“Thank you, ma’am. My girlfriend is trying to find a dress for the Marine Corps Ball. Very formal. Could you help her?”
“Of course, I’d be honored.” She turned her attention to me. “Do you have any particular style or color in mind?”
I shrugged. “No, I’m not sure what’s in style.”
“That’s fine, dear.” She surveyed my body, guessing correctly my size, and brought out a selection of dresses.
After the weight of last night’s attack still heavy on my mind, I wanted something simple and classy. My eyes immediately went toward a navy blue A-line dress with a lace bodice, sweetheart neckline, empire waist, and a layered chiffon skirt. I pulled the dress over my head, the soft fabric draping across my curves. I gasped when I saw myself in the mirror. The dress was stunning.
I walked out of the dressing room, and Grady did a double take when he saw me.
He walked over to me and kissed my cheek. “You look gorgeous.”
That was easy. I changed out of the dress, and he also bought me heels and a clutch. Then he dropped me off at a spa, where they did my nails, hair, and makeup.
I felt like a princess.
Two hours later, my jaw dropped, literally dropped, when he picked me up in his full dress blues, medals gleaming, especially the Medal of Honor around his neck.
“Hello handsome.”
He took my arm and led me to a limo parked outside.
Once inside, Grady poured himself a glass of whisky and I had a rum and coke. It was as if we were going to prom, another experience I’d skipped because of my dancing.
The limo took us to the Hawaiian Marriott.
We walked downstairs, all eyes staring at us. I’d had the public eye on me before, but never on the arms of someone I’d loved. Who I was proud of. Who I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. And, as if this night couldn’t get any better, I was about to meet the President.
41
Grady
I straightened my medals, and put my arm around Isa’s back. Six months ago, I doubted that I would ever even find a date to take to the ball. Now I was here attending with the most breathtaking woman, inside and out. And better yet, she loved me.
The place was swarmed with secret service men, another career I’d wanted to consider after being a sniper. But I refused to focus on what couldn’t be.
A bunch of Devil Dogs greeted us, including my best friends, Beau, Diego, and Trace. After catching up with them, Isa and I posed for formal pictures.
The commandant walked over. I’d met him once when I’d been awarded my medal. “Good evening, sir. I’d like you to meet my girlfriend, Isa Cuesta.”
“Good evening, Sergeant. Nice to meet you, miss. Sergeant Williams, the President has requested your presence. Please join us.”
We were escorted to the back table, where the President was sitting with a few other high-ranking Marines. He stood up when he saw me. “Sergeant Williams, it’s lovely to see you again. And who is your beautiful date.”
I shook his hand. “This is my girlfriend, Isa Cuesta.”
The President kissed Isa’s hand. “It’s an honor Mr. President.”
“The honor is mine. Sergeant Williams tells me you’re a dancer. I hope to see you dance tonight.”
She bit her lip. “Oh, I’d love to. I’m so happy to be here.”
The ball was about to start so we were seated for the Commandant’s Birthday Message. A video played, showing the history of the Marine Corps. I was interviewed in the reel, cringing when I saw myself on the high definition screen.
“I’m Sergeant Grady Williams. I’m a Marine. And Marines will do anything for each other. Semper Fidelis. Always Faithful. I didn’t think I was going to die that day, I knew I was going to. But if I could’ve saved one life, I knew my sacrifice was worth it.”
Isa’s eyes welled with tears, and she clutched my hand. Her fingers looked so delicate placed in my white gloves.
The video ended, and there was the cutting of the Marine Corps cake, as well as a presentation recognizing the oldest Marine, a Korean War vet who was 85, and the youngest Marine, a 17 year old private.
I was having a blast, drinking, eating our catered dinner, seeing all my friends again.
Once dinner was over, an announcer took the stage.
Nerves overtook me. I had another surprise for Isa.
“And now we have a special treat. Sergeant Williams please take the floor.”
“What?” she turned to me and I stood up and led Isa out to face the audience.
The sweat dripped down my face and I clung to Isa. Strobe lights, people packed into the audience like sardines. I spied my friends at their tables, dressed in their dress blues, clapping their hands manically. Man, what had I done?
“And now, dancing a slow foxtrot to “Tale as Old as Time,” Sergeant Grady Williams and Isa Cuesta.
The audience roared. The blue dress hugged her incredible curves. And I didn’t need a mask or a costume. I was a beast. Her beast.
She back led me through the song as I tried to focus on doing heel leads and keeping the rhythm slow, quick, quick, slow. I hated to admit it, but I actually enjoyed dancing—the pressure of Isa’s tight body on mine, the softness of her skin in my scarred hands as we moved as one to the music. I was in complete control. Of the dance, of her, and of my life.
