Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 61897 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 309(@200wpm)___ 248(@250wpm)___ 206(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61897 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 309(@200wpm)___ 248(@250wpm)___ 206(@300wpm)
I made my way up to my tiny third-floor apartment, unlocking the door and pushing my way inside. Once there, I instantly started Googling him, searching for every little bit of dirt I possible could.
And as I did it, I found myself formulating a list of questions. I didn’t even realize I was doing it, but for some reason some part of my brain must have assumed I was going to go through with the meeting.
A few hours passed that way, and what I learned about Nash Bell didn’t really help.
Nash was known as one of the best successful SEAL commanders in Afghanistan history. What exactly that meant was in his book, and apparently a lot more had happened that was highly classified. He’d done three tours of the desert, spent countless hours out in the field, and had a huge number of confirmed kills.
And he was barely a few years older than me, which was surprising. The man had a grizzled, veteran look about him, but he was only twenty-eight.
After he got back from his last tour, he went on a leave of absence for an unspecified amount of time and for an unknown reason. Around that time, he came out with his book, and the rest was history.
People loved his story. It was full of action, violence, and excitement. He was a small-town boy from the Midwest that went on to do incredible things with the military, a true American hero. He had saved his company numerous times, put his own life in danger for his comrades, and more; he was everything we were told military men were supposed to be.
And yet he was a drunk and a womanizer. He liked expensive cars, expensive dinners, and expensive parties. The man was a living hurricane, blowing through town after town. There were rumors that his publisher wasn’t happy with his behavior, but there was no sign he was going to slow down.
By the time I came up to breathe, it was already ten o’clock and I had a decision to make.
I could take what seemed like an impossibly lucky opportunity, suck it up, and go meet the man, or I could chalk this one up to a strange celebrity’s practical joke and decide to ignore it.
But I had already made up my mind hours ago. Really, I had made up my mind the second he’d invited me. When he’d looked at me with that intense stare, I had known I was going to do what he said.
Stomach flipping from nerves, I stood up and began to root through my closet for something appropriate to wear.
Something dressy and classy, but not too inviting for him.
This was strictly business, after all.
I had to keep telling myself that. With Nash Bell, everything had to be strictly business.
He was just too dangerous to get involved with.
2
Nash
Two Weeks Earlier
* * *
I woke up, hangover pulsing through my skull.
Another fucking hangover. I could barely even remember the night before. I had a vague idea of some fucking club, loud music, plenty of sluts throwing themselves at me.
I looked across the sheets and, sure enough, some blond stranger was wrapped up in the comforter.
I groaned, rolling out of bed. What a fucking shit storm. I walked into the bathroom, rinsed my mouth out, and drank a cup of water.
“Baby?”
I looked back into the main room. The blond thing was sitting up, her thick hair spilling down around her shoulders, her bare tits standing firm and ripe.
“Not your baby,” I grunted at her.
“Whatever.” She smiled, crawling across the bed. “That was fun last night.”
“Sure,” I said. “I bet it was.”
“Are you going somewhere?”
“Eventually.” I looked at the time. “Got a fucking flight in a few hours.”
She stopped at the edge of the bed and motioned for me. I sighed, walking over to her.
She reached out and grabbed my cock through my thin boxers. “You have a few extra minutes, right?”
Another pussy, another city, another night. I stared at the girl and tried to remember her name, but I was drawing up a blank. Frankly, I couldn’t even remember what city I was in, let alone what club slut I had brought home the night before.
What the fuck was happening to my life? One day I was at the top of my game, killing fucking scumbag terrorists in one of the most dangerous places in the world, and the next I was rolling around the country getting my cock sucked by horny fans.
“Maybe another time,” I grunted to her, turning away.
“What?” she pouted. “Come on.”
I looked back at her. “Get your shit and get out.”
She stared at me, not sure if I was joking. “Come back here,” she said. “I’ll suck your cock, make you feel better.”
“Guess I wasn’t clear,” I said. “I’m taking a shower. Get the fuck out.”