Page 110 of Beast

I felt free, liberated. Telling Pat gave me a sense of strength. Healing.

I couldn’t keep these secrets bottled up inside me. I had to tell my story. Maybe it would help people. Women, make them more cautious on vacation. Or if an innocent girl heard my story today, maybe one day if she had the misfortune of ever being kidnapped, she would remember hearing my story. My words, my rescue, my hope. I remember hearing about other women captives that had been freed. Their stories kept me going when I’d lost my way. If my story could do that for one woman, it would be worth it.

But I couldn’t. My mouth was bound, I was gagged. Just how I had been in the brothel. But not by my captor. No. By my father. I didn’t want to disgrace him further. It was bad enough that people thought I’d run away, and that fake story had quickly died down in the media. The truth, though, would make me a household name. And my infamy would never go away.

But it wasn’t about me. I had to think about Gabriel. My parents. And even Pat. Yes, oh God. Pat. I couldn’t let his story get out. It would ruin his career. Hiring me at the brothel, going rogue to save me. His face and name would be splashed all over the tabloids. And it would ruin any chance of us finding happiness together. Nothing was worth that risk.

I loved him, he said he loved me. And he loved my son.

One day, I would tell my truth. Maybe years from now, when Gabriel was grown, when my parents had passed, when Pat had retired. But for now, my story will remain buried deep inside my head, my heart, my soul.

34

Patrick

I TOLD ANNIE I HAD to work the next day. I headed back to Kyle’s house, but this time, instead of Sara opening the door, I was greeted by Vic.

“Hey, man, come inside. I think we’ve got something.”

I followed Vic back to Kyle’s office. Kyle was in Intel and made mission plans like they were football plays—there were pictures, diagrams, timelines, and maps. Luckily, his security clearance gave him access to SEAL service records.

I sat on one of the chairs. “What do we have?”

Kyle looked up at me. “Well, I made a list of all men who left the Teams in the last five years. Then I eliminated all the men who went into non-security-related careers. I was left with one hundred and forty-three names. They were spread out among different countries, different states, and different contractors. There were only three gingers. Two of them still work at their security companies, but one of them worked for Neptune Group. He left his security detail around three years ago.”

“Six months after he found Annie.”

“Exactly. Name is Matt Houston. I asked some buddies who knew him, looks like he checked into drug rehab. And get this, he lives in Poway.”

Vic jumped in. “And we’re meeting him for lunch in an hour. I fed him some bullshit that I’m thinking about contributing to a foundation for fallen SEALs. He ate it up. Was happy to meet with some Team guys.”

Brilliant. Team guys always welcomed meetings from fellow Frogs, even if they had never met before. That was one of the benefits of being part of the best fraternity in the world.

We headed inland in Kyle’s Black Cadillac Escalade Hybrid. I texted Annie to see how she was doing. I wanted to spend as much time as possible with her before I had to deploy, but I needed to find out the truth.

Matt had recommended we meet at Brothers Provisions, a sandwich shop which served craft beer on tap in Rancho Bernardo, a town next to Poway.

As we approached, I scanned the patio. I recognized him immediately. Red hair, still built, looked hardened. I didn’t care if he was a Team guy—I wanted to kill this motherfucker for fucking my girl and leaving her to die.

“Hey, Matt. I’m Pat, this is Kyle and this is Vic.” I reached out my hand, but he didn’t take it. His hands had an unsteady twitch, and he was rattling his keys.

He nodded his head, and we all went inside to order sandwiches and beers. Back out on the patio, we made small talk—Teams we’d been on, guys we both knew, and deployments.

He took a sip of his beer, and his eyes shifted back and forth. “I need to hit the head.”

He stood up and went inside the shop. Barely a few seconds had passed when an older-model black Ford truck barreled out of the parking lot. He’d been on to us.

We didn’t speak; we knew what to do. I threw down some money for a tip and we hightailed it into Kyle’s Escalade.

I could see Matt’s truck entering I-15 Freeway going south.

Kyle chased him down the freeway, dodging in and out of cars. Matt didn’t slow down. Where the fuck was he going?

I didn’t have time for this shit. He slowed to enter the 56 West and I took out my pistol, leaned out the window and shot out his back right tire.

He pulled to the shoulder of the freeway, Kyle’s Escalade right behind him.

I saw him reach toward his glove compartment. This motherfucker was going to kill himself. Or us.