Fuck it. I pulled her to my mouth. Our lips touched, soft and tender. She needed solace, not passion. “Babe, I will find you. No matter what.”

“My word is my bond.”

She kissed me back, a desperate kiss. Her mouth hot and wet. She didn’t taste bitter and dry like I’d expected her to. No. She was salty and fruity, like a strawberry margarita. I wanted to drink her up, taste every inch of her body, pleasure her instead of forcing her to service me. I wanted to see a warm flush wash over her face and make her glow just for me. To make her come and scream out my name, and tell her that she’d be safe and never scared again. I wanted to protect her and promise her that as long as I lived, no man other than me would ever touch her again.

Instead I pushed her off of me, and rolled off the cot. I pressed one hundred dollars into her hand, opened the door, then walked out of her room, out of the brothel. Staying any longer would arouse suspicion and I couldn’t fuck this up for Annie.

Every step I took away from her tore me up inside. Why should I be safe when she was stuck here turning tricks? Hadn’t she been through enough hell for a lifetime? I should’ve knocked out her pimp and carried Annie to safety. But I needed to be patient to ensure the success of my mission.

“I stand ready to bring the full spectrum of combat power to bear in order to achieve my mission and the goals established by my country.”

4.

I paced around the living quarters of our ship, which was on its way to our next mission. But I couldn’t even focus on anything but saving Annie.

I pulled Vic and Kyle into an empty rec room away from the rest of our Team.

Vic sat down in a chair. “Dude, what’s going on with you?”

I stared at the drab gray walls, hesitating to tell them.

Kyle glared at me. “Spill it, Walsh.” Kyle was a complete badass. He was one of only a handful of African-American men on the teams and unlike Vic and me, he was an officer. He’d been a star linebacker in the NFL, and gave up all that fame and money to join the Teams. There was a saying once on our recruiting posters, something like, “He’ll never win MVP, never get a Super Bowl ring—some heroes don’t play games.” Kyle was the living embodiment of that quote.

I didn’t want to speak. So I logged into the common computer and pulled up a website on Annie.

Kyle focused on the screen. “Yeah, Annie Hamilton. Everyone knows about her. Fine as fuck. Got drunk and fell overboard on a cruise ship out here. I think her stoner boyfriend pushed her over. She’s from San Diego. What’s your point?”

I took a deep breath. “She didn’t fall overboard on the cruise and her boyfriend is innocent; she gave me a blowjob last night at a brothel.”

Kyle laughed. “Sure she did.”

Vic shook his head at me, probably not sure whether or not I was joking. “Fuck you, man. She’s someone’s daughter. That’s not funny.”

“I’m not laughing. She was fucking kidnapped and forced into the white sex slavery. I went to a brothel last night, and this chick gave me head. Afterwards, she said her name was Annie Hamilton. I thought she was trying to con me, but it’s fucking her: hazel eyes, Californian accent. And she made a point to show me her shoulder scar and ankle tattoo. Here look at the pics.” I handed Kyle my phone and he scrolled through the pictures while Vic looked on.

“I went back today just to be one hundred percent sure. I’d fucking bet my Budweiser on it.”

The room fell silent. We didn’t joke about “The Budweiser,” our trident, our Navy Insignia. It was pinned on every Navy SEAL, after completing the BUD/S training,

“My Trident is a symbol of honor and heritage. Bestowed upon me by the heroes that have gone before, it embodies the trust of those I have sworn to protect. By wearing the Trident I accept the responsibility of my chosen profession and way of life. It is a privilege that I must earn every day.”

Kyle put his hand on my shoulder. “You’re serious. You fucking think you found Annie Hamilton in a Curaçao whorehouse?”

“She’s pretty wrecked, but alive. A heroin junkie barely holding on. It’s a miracle she’s survived these last five years. Now how are we going to get her out?”

Vic shook his head. “You fucked a hooker? That’s low even for you, Walsh. Go tell Lt. Marshall. You realize you’re going to get charged for solicitation.”

