Saved by the SEALs: A Military Reverse Harem Romance Read online

  Up the beach, the two police officers were walking in our direction. One of them pointed at me.

  “Karen,” Linda whispered in shock. “What the hell have you gotten yourself into?”

  10

  Karen

  The two men who approached from the police car weren’t wearing standard police uniforms. They wore casual clothing, but with bulletproof vests over the outside. White words were stitched onto the vest in blocky letters:

  POLICIA

  INTERPOL

  “Karen Helmandollar?” one of them asked in a thick accent. “Come with us, please.”

  Everyone on the beach was watching now. I gritted my teeth and said, “What is this about?”

  They responded by grabbing my arm and leading me toward the helicopter. My cell phone fell out of my grasp and buried halfway in the sand.

  “Where are you taking her?” Linda yelled. “You can’t do this!”

  I ducked my head under the helicopter rotors and then was shoved in the back seat. “Is this about the SEALs?” I yelled above the engine noise. “I already spoke with the police.”

  The doors closed and the engine noise rose to a volume that made talking impossible. I stared out the window as the beach lowered beneath us and we rose into the blue sky.

  We turned and flew over the city, the rows of blocky buildings with burnt red roofs passing underneath with wonderful synchronicity. The view would have been beautiful if not for the circumstances.

  I’ve been arrested by Interpol.

  What did Interpol do again? I thought they were sort of like the world police. Arresting international criminals and taking them back home to stand trial. What did they want with me?

  It almost certainly had to do with Cairo and Hunter. But the police—and Logan—had already questioned me, and even searched my apartment. What was the point of them grabbing me on the beach in a freaking helicopter?

  Interpol must not have been communicating with the local authorities. Different jurisdictions or something. But that still didn’t answer the question of why they were apprehending me, or where they were taking me, or what would happen to me next.

  My parents were going to kill me if I ended up on the news over this.

  The helicopter flew north, and the iconic red buildings of downtown Barcelona were replaced with industrial-grey. Soon warehouses and factories were all I could see out the window. That only confused me more.

  Some sort of corporate issue with my microbiology work? I was studying the cell growth of warm-water bacteria when affected by pollutants. That might upset some local industries, I guessed. But it still seemed like a stretch.

  The helicopter teetered, then lowered us to the roof of a warehouse that looked abandoned. The moment we touched down the Interpol officers opened the door and ushered me out like I was a witness being protected before an important trial.

  They opened a hatch in the roof. A ladder extended, allowing us to climb down. They gestured for me to go first.

  I climbed slowly, hand over hand and foot over foot, always ensuring I had a firm grip before moving to the next rung. I was overwhelmed with how much open space was below and around me. It was disorienting. I glued my eyes to the ladder in front of me and tried not to think what would happen if I fell the 50 feet to the floor.

  Only when my feet touched the cold slab floor did I look around again. The warehouse was abandoned. I gathered that it was once used for storage, based on all the booms and chains hanging from the ceiling, and the leftover wooden pallets strewn throughout the room. The sound of water dripping echoed through the dank, damp room.

  This was not a building where happy memories were made.

  The two Interpol officers climbed down the ladder and led me toward one corner. Rat droppings scraped against my beach flip-flops as we walked toward a single fold-out chair, the kind you might see at an outdoor wedding, but grey with age instead of white and new. Two men appeared out of nowhere wearing all black, and with ski masks covering everything but their eyes and mouth. They had pistols on their hip, but otherwise didn’t look like Interpol.

  What kind of police officers wear masks?

  Unlike at the police station, they bound my hands behind my back, and then tied them to the chair. The thin rope dug into my wrist painfully, but now I was too scared to complain.

  Once I was restrained, the two masked men stood 20 feet in front of me. Staring.

  I broke down in a panic after about 15 seconds.

  “I don’t know why I’m in trouble,” I said, unable to keep the fear out of my voice. “I already spoke with the SEAL guys at the station. They said I was fine!”

  The masked men stared back at me. There was something unnerving about the dark eyes of the guy on the left. Like his face was deformed underneath the mask…

  A door opened across the warehouse, screaming on rusty hinges. The woman who strode across the room could only be described as a female soldier. Her camo pants were tucked into combat boots which thumped along the floor heavily. She was fit like everybody’s favorite Instagram model, though she didn’t care about makeup or hair styles. Her face drew down to a sharp chin. A maroon beret sat atop brown hair that was pulled tight behind her.

  Her boots clicked as she stopped in front of me. Maybe I was in shock by the whole thing, but in a burst of sarcasm I said, “Let me guess. You want to know my name, my birthday, and my age, even though the last two facts are redundant.”

  She snorted. “You are Karen Helmandollar.” Her Spanish accent was tinged with French. Catalan. “Born April 14, 1996, which makes you 23 years old. Why would we bring you here if we did not already know who you were?”

  “I agree, that would be really silly,” I said, remembering the repetitive questioning at the police station. “What have I done wrong? Why am I here?”

  “I would like to ask you some questions.”

  I blinked. “My hands need to be tied for that?”