After a few more steps, she twirled off me. My Marines stood up, their claps and catcalls deafening.
She kissed my lips. “I can’t believe you danced with me.”
I lowered my hands to her waist and kissed her back. I reached into my breast pocket, and pulled out a ring. I had a question to ask her.
42
Isa
Before I could even realize what Grady was doing he’d dropped to one knee in front of me, holding a ring. I thought I was going to faint.
“I love you, Isa. I want you to be my wife. Will you marry me?”
“Ay dios mío, Grady. Yes!”
He picked me up and kissed me. Applause rang out through the banquet room.
I stared at my ring, a beautiful oval-cut diamond set in rose gold.
Rose.
From my beast.
My beast. My prince. My hero.
My fiancé.
Epilogue
For my final act in the Marine Corps, I married my lovely bride in a traditional Marine Corps wedding, my buddies creating the arch with their swords.
After Isa and I were married, our lives had blended together seamlessly. She’d re-enrolled in her senior year at UCSD. I found a job working with wounded warriors, men and women just like myself. It was great to know that I could inspire those who felt as desperate and despondent as I once had.
Money would be tight, but we were both fine living on a budget. Between Isa’s job teaching dancing, and my income from my job and the VA, we would make ends meet.
Pasha had been arrested and charged with kidnapping and sexual assault. Because he had no priors he pled it down to probation. I’d always known there was something seriously off about that guy.
Turns out, he had other pending allegations of sexual assault with other dance students. They had been afraid to file a report against a TV star. He must’ve counted on Isa being an easy target. But she pointed the gun at his head. Isa was strong and beautiful.
I would never stop missing Rafael, but I finally found some comfort, knowing he would want me to be happy, and that he was guarding the gates of heaven.
Almost a year after we met, I looked out the window of our apartment and heard the sounds of a party from the local frat house, where Isa and I had met.
“Hey, there’s a party down there. Looks like some superhero theme. Would you like to go?”
Isa came over to me, wrapped her arms around my neck as I squeezed her ass.
“I’d love to. But this time, let’s go as the Joker and Harley Quinn. You don’t need a mask.”
The End
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Also by Alana Albertson
Want more romance?
Love Navy SEALS?
Meet Pat! I had one chance to put on the cape and be her hero. Invincible
Meet Grant! She wants to get wild? I will fulfill her every fantasy. Conceit, Chronic, Crazed
Meet Shane! I’m America’s cockiest badass. Badass (co-written with Linda Barlow)
Love Marines?
Meet Bret! He was a real man—muscles sculpted from carrying weapons, not from practicing pilates. Love Waltzes In
Love rockstars?
Meet Tony! ! This Greek God of a man is six feet five inches of perfection. Waltz on the Wild Side
Love demons?
Who’s haunting America’s favorite ballet? Snow Queen
About the Author
ALANA ALBERTSON IS the President of RWA’s Contemporary Romance Chapter. She holds a M.Ed. from Harvard and a BA in English from Stanford. A recovering professional ballroom dancer, she lives in San Diego, California, with her husband, two young sons, and five dogs. When she’s not saving dogs from high kill shelters through her rescue Pugs N Roses, she can be found watching episodes of UnREAL, Homeland, or Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders: Making the Team.
For more information:
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Invincible
Copyright
Invincible
Book One in THE TRIDENT CODE
Copyright © 2014 by Alana Albertson
Cover design by Regina Wamba of MaeIDesign.com
Cover Models: Julia Plan and Michael Alexander
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Bolero Books, LLC
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ISBN-13: 978-0-9896243-8-1
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products, bands, and/or restaurants referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
I’LL BE HONEST WITH YOU—I’m no hero. Sure, the media tries to brand every Navy SEAL as some kind of Batman dressed in cammies. There’s even a line in one of our cadences: Superman is the man of steel, he ain’t no match for Navy SEAL. You’ve seen the movies—we’re infallible, invaluable, invincible. But that night, the one you read about in the papers … all I really wanted to do was get laid.
One harmless fuck with an Aruban whore, no strings attached. I picked her out of a lineup—wild, dark hair, long legs and a crooked smile. After she sucked me off, I relaxed back onto the creaky, cum-stained cot, thankful for the blissful moments she gave me when I actually forgot for a second the faces of my buddies who died because I made the wrong call, the tears of the children I couldn’t save, and the eyes of the enemies I slaughtered during their last seconds of life.
But before I left, her hazel eyes peered into my soul. She whispered in a distinct Californian accent, “My name is Annie Hamilton. I’m an American citizen. I was kidnapped on spring break five years ago. You’re my last hope. Please save me.”