“Shut your fucking cock holster. Who the fuck do you think you are telling me what to do? You’re not my sea daddy. Of course, I know I can get charged, but I don’t give a shit. We need to save her. We’re fucking SEALs. No one else is going to do it. Don’t you see? I was meant to be on this deployment, this SEAL Team. To rescue her. But we aren’t going to tell Lt. Marshall—or anyone else on the Team, for that matter. The Navy would have to go through the proper channels, CIA, FBI, local Curaçao police. It’s too risky. There have been sightings of her before and no one did shit. I’m going to rescue her. You going to help me? Or you going to fucking rat my ass out to Lt. Marshall?”

Kyle didn’t hesitate. “I’m in.”

Vic bit his lip. “So am I.” I knew Vic would help, even though he liked to follow protocol.

Kyle put his hand on my back. “Yup. Not even worried. These dumbasses are jokes compared to the guys we usually deal with.”

He was right. I’d been in firefights with the Taliban, overtaken Somali pirates, and offed members of drug cartels. A low grade Caribbean white-slavery ring didn’t scare me.

“We train for war and fight to win.”

We had three weeks at sea to come up with a plan before we arrived back in Curaçao. She’d survived five years. I’d never forgive myself if I couldn’t bring her home to her family, home to the United States. What was the point of being called a hero if I couldn’t save her? It didn’t matter that rescuing her wasn’t an official mission. She was my mission.

“We expect to lead and be led. In the absence of orders I will take charge, lead my teammates and accomplish the mission. I lead by example in all situations.”

5.

After three long weeks at sea, we would finally be returning to Curaçao. Tomorrow was game day.

I was glad that Kyle and Vic had my back. That’s the thing with Team guys, we’re more than brothers, we were bonded for life.

We headed down to the ship gym to get a last workout in before tomorrow. Adrenaline pumped through my veins. I needed to control my emotions. I wanted to kill these motherfuckers and wouldn’t think twice before I popped them off.

We’d gone over the layout from the diagram I’d sketched when I returned from the brothel that night. We weren’t too worried about smuggling her out. The plan was to head over to the brothel at night, posing as clients. Once I was inside the room with Annie, Kyle and Vic would take down the pimp until I smuggled her out of there. We weren’t going to use force unless necessary.

“We demand discipline. We expect innovation. The lives of my teammates and the success of our mission depend on me – my technical skill, tactical proficiency, and attention to detail. My training is never complete.”

After we rescued her, we were going to detox her from heroin, and make sure she didn’t have any STDs. Vic was a medic. We’d arranged to borrow a yacht from a former Team guy who ran a charter service down in the Caribbean. Kyle would be our captain. All three of us had taken two weeks leave to rescue her, get her healthy, and take her to the embassy. There was no way I was going to send a drug addict to the embassy. Her parents had missed her for five years; they deserved to see their little girl as healthy as she could be.

Kyle smacked me on the head. “Shit, man. I don’t see why I can’t get laid with one of the other whores first and then we can save your girlfriend. I’ll be quick.”

I smacked him on the head. “Yeah, your ex mentioned your little problem. But sorry, not going to risk it. And she’s not my girlfriend.”

Vic shook his head, disgusted with us both. Kyle and I partied with the best of them, but poor Vic still hadn’t learned his lesson after his ex-wife had cheated on him. He harbored some fucked-up fantasy that he’d find a girl to be faithful to him when he was away. Some delusion that he might be able to have a marriage that defied the Navy SEALs infamous eighty percent divorce rate. Optimistic bastard.

“Whatever you say, man.” Vic laughed. “I know you. You’ve been obsessed with her since you met her. She’s all you’ve talked about for the past three weeks. Once you save her, she’ll worship you. You two will end up getting married. Mark my word. She’s from San Diego anyway—how convenient. Plus, you said yourself she gave great head. Sounds like a match made in hell week if you ask me.”

“Fuck you, Vic. I’m not saving her because I love her, I don’t even know her. I’m saving her because it’s the right thing to do.” But Vic’s words resonated with me. Annie was all I thought about. And though I hadn’t had more than a cheap sexual encounter and an awkward conversation with her, over the past month I’d learned everything I could about her— I’d watched childhood videos of her and her family, seen interviews of her parents crying and begging for her safe return. She’d wanted to be a teacher and had volunteered with a dog rescue. And though at first I saw her as just another woman who could satisfy me, now I couldn’t fight the desire to see her again. Even if it would be to watch her walk away in the end.

But I could never make any woman happy. I didn't understