Crazed (Se7en Deadly SEALs Book 3) Read Free Page A

way easier.
    As my shift dragged on, I made small talk with the patrons, lied about my life back in the Ukraine, and laughed at their silly jokes.
    Near closing time, a man walked in and sat down at the bar. He was clean-shaven—a rarity among these men—in his mid-forties, dark hair, piercing green eyes, and broad shoulders. “I’ll have a jack and coke.”
    I prepared his drink, and though I turned away from him, his eyes remained fixed on me. More so than the general eye fuck the other men gave me. “Here you go, handsome. Do you have tab?”
    “No.” The man’s eyes burned into my face. I could see his pupils trace my lips, my nose, my eyes, my chest. I instinctively covered my body with my arms.
    “Where you from?” he asked, his voice deep and slow.
    “Kharkov, in the Ukraine.”
    “Sure you are.”
    I let out a nervous laugh. Who was this man, and what did he think he knew?
    He knocked back his drink, then slid a folded twenty across the bar. Without saying a word, he vanished.
    I unfolded the bill and a small piece of paper floated out.
    I’m on to you.
    My hand shook as I shoved the paper into my apron pocket. I scanned the bar but he was gone. No one knew about my identity except Roman. Had I made a fatal error?
    Well, my dumbass had shown Joaquín my bracelet at the jail yesterday, but only Joaquín would know what that bracelet meant. Maybe Joaquín had sent someone to check me out? Weren’t jails run like some sort of underground mafia? Like maybe he could’ve bribed a guard? A sudden coldness hit my core. I couldn’t even begin to imagine what Joaquín’s day-to-day life was like in the jail. He’d gone from being a hero to a caged animal. I closed my eyes and tried to push the image of my brother pounding license plates and eating a sandwich made of stale bread and slimy bologna out of my mind.
    I focused on Kyle, who was cleaning glasses by the bar.
    “Who that man is I serve?”
    “The guy who just bolted? Never seen him. I doubt he’s a former Team guy—I’ve met most of them in these parts. Why? He hassle you?”
    I shook my head. I had to keep this under wraps. “No. He look familiar to me, maybe I see him at club.”
    My stomach churned and beads of sweat dripped down my forehead. If someone were on to me, I would be discovered. A ticking time bomb rang loudly in my ears. If I were smart, I would drive to Grant’s house, confess my sins, and beg for mercy.
    But I had lost any sense of reason. Without Joaquín, without Grant, without my baby, without my parents, I had no ties to anyone. I yearned to feel something, to connect, to be reminded my own life had a purpose independent of saving Joaquín. That someone, somewhere, loved me. But for now, the most important task was to protect my identity.
    At the end of my shift, I had made a little over two hundred dollars in tips. Nothing like what I made a night stripping, but definitely a decent sum nonetheless. Maybe I should’ve worked here when I was Mia, to pay my way through college; not that Grant, nor Joaquín for that matter, would have been thrilled with the idea of me serving a bunch of Team guys.
    I said goodbye to Kyle and walked out the door, preparing to drive home and try to shake this unsettling experience. Candy-colored clouds loomed in the sunset. A gust of wind blew into my face and I became disoriented. In my haze, a heavy feeling arose in my gut. Something wasn’t right.
    That man. Maybe I should’ve asked Kyle to drive me home. Or I could’ve called Grant. Hell, maybe I should’ve called Mitch.
    No. I could handle this. That man, whoever he was, couldn’t possibly know my real identity. I’d crossed my t’s and dotted my i’s. Even Grant didn’t suspect who I was.
    I ignored my paranoia and hurried into my car. As I drove down the freeway, my hands shook on the steering wheel. My fingers pressed on the volume, trying to drown my anxiety in a sea of heavy metal music. The blaring instruments pulsed through