Seal'd Auction: A Bad Boy Military Standalone Romance Read online

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1 - Jason

  Chapter 2 - Claire

  Chapter 3 - Jason

  Chapter 4 - Claire

  Chapter 5 - Jason

  Chapter 6 - Claire

  Chapter 7 - Jason

  Chapter 8 - Claire

  Chapter 9 - Jason

  Chapter 10 - Claire

  Chapter 11 - Claire

  Chapter 12 - Jason

  Chapter 13 - Claire

  Chapter 14 - Claire

  Chapter 15 - Jason

  Chapter 16 - Claire

  Chapter 17 - Claire

  Chapter 18 - Jason

  Chapter 19 - Jason

  Chapter 20 - Claire

  Chapter 21 - Jason

  Chapter 22 - Claire

  Chapter 23 - Claire

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  Seal’d Auction

  A Military Auction Romance

  Charlotte Byrd

  Byrd Books

  Contents

  Copyright

  Seal’d Auction (A Military Auction Romance)

  Chapter 1 - Jason

  Chapter 2 - Claire

  Chapter 3 - Jason

  Chapter 4 - Claire

  Chapter 5 - Jason

  Chapter 6 - Claire

  Chapter 7 - Jason

  Chapter 8 - Claire

  Chapter 9 - Jason

  Chapter 10 - Claire

  Chapter 11 - Claire

  Chapter 12 - Jason

  Chapter 13 - Claire

  Chapter 14 - Claire

  Chapter 15 - Jason

  Chapter 16 - Claire

  Chapter 17 - Claire

  Chapter 18 - Jason

  Chapter 19 - Jason

  Chapter 20 - Claire

  Chapter 21 - Jason

  Chapter 22 - Claire

  Chapter 23 - Claire

  You’re Invited!!

  FREE BONUS Book! Auctioned to Him Book 1

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Auctioned to Him: Book 1-7 Now Available!

  You’re Invited!!

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  About Charlotte Byrd

  Copyright

  Copyright © 2018 by Charlotte Byrd

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Seal’d Auction (A Military Auction Romance)

  They kicked me out of the SEALs for something I didn't do. Now I'm back home and working for the only guy who will hire me, a local crime boss. Violence has always been my specialty, what do I care who is paying me for it. Besides, everyone who I meet knew what they were getting into. There are no angels in the Vegas underworld.

  Except her.

  I see her almost every day, locked up in a corner apartment in my building. She's the boss' girl. Off limits. Untouchable. Until one night, I get my chance.

  Claire

  When they came to collect my father's gambling debts out of his skin, I knew I had to do something. But when I offered my body in exchange for his life, I didn't expect it would end up like this. The boss has kept me locked up in an apartment, like a princess in a tower, for months. There is no end in sight.

  Until one night, he sends me a gorgeous evening gown and tells me I am going to be auctioned off to the highest bidder.

  This is a full-length standalone romance. Bonus content after the main story include another bestselling auction romance. Grab your copy today.

  No Cheating, No Cliffhanger, Happily Ever After

  Chapter 1 - Jason

  The snap of bone was muffled, like a tree limb cracking from far away. He offered a whimper of pain. He was already done, already beaten. But Kyle always pushed a little farther than was strictly necessary. He enjoyed his work in a way that I didn’t think I ever could. At least, I hoped I never did.

  I had already forgotten the man’s name by the time we left him writhing in the alley. ‘Send a message’ was what the Boss said, and I think we achieved that. I don’t know to whom we were sending the message; the guy was low level, almost a freelancer. He made the mistake of thinking that trying to carve out a little slice for himself, outside the organization, would go unnoticed if he stayed small enough. Never underestimate the greed of people who don’t work for their money.

  Kyle slid into the driver’s seat of the black Yukon and fired up the engine. I leaned back and stared absently out the window.

  “Whoo! Man, did you hear his finger snap? Damn, dude, I thought he was going to pass out.”

  I nod to Kyle and give him a slight smile, one that doesn’t touch my eyes. I do this job because it pays decent, I’m good at it, and I don’t have another choice. I don’t have to revel in it. I had my fill of violence in my old life; it didn’t feel good to be so deep in it now. But since when do feelings matter, anyway? I do what I have to do.

  I started working for Kovalev’s crew a few years ago, a little while after I got dishonorably discharged from the Navy. I was a SEAL for six years, exemplary service record, commendations, the works. But I made a mistake. I figured out that my commanding officer had been pocketing funds that were supposed to be going to local counter-insurgency fighters. A big part of fighting terrorism is getting local communities on your side and giving them a stake in the fight. The cash is part of that. But Lt. Reeve didn’t see it that way; he saw a way to stash some retirement savings overseas. I went straight to the Lieutenant Commander. Problem was, he was in on it, too. In no time, they had the whole thing flipped on me, complete with bank accounts in my name and my signature on the paperwork. The Navy JAG ordered all my assets seized. I was ruined.

