Viper: N.R.T. (No Red Tape), #1

By Heather Black

What would you do if you found love and then it disappeared? For Viper, that is the life he's lived for the past thirteen years. He'd found love and watched her sail off, only to never come back. 

 

As a SEAL, he'd expected the Navy to send a team in searching for her, but they didn't. After ten years, she'd been declared dead and he'd crawled into a bottle and left the SEALs. He'd formed No Red Tape, or N.R.T. to do the one thing for others he couldn't do for his Cynthia, avoid the governmental red tape.

 

Cynthia had met Damien before her ship set out on cruise. Everything was perfect between them, except they couldn't acknowledge their relationship. He was an officer, and she was enlisted. Then the worst happened to her. In a foreign country, she was kidnapped, and the only hope of ever seeing home again is Damien and his SEAL team. But they never come.

 

It's thirteen years later and a team of men are rescuing her. Can she trust they are American?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Heather Black
• Release date: Nov 17, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223561163

Book preview

Chapter 1: Viper

13 Years Earlier

I just got my promotion to a lieutenant. I'm out celebrating the way any sailor does after work. I'm at the bar in the mall. Part of my job as an officer is to keep an eye out on town for sailors and soldiers who are acting inappropriately while they are out on town. Being a SEAL, I can look like a normal Joe and get the information to report back to their commanding officers.

I'm drinking a domestic beer and munching on some chips and salsa when I spot a group of military personnel enter the Mexican restaurant I'm in. From where I sit, I can observe the entrance and both exits of the restaurant without anyone noticing I'm watching.

I assess the group. There are six of them, and they stand out like a sore thumb in the crowd. Four men and two women. All dressed similarly. Jeans with belts and tee shirts tucked in. The men have the typical military style haircuts, while the women have longer hair, but the way they carry themselves says they're military as well.

I've only been in the Navy for just over four years, but I can identify new military members right off the bat. It's the way they dress, carry themselves, and their haircuts. But after boot camp, everyone walks a little straighter that's what gives the women away. They're more confident and it shows. The women are harder to identify since there are several types of military women.

You've got the butch women who wear their hair like the men. They walk like the men, some of them are into girls, others are just very tomboyish. Then you've got your girly girls. They're the ones that have the long flowing hair and on the weekends they do their nails and dress in dresses. Whenever they have duty, they'll opt for their skirts instead of the pants the military issued them if it's a uniform option. Then there is the third group of military women. They're not too butch, but they're not the dainty women. They can hold their own, but they're the type that like having a man at thier side, but don't necessarily need a man.

It's not usually the women I worry about. It's the men. They're young and full of testosterone. They think they are owed something; they think they can conquer the world on their own. When they go out with military women and they start drinking they forget their manners. Especially if the woman is one of the two latter types. If she's from the second group, he might succeed and rape her while they're both drunk. Then, when they get back to base and sober up, he'll threaten her not to tell anyone at the base because it could ruin his career. It was an accident and he's sorry until he does it again with her or another woman. If she's from the last group of women she'll fight off his attack until he either succeeds or she submits. Either way, she's probably going to be raped. Then he'll tell her it was a misunderstanding and not to tell their commanding officer for the better of their careers. At first she'll keep quiet, but then she'll confide in someone, someone more senior to her that she trusts and then because of the time between the incident and the current day it'll become a he said she said case.

I watch the group. Three of the men sit on one side of the table and the two women and one man sit on the other side. Like all military personnel, they order their alcohol first before they even look at the menu. My order comes to the bar and I munch on the tacos I ordered, still watching the group. One woman catches my eye and I can't help but study her.

She looks to be of the third group of military women. Just tomboyish enough, but just dainty enough. She's got dark brown hair pulled back into a ponytail that reaches just between her shoulder blades, it almost looks black in the restaurant's lighting. Her face is oval shaped and she smiles as she laughs at something one of her friends says. She almost seems like she's flirting with all the guys. But I think she's just trying to get along with everyone and have a good time. The guys might misinterpret her actions, and for some weird reason, that worries me.

Before I realize what I'm doing, my body is going closer to the table where the group of military personnel are sitting at. I'm standing next to their table looking at her like a freaking creep and suddenly I say, Would you like to dance? What the fuck?

She looks at me and then to her friends and shrugs at them. She replies, Sure.

Then she looks at her friends and says, If the food gets here before I get back, go ahead and eat.