  “Yes.”

  Something in her voice terrified me. This was far worse of a situation than the police station. Whereas Logan had wanted to learn the truth, I got the feeling this woman wanted very specific answers out of me, and she would stop at nothing until she heard them.

  I swallowed the bile crawling up the back of my throat. “Who are you?”

  “I am Aina,” she said simply.

  “With Interpol?”

  “Of course.” She nodded as if that was the end of my turn. “I am going to ask you some questions now. Will you answer them truthfully?”

  “I promise,” I said with only a little quiver in my voice.

  “You were at the club last night with two men. Americans. Yes?”

  “I met two Americans at the club last night, that’s right.”

  She frowned. “You did not know them before last night?”

  I shook my head, which caused my hair to sway in front of my eyes. I absently tried to reach up to brush it back before the restraints reminded me I couldn’t.

  “No,” I said. “One of them flirted with me at the bar when he heard my accent. The other joined in later when a fight broke out.”

  “What were their names?”

  “Cairo, and Hunter. Well, Cairo was a nickname. His real name was Seth.”

  “Last names?”

  “I didn’t catch those.”

  “Do you know what they do? Their profession?”

  “I’m not certain.”

  “Do you have a suspicion?”

  I hesitated, remembering what Logan had told me: that it would be best if I didn’t talk to anyone about Cairo and Hunter. But this was Interpol. If I couldn’t trust them, who could I trust?

  “I suspect they were special forces,” I admitted to Aina. “Commandos or Navy SEALs.”

  She nodded as if that were the answer she’d expected. “And why do you think this?”

  “They were secretive,” I replied. “Wouldn’t tell me anything about what they did. Plus they look like SEALs.”

&nb
sp; “Good,” Aina said. “What else?”

  “Umm. One of them reacted strangely when I asked about Barcelona Naval Command. I think they’re stationed out there. And their boss was keen on secrecy, too.”

  Aina blinked. “You met their boss?”

  I bobbed my head. “They arrested me at a cafe and took me to a police station, where I was interrogated by another American. He definitely seemed like the superior of Cairo and Hunter.”

  “Very good.” Aina crouched in front of me so she could look directly into my face on my level. Her stare was devoid of emotion, like a robot.

  “Karen, I am afraid you have been deceived.”

  I licked my lips. “What?”

  “The men you met last night are not Navy SEALs,” she said in almost a sad tone. “They are criminals. We have been searching for them for weeks.”

  My jaw hung open. “They didn’t seem like criminals.”

  “Of course not,” Aina said, standing up straight again. “They are suave and cunning. It is how they obtain what they want. And I think they got what they wanted with you, yes?”

  She raised a suggestive eyebrow.

  “I went home with them,” I admitted. “They were just two guys at the bar. They protected me from a date rapist.”

  Aina shook her head and glanced at one of the hooded men. He looked like he was grinning underneath the ski mask, though it was tough to tell. Discussing my sex life with these people was uncomfortable, and I hoped she wouldn’t ask for details.

  “The fight at the bar last night? It was orchestrated to gain your trust,” Aina said. “They used a plant to spike your drink while you were watching, then swooped in to save the day. Such is how confidence men work, yes?”

  I gave a start. “How did you know my drink was spiked? All I said was a date rapist…”

  “Because that is how they operate,” Aina snapped. “I have seen them use this trick a hundred times.”

  My head was spinning. It had been a pretty obvious attempt to spike my drink. And somehow Cairo had seen it from across the bar? Then came to my rescue just in the nick of time?

  Oh no. She’s right.

  “I will understand if you need a moment to process this information,” Aina said. She crossed her arms under her breasts and waited.

  “Who are they?” I asked. “What kind of criminals?”

  “I cannot divulge this information.”

  “Well…” I shook my head. “Why would they want to con me? I’m just a microbiology grad student.”

  “We do not know,” Aina said simply. “But with your cooperation we may discover what they are after. You must tell us everything you know.”

  “Okay.”

  “You left the club with them? After the fight?”

  “Yes.”

  “Where did you go?”

  “They had an apartment a few blocks away.”

  “Can you be more specific?” she asked gently.

  I visualized a map of the city in my head, tracing our route. “It was on the corner of Pujades and Pallars. An apartment complex with individual balconies. They were on the sixth floor… Apartment 68.”

  “You are certain of this number?”

  “I remember it because of how it was…” I shook my head. She probably wouldn’t get the dirty joke. “Yeah, I’m positive it was apartment 68.”

  Aina turned to one of the men wearing an Interpol vest and nodded. He pulled out a cell phone and walked away to make a phone call.

  “The men,” Aina said. “Describe them for me.”

  I spent a few minutes giving her detailed descriptions of Cairo, Hunter, and Logan. She asked about visible markings like tattoos and scars. She even made me discuss their specific dialects of American accent.

  It was a relief to tell her everything. This woman had the same kind of intense presence as Logan that made me want to make her happy. Or rather, it made me afraid of what would happen if I displeased her. Swap her combat boots for fuck-me pumps and she would have made a good dominatrix.