  You wouldn’t think someone who fought and killed for a living would be so shook by such a betrayal, but those men were my brothers. I was bounced out of the unit and out of the Navy in a few weeks. I ended up back home, in Vegas, with no money and no prospects. I reached out to some old friends, guys who grew up tough, like me, but had gone a different direction. That’s how I got connected to Kovalev.

  He recognized my value right away. I admit, I look intimidating. I’m six-foot-three, but have been told I look taller. The spare bit of flesh that I used to keep as an active SEAL, precaution against long days in the open without food, was gone. All of the corded muscle stood out underneath my fitted black t-shirt. I had learned to carry myself with an air of sudden but controlled violence, like a jaguar, casual but alert. Kovalev looked at me once, nodded, and whispered to his assistant. Just like that, I was in.

  I started with simple stuff, basic security. A lot of the time I was just an imposing figure standing behind the guy doing the talking, using my mere presence to forestall any trouble. After a while, I started getting jobs that were more…active. The first time I had to rough someone up was hard. I’m accustomed to violence, but I had always felt justified in what I was doing. I believed I was doing the right thing, fighting on the right side. But look where doing the right thing had gotten me. Maybe doing the wrong thing wasn’t such a bad idea. Eventuall
y, I embraced it. I became one of the premiere enforcers in town. Kovalev even hired me out to other organizations in LA, Phoenix, and Reno. I kept my eyes on the ground in front of me. It made it easier, just focusing on what was immediately ahead instead of stopping to think too hard.

  I did my job. I was good at it. I worked hard and never complained. But I never loved it. I didn’t think I could love anything. Not anymore.

  “Fucking A, man! That was a good night’s work, eh? Come on, buy me a drink.”

  Kyle turned onto Bonanza Boulevard and headed toward downtown. Like a lot of locals, I almost never go to the Strip. The mass of tourists, the crazy traffic, it’s not for me. Kyle wasn’t from Vegas. He was ex-special operations, too. Army Ranger. If he had a sob story like mine, he never shared it. It seemed like Kyle just liked to fuck people up and didn’t care who paid him to do it. Kovalev paid better than the Army and the job was a lot less risky. The low-level thugs and degenerate gamblers we dealt with weren’t exactly the Taliban. Kyle grew up in a small town in Oklahoma, so the clubs, casinos, and strip clubs here were like a magnet for him. We bounced over the curb and into the parking lot of one of his favorites, The Palomino.

  The bouncer recognized Kyle as a regular and as a member of Kovalev’s crew. He waved us past without a cover charge. Inside, the music thumped so loud it felt like a physical presence. Even though it was nighttime outside, my eyes still had trouble adjusting to the dark in the club. Soft lights lit up the stage where a gorgeous young woman had climbed the pole nearly to the ceiling and was sliding down slowly, holding on with only her thighs. Kyle slapped me in the chest with an eager grin and went to grab a seat on the rail. I made my way toward the bar, ordered a beer, and looked up at the television. SportsCenter was showing replays of the night’s action. Despite the rise of online fantasy leagues, betting on sports was still big business in Vegas. It made watching highlights feel like more of a job than entertainment. Even though I never bet on anything, the whole environment around sports in this town annoyed me, it was hard to just be a fan.

  “Hey, baby,” a sweet, sultry voice whispered into my ear. A hand lightly touched my shoulder. I suppressed a reflex to spin around. I used to be twitchy, hyper-responsive to any threat, but I’ve mellowed out in the past few years.

  I slowly turned around to face the young woman who had taken the stool next to me. She was clad in the barest excuse for an outfit, it almost defeated the purpose of the striptease. I had to admit, she looked amazing. She immediately moved her hand to my leg, halfway up my thigh.

  “Thanks,” I said, forestalling the pitch. “I’m just going to have a drink.”

  She got the point, moving on quickly to the next mark. I turned back to the television. I hoped Kyle wrapped things up quickly. I was ready to go home and get some sleep. But when I turned around to look toward the main stage, I saw someone new walk into the club and I realized I wasn’t going to get to go home anytime soon.

  Chapter 2 - Claire

  I pretended to be asleep until I was sure I was alone. His footsteps faded down the corridor and then thumped dully down the staircase, leaving me alone in the quiet, dark room. The sounds of the city outside drifted in, muffled by the thick walls and curtains blocking all the windows. I drew a deep, full breath, filling my lungs with air thick with the smell of sweat. It was still, the air felt so heavy even my breath couldn’t stir it. Still, a full breath was welcome after struggling to fill my lungs with his fat, bloated body pressing down on me. He only liked to have sex one way, with his bulk crushing me and the sweat of his exertion dripping onto my face. I had learned long ago not to make any complaints, not to offer any suggestions. My utter submission was part of the deal. The deal that kept my father from ending up dead in a gutter.

