get the hell out of those housing projects in the south
side of the city.”
Rocco wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. He and Finn have pretty much been inseparable since becoming separated from the team in Fallujah. Without a doubt they saw some nasty shit, but I wasn’t asking. I did worry about Finn, though. He’s a quiet fucker, lets Rocco do the talking for him. What ever happened over there in the sandbox is his story to tell, and I’m not going to pull some psycho babble bullshit to make him talk.
“Listen up,” I say. My gaze falls on each of my men circled around the table. These men have been trained like Pavlov’s dogs. I can practically hear them panting for orders. “Cadence, I want trackers on all of Alverez cars. I want to know where that scumbag is every second of the day. If he’s in the crapper, I want to know about it. And if he’s at the clinic getting a shot of penicillin in his ass for syphilis, I want to know that, too.”
Cadence is the brains of our team. He was still in high school eating peanut butter sandwiches when federal agents kicked down his door for hacking into the computer system of the National Security Agency. That was over ten years ago, and the scrawny kid has turned into one of the deadliest SEALs I’ve ever known. I once watched him put down his Rubiks Cube to take out five Somalian kidnappers, and not one of them even had the chance to return fire.
“Rocco and Finn, keep up the twenty four seven surveillance. Keep the team updated with any new info. And Nobel,” I grit out between my clenched teeth, “lock up your dick and get me those city plans. I want to know every building Alverez and his men are using. Those fuckin’ feds had to have known about his trafficking operation but were too scared to do anything. Makes me think they have a snitch. Any questions?”