  “Logan, the one at the station,” Aina asked. “Did he have anything you could see?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “A notebook, or a laptop computer. Something with information on it.”

  “Nothing like that.”

  “Did you overhear him speaking with anyone else?”

  I shook my head. “They had me in a tiny room by myself, and then I left. Our interaction was limited.”

  She nodded as if she were agreeing with me, then said, “I think you are leaving something out.”

  I gave a start. “I’m not.”

  “How did you know these men before the club?”

  “How did I…” I was confused by the sudden change of subject. “I told you, I met them at the club. I’d never seen them before that.”

  Aina’s hand flashed out in an open-palm slap, catching me across the cheek. My vision flashed white. For a moment I was too stunned to realize what had happened. Then my cheek started burning.

  “I do not tolerate lying,” Aina said. She sounded bored.

  “I’m not lying!”

  “Who are you? Why are you in Barcelona?”

  “I’m a microbiology—”

  The next slap was back-handed, her knuckles smashing into my jaw and knocking me and the chair sideways. My head bounced against the concrete floor, sending spots floating across my vision.

  I blinked rapidly, but now I was very dizzy. The floor was unnaturally cold against my cheek. I tried focusing on objects closer to me. The tiny rat droppings inches from my face. A loose piece of concrete the size of my nose.

  I was vaguely aware of Aina gesturing at me. One of the masked men approached and pulled me and the chair upright. He smelled like cinnamon. Or maybe I had a head injury. Didn’t people smell weird things when they got a concussion?

  The man in the ski mask planted the chair legs, waited to see if I could remain upright, and then he backed away.

  “Your roommate claimed to be a microbiology student as well,” Aina said. “She I believe. Clearly too immature to be a CIA asset. But you?” She shook her head.

  Tears streamed down my face against my will. “Please. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Why are you in Barcelona?”

  “I told you—”

  Another slap. This time I braced for it and remained upright in the chair, but the pain flared in my nose and cheek and made me sob harder. I tasted metal in my mouth and realized my nose was bleeding.

  Aina still looked bored. She took no pleasure in this. It was a chore for her. A task to be completed on some cruel To-Do list.

  “Why are you in Barcelona?”

  I wept harder because I didn’t know what to tell her.

  11

  Hunter

  Our car flew down the Barcelona street while I loaded a fresh magazine into my Sig Sauer P226 pistol.

  The fucking cocksuckers had taken Karen. And it was our fault.

  “Bro, hurry up,” I said from the back seat. “You’re driving like my grandma.”

  “Logan twisted in the front passenger seat. “We’re going as fast as we can.” He checked his weapon before holstering it.

  “Not fast enough,” I grumbled.

  They’d taken her in the middle of the fucking day. Right off a crowded beach. These assholes were getting bolder every day. That was a bad sign.

  And Karen was right in the middle of it all.

  Son of a bitch. She didn’t deserve to be wrapped up in this. We shouldn’t have slept with her. Now she was in trouble.

  If we’re too late…

  I knew I was taking out my frustration on my teammates, but couldn’t help it. “I don’t see why you two are so cavalier about this,” I said.

  “Relax, Hunter,” Logan said in his Lieutenant Commander voice. The one that was more of an order than a suggestion.

  “Fuck relaxing!” I shouted. “What if she’s dead?”

  “We’re doing so
mething about it. Losing your cool doesn’t help anyone.”

  “It helps me let out some steam,” I argued.

  Logan’s cell rang. He answered it and told Cairo, “Make a right. Then follow that road for two more clicks.”

  “Where’d they take her?” I asked.

  “A warehouse in the industrial district.”

  I sucked in my breath. “Fuck.”

  Isolated locations, like abandoned warehouses, were where these guys liked to take prisoners for interrogation. The Spanish government found a body a week that way, beaten to a pulp and then left for dead.

  Cairo clenched his jaw and drove faster.

  Logan gave directions until we reached the industrial district on the north end of Barcelona. Factories and ceramic plants zoomed by on either side of our car. He parked alongside one manufacturing building which had its loading doors open, giving a view of smoke and fire within. Some sort of industrial kiln. The foreman came running up to us and shouted about where our car was parked. He cut off when he saw that we were wearing bulletproof vests and had pistols on our hips.

  We ignored him and jogged up the street.

  “It’s that warehouse,” Logan said, pointing to the one on the next block. “According to the intel, that’s where the helicopter landed.”

  “Any other details?” I asked.

  “Nope.”

  Cairo frowned. “Are we gonna talk about the obvious thing?”

  “What?”

  “That this could be a trap.”

  I’d been too worried to consider it, but now that he mentioned it, it seemed obvious. Kidnapping Karen could be a trap to lure us to them. That would explain grabbing her off a crowded beach in the middle of the day—to get our attention. To make us chase them here, where they were waiting.

  Fuck.

  That wasn’t the only risk that leaped to mind. They could have landed on that warehouse and then transported her to another on foot. They might have switched vehicles and driven away. We didn’t have a lot of information, and we couldn’t pull the strings to find out. We were essentially going in blind.