  My father was a gambler, and not a successful one. He and my mom had had endless fights about it. He would always claim he was about to hit a hot streak, about to win big, about to make all the problems go away. But the reality was, he didn’t even want to win. The saddest thing about gambling addicts is that it is the losing that drives them, the negativity, the pain. The trouble was, he dragged the rest of us down with him.

  But when my mother died, something clicked for him. Suddenly he was a single father of an eleven-year-old girl. He stopped going to the casinos and moved us to a new house a little outside of town. He became attentive, responsible, caring. It was like someone flicked on a light switch and illuminated the best parts of him. It lasted for almost ten years.

  I was in college when I started getting phone calls from him, first telling me he had to delay sending my monthly stipend, then it stopped coming entirely. I came home to check on him and found the house emptied of furniture, everything sold off, even his wedding ring that he’d kept wearing long after my mother was gone. After hours of crying and yelling, I got the truth out of him. He had gotten in deep with several different bookies. Regular casinos had blacklisted him for bad behavior and a failure to pay his debts, so he went underground. And all the bookies he owed money to worked for the same man. Peter Kovalev. The man who just lumbered out of my room.

  I got out of bed and stretched my sore muscles and walked to the bathroom. The saving grace of this apartment was that it had extremely hot water. That was good when most nights I wanted to scrape my skin off to eliminate the clinging feeling of sweat and stink. I let the water run down my head and over my face as I thought about why I was doing this. It was important for me to remind myself of the stakes, otherwise I was liable to try to run away. Even if the building was stuffed with Kovalev’s goons and a few other girls that belonged to the organization, I had a chance of slipping out unnoticed. Unnoticed, at least, until the boss came for another short burst of frenzied humping.

  But there was no way I could leave. When I had found out that my dad had no chance of paying back so much money to Kovalev, I decided to do whatever I could to make sure they didn’t simply shoot him, bury him, and write off the loss. I decided to offer what goods I had in exchange for sparing his life and clearing his debt.

  When Kovalev agreed, I had been relieved, proud even, to have intervened, so cleverly, to save my father. But relief soon turned to apprehension and fear as the reality of what was happening settled in. Kovalev had set me up in this apartment, near to his office, so he could visit at his leisure. But apart from his visits, I rarely saw anyone. I was basically a prisoner. Food was delivered, and I was brought fresh clothes regularly, but I wasn’t able to leave the building without an escort, some bland, square-headed man with hands that looked like they could choke the life out of me with one squeeze. I wasn’t treated like a normal gangster’s girlfriend, showered with gifts and attention. I was shut in a hole, waiting only for the occasional bout of unpleasant sex to break up the monotony.

  There was no end in sight. I made the mistake, once, of asking him when my father’s debt will have been paid off. He smacked me with a backhand so causal and practiced that it seemed almost a reflexive response to a woman opening her mouth for the purpose of speaking.

  “It’s done when I say it’s done,” was all he growled.

  I understood that he would get rid of me when he was bored with me and not before. And I didn’t have a guarantee even then that he wouldn’t then go after my dad. I had to keep on his good side and take every day as it came. I couldn’t see a light at the end of the tunnel, but I still had to keep walking forward. Shut up in this room, though, I was just walking in circles.

  I loathed all of Kovalev’s visits, but at the same time I was worried that he might be losing interest in me. It was a terrible bind. I had to keep his attention on me in order to keep it off of my father. If I was of no more use to him, then what was to stop him from coming back at my dad for the money. It wasn’t like he was a man of principle, or anything. I was stuck. I couldn’t leave, and I was sickened by the prospect of staying even one more night. Inertia could be a terrible force. It made even the slightest movement, the most minor change an ordeal. Most nig
hts I didn’t even have the energy to fantasize about a different life, about escaping and taking my father out of town, out into the country where Kovalev couldn’t find us.

  I stripped the sheets off the bed. I kept a clean set in the room because I didn’t want to sleep on the same sheets after sex with Kovalev. I wouldn’t be able to relax. I slid into bed and turned off the lamp on the bedside table. The darkness closed in, but the room expanded. I couldn’t see the walls, so I could imagine them receding into nothingness.

  Chapter 3 - Jason

  Even from across the crowded room, in the low light, through the ever-moving half-naked women looking for a lap needing a dance among the seated patrons, he was unmistakable. I didn’t know his real name, the only thing I had ever heard him called was Jax. He was a mountain of a man, at least six-foot-eight and thick. I have rarely been physically intimidated in my life, but Jax was a scary dude. He was the head of Kovalev’s muscle, my direct superior. He stood in the middle of the floor, creating a space around him by his mere presence as he scanned the room. He stopped when his eyes landed on me and then he crossed purposefully toward the bar and sat down onto a stool next to me.