I extend my hand and she takes it. I lead her over to the restaurant's small dance floor. The jukebox is playing the best of country music. I'm not usually a country music fan, but it means slow music, so I can hold her close to me.

We dance to a few songs and as we are getting taking our last turns on the dance floor, I say, Watch yourself with those men.

She pulls away from me just a little and looks at me and asks, What do you mean?

I shake my head, knowing I've said too much already. Just be careful. When men get drunk, they can be vicious. Not saying you can't handle yourself, but just be careful.

I walk her over to where I was sitting earlier and grab a napkin from the bar. I ask the bartender for his pen and I write my name and number on it. Not my callsign, my real fucking name Damien Warlborough. When I hand it to her, I say, If you ever need any help, don't hesitate to call me at this number. Then I scrawl a second number. It's my commands number, then I say, My work can take me out of the country from time to time. So, if I don't answer and it goes immediately to voicemail, call this number and ask for Rosa.

Now I know I'm freaking her out. Rosa is my commanding officer's callsign. He'll help another military woman out if necessary. I can't divulge my job to everyone, but for some strange reason I've given her my real name and my commanding officer's callsign. My job is dangerous. I go and hunt down the worst of the worst and take them out for the United States government. Whenever men are trapped behind enemy lines, they call on the SEALs. We recon and get information that the government needs to keep us as one of the greatest nations in the world.

I don't expect to hear from her ever again, but I'm hoping I've saved her from being hurt by any of those guys she was hanging with. Her friends come up to where we are standing and say, Cynthia, you never came back. We got you a doggie bag and paid for the order. Are you ready to head out? Or are you going to stay here and hang out with mister creepy?

I'm coming. She answers her friends. Then she looks at me and says, Thank you for the dance. I really enjoyed it. She turns and leaves with her friends and I'm tempted to follow them.

Chapter 2: Shy

Ihad enjoyed the dance with the super creepy man. He had warned me about the men I was hanging out with. Recently I had turned twenty-one, but I had been raised in a family that allowed me to drink from the time I was fifteen. I knew early on I didn't like beer. Mixed drinks were more my thing. I also knew with a mixed drink you could get drunk quicker than with a beer. I could handle my liquor.

My friends have taken me to a club near the beach in Virginia Beach they've heard of. It started out nice. The club plays a techno music and the light show is awesome. Evans grabs everyone some beers. Not my favorite, but I'll never turn down a free drink. I haven't eaten the food my friends packed for me so I make a promise to myself to only drink the one beer.

I hit the dance floor with my friends after finishing my beer and we dance to a few songs. I head back to the bar area when I feel like I'm overheated. I ask the bartender for a water and he hands me one. I drink it down rather quickly and almost immediately regret it. My stomach rolls. I try to find my shipmates, but the club is so dark and the lights are so quick in going over the crowd I can't focus. It makes my stomach roll more and my head ache.

I head out the door and into the parking lot. I know this feeling isn't normal after drinking one beer on an empty stomach. At the restaurant, I'd barely touched my drink before the man asked me to dance. Overheating, yeah, that is normal in a club, but I'm not feeling right.

I reach in my pocket and try to call someone, but who I don't know. My fingers fumble over the keypad, they're not coordinated with what I'm trying to do. Another woman approaches me and asks if I need help. I try to tell her yes, but my speech is slurred. I reach into my pocket where the napkin the man gave me is. Pulling out the napkin, I tap his name and the phone. She immediately calls the top number. I can hear her talking on the phone. When I try to talk or move, it's uncoordinated or incomprehensible.

I can hear the woman talking to the man whose name I got, but right now it slips from my mind. She's telling him I need help and where we are at. I can only hear her side of the conversation and she offers to call an ambulance, but even in my state, I refuse the medical help. I'm not sure why. Medical help would be appropriate, but I don't want the shitstorm it will cause at my command.

I hear a truck pull up and a man talks to the woman, who is still nervous about leaving me in his hands. He tells her, I've got her. We know each other.

The next thing I know, I'm being lifted up in a set of strong arms off the ground where I'm sitting and into the truck. If I had been in my right mind, I would have gone to the hospital and not called this man, but being in my current state, I'm trusting my life to this man's care. I guess because he warned me about the guys I was with, something told me I could trust him.

When I come around again, I'm on a couch and there is an IV in my hand. I am still out of it a bit. More confused than anything. My eyes land on a figure sitting in the chair across the room. He's holding a coffee cup and says, I didn't expect to hear from you that soon. But something about those guys didn't sit well with me.