One desperate plea. This wasn’t a Hollywood blockbuster or a New York Times best-selling thriller. I knew this time there was no room for excuses, no margin for errors. I had one chance to put on the cape and be her hero.
1
Patrick
LIBERTY. FINALLY, A NIGHT OFF. Fuck yeah!
Petty Officer 2nd Class Victor Gonzales slicked some gel into his dark brown hair and slathered on some after-shave. “Hey, Walsh—you wanna go to that club tonight? Near the plaza?”
Another tourist hotspot in picturesque Aruba—drunken college girls on spring break, wayward daughters escaping their parents on family vacations. I had no desire to spend my first night on land in six months making small talk, hoping to get lucky. I wanted a sure thing, with no strings.
“No thanks, man. I’m just going to head on into town and get a bite to eat.”
Lieutenant Commander Kyle Lawson trimmed his short black beard and nodded toward me. “You sure? You’re my wingman, bro. Vic over here can never close the deal.”
Vic threw the bottle of hair gel at Kyle. “Fuck you, Kyle. I have standards—I don’t just sleep with every girl who says hi to me.”
Yeah, I definitely needed to go solo tonight, even though the three of us always made our mark when we hit the town. Three United States Navy SEALs didn’t exactly blend in with the local tourists. We were all ripped, especially since on deployment we spent all our free time in the ship’s gym. Vic’s huge arms were decorated with tattoos. Stupid motherfucker, identifying markers weren’t a plus in the Teams. He’d never make SEAL Team Six. And at six feet five inches tall, former NFL linebacker Kyle towered over Vic and me, though we could hardly be considered short since we both measured in at over six feet. People would stop Kyle all the time and ask him for an autograph, confusing him with a Hollywood movie star or a rapper. Not to mention, the two of them looked like a walking Navy SEAL diversity outreach recruitment poster, with me standing out as the blond-haired, blue-eyed boy.
“I’ll meet up with you two fools later.” For the past six months, I’d spent every waking minute with my Team—SEAL Team Seven to be precise. We’d been circling the Caribbean Islands, working our asses off, patrolling and hunting “go-fast” boats run by South American drug cartels. Tomorrow, I planned to snorkel, relax on the beach, and rest before we returned home from deployment. And later tonight I’d meet up with Kyle and Vic and get hammered.
But first things first—I needed some pussy.
I pulled on my civilian clothes, which felt foreign to my body. Sandals and shorts instead of boots and “utes.” I glanced in the mirror and debated whether to shave off my full beard. No point. One benefit of being a SEAL was our relaxed grooming standards. The Marines on our carrier still had to shave daily and cut their hair within regulation. We SEALs could grow full beards and keep our hair longer, to blend in undercover. I certainly wasn’t trying to impress anyone tonight, so I grabbed my wallet and headed out.
Where the fuck was that brothel again? I’d visited it last time we were here. Some of the Team guys refused to pay for sex—they’d rather cheat on their wives or girlfriends with unsuspecting coeds or stay on ship all night reading the Bible. Fuck that. I didn’t have a wife, or a girlfriend. Some woman back home to screw around on me while I was off training or deployed nine months out of the year? No thanks. I’d tried that once—our ship hadn’t even left the dock before she had another guy’s cock in her mout
h. Never again. At least I wasn’t one of those guys slipping in and out of women’s lives, filling them with empty promises. I’d seen enough of those men growing up—assholes taking me to baseball games, vowing to be my new dad, fucking my mom and then vanishing. I never made any commitments—except to my country and to my men. Sleeping with a prostitute was the definition of safe sex to me.
Neon-colored buildings lined the streets, some marked with graffiti. A dark-skinned man with an AK-47 slung across his body approached me. “Hey, Sailor, looking for a good time?”
Damn straight. I hadn’t laid eyes on a woman in six months. I said no words, just nodded and followed him into an alley, where he frisked me for a weapon. I was all clear. The sun beat down on the broken pavement, and I realized what a dumbass I was for going to a brothel in daylight. But I didn’t give a fuck.
The multi-colored beaded curtain crashed in the wind, and I heard some Caribbean music in the background. The man rang a bell, and at least a dozen women ran from the back of the ramshackle house. They were dressed in cheap heels and trashy nighties; this wasn’t some high-class joint. But that was fine with me.
One brunette caught my eye. Her black thong was hiked high up on her hips, like she was stuck in some eighties music video. Light-skinned, long legs, small breasts. She seemed older and more withdrawn than the others—and she was the only one who didn’t make eye contact with me.
I pointed. “Her.”
The pimp let out a deep laugh. “Star? Good choice.”
BEAST: A Bad Boy Marine Romance Page 16