Page 1 of The Princess and the SEAL

Chapter 1

Ryan

IDOWNED MY SHOT OF WHISKEY in a single gulp, the smooth liquid coating my throat and relaxing my mind as the train rolled into Bayeux, France. Gazing out the window, I had to catch my breath due to the beauty of the picturesque landscape: towering trees, a bright blue lake, and old stone dwellings completely mesmerized me. It was definitely an upgrade from where I’d spent my last seven months. My skin still singed from the scorching heat of the desert hell, where I had been fighting ISIS.

I grabbed my pack, stopping for a moment to stare at the camouflage nylon duffel bag containing my belongings. A memory popped into my head—me as a young boy, clutching my teddy bear and a black plastic trash bag as I lugged my few possessions to my next foster home, praying that my new caretakers would welcome me into their family and make me their son forever.

Spoiler alert—they didn’t.

Twenty years later, I was still alone, a warrior with no place to call home.

That was the way I liked it.

I stepped into the station, a faceless man among throngs of people. I admired the last glimpses of the sunset over the city steeples with a massive mountain looming in the background. A river flowed through the center of town. Pine trees, spicy herbs, and fragrant flowers scented the air. Vacation had begun.

Though I’d deployed overseas many times, I’d never been to Europe. I’d only been in France a few hours, but I was worlds away from my hometown in Gilroy, California.

I would check into my bed-and-breakfast and spend a day relaxing in town before renting a car and heading to Omaha Beach.

For the next week, I would live my life selfishly. I planned to visit all the historical battle sites I’d dreamed of seeing as a kid, when everyone told me I’d never make anything out of myself, never leave my piss-poor town.

I’m here now, a complete badass.

I had one week to recuperate from the hardships of war by fucking some hot European chicks, who preferably wouldn’t even speak English so I could smash and dash.

Time to get started—I was ready to sample the local cuisine, and then I needed to find a woman.

I studied the map on my phone, and I plotted my route to a place to eat and then to the bed-and-breakfast.

As I put my phone in my back pocket, my gaze quickly focused on a beautiful blonde sitting on a stone bench, her nose buried in a book. Maybe she’d tuck me in and give me a nightcap.

Admiring her curves, I zeroed in on my target before noticing two swarthy men looming in her shadow.

Why were they standing so close to her?

Before I could approach, one snatched her purse, knocking her to the ground, and ran off to the left. The other grabbed her luggage and came straight at me.

“Au secours!” she screamed. “On vient de me voler!”

I leaped into action, tossing my pack aside and tackling the motherfucker.

He swung wildly. I ducked out of the way. With a firm kick to his ribs and a punch square in the face, I knocked him out.

I knelt down beside him and slapped him on his sallow cheeks until he came to. His brown eyes blinked open, then locked on me with a watery gaze.

A small crowd had gathered, but none of the bystanders stepped in to help. “Where’s your friend?”

He shook his head.

I rolled him over onto his stomach, pulled a cell phone out of his back pocket, and frisked him for weapons. I found a switchblade, grabbed it, and then flipped him back over like a pancake. “Call him and get him to bring back her purse.”

“No English.”

Liar. The chances of recovering this woman’s purse were fading by the minute. I was sure the thief had stolen her money and credit cards and tossed the purse into the river.

I grabbed the guy by his throat and forced myself not to choke him out. I didn’t want to get arrested overseas for assault. Instead, I pulled him up by his clothes, retrieved the lady’s luggage, picked up my pack, and marched him over to the woman. I’d let the police deal with him.

I scanned the distance for the other thief, but there was no trace of him.