I sit up some more, making my head throb again, and say, But I know them. I work with those guys and we went through training together.

He brings me a cup of coffee and doesn't scoff at my retort, but he asks, Who's your CO?

I look at him strangely for a good minute, trying to remember if I told him I was military. I don't remember divulging that information, but I was out of it for a while. Then I realize I have to work on Monday. He raises a brow and repeats his question.

Captain Smith. But I never told you I was in the military. Did you go through my stuff while I was out of it?

He nods at the name, as if he recognizes it. Then he says, You didn't have to. I could tell. That's why I was worried about your friends. They're also military and you add that with male testosterone and you have a bad mix. He's not lying about that, I found it out last night. Apparently someone slipped me a ruffie.

I nod at what he's said and he moves over to the couch and gently removes the IV from my hand. What are you, a medic or something? I ask a bit snarkily.

He chuckles and says, SEAL. So yeah, something like that. I don't normally tell people about my job, but you're in my home. You're going to see it.

Why'd you bring me to your home? Why not to a hospital? I ask him curious as to why he chose his home.

Well, if I had taken you to the local hospital, I more than likely would have been accused of slipping the ruffie into your drink. If I had taken you to Portsmouth, it would have been questioned as to exactly how we know each other. And, well, that would open a whole can of worms I don't think you want to open. He explained, but it doesn't make sense to me at the moment.

Why?

Cynthia, He pauses, taking my hand and I feel a zing through my body. Look, I enjoyed dancing with you last night at the restaurant. I felt something for you. I just wanted you to admit you felt it, too. With you having someone call me, I hope you were admitting you felt safe with me. But there is something you need to know before we explore what we feel for each other.

This man in confusing the fuck out of me. He still hasn't really told me how he knows I am in the military. And now he's talking about feelings. I mean, he's handsome as fuck and what woman wouldn't want to have him on her arm? All this confusing talk is making my head throb all over again.

I don't know if I believe him. He doesn't look like a military member. His brown hair is cut short, but a lot of men wear their hair short. He's got a full beard and mustache. The Navy doesn't allow its men to wear beards for safety reasons unless they have a shave chit. But damn if this dude isn't like six three with arms that are as big around as my thighs, and muscular. His blue eyes are bright and full of life. I figure he's a man that likes to pass himself off as a SEAL.

Like he can read my mind, he gets up and walks out of the room. When he returns, he tosses his CAC card and his SEAL tab down onto the table. Anyone can pick up a SEAL tab from anywhere that sells military supplies, but the new CAC cards aren't as easy to fake as the old military ID used to be. With them having a smart chip in them, it makes it more difficult to fake. I look over the CAC card. The name is the same as the one he gave me, Damien Warlborough. My eyes land on the next information his rank O-2. Fuck my life. He's an officer. No wonder he recognized the name of my CO. They probably hang out at the O club together.

He clears his throat and says, I wasn't lying. I get you were worried. There are a lot of people out there that claim to be members of the military, and it's hard to figure out who is who. I've been in for four years now. I just got my promotion to lieutenant, but that aside, I want to get to know you.

I shake my head. We can't get involved. I'm just an E-3. Officers and enlisted aren't supposed to socialize, let alone date. We couldn't. I say.

Why not? He asks me, his brown brows knitting together.

You're an officer, and I'm enlisted.

But you're not in my chain of command. And when we met, we didn't know the other was in the military, let alone the other's rank. He points out some loopholes in the policy. You're stationed at Oceana, correct?

I nod, confirming where I'm stationed.

I'm stationed out at Norfolk. So we wouldn't run into each other on base.

But I'm on sea duty. My ship is leaving for a cruise in a few months. I'm only temporarily stationed at Oceana. I'll have to go to the ship some time before we ship out. I explain.

So, I'm a SEAL. I get called out on missions all the time. My missions can last days or months. You'll never know when I'm going out, or when I'm home.

I shake my head. I'm not sure I want to get into a relationship yet. Finally, I explain to Damien that I'm not looking for a relationship. I joined the Navy to find myself, not to find a boyfriend. He understands my feelings and asks if we can still chat through text messages and possibly meet up after we've gotten to know each other better. That I can do. If anyone questions our friendship, I can honestly say we met and realized we couldn't have a relationship, so we still talk.

Damien moves the topic to how I got the roofie slipped into my drink. He questions me about who all the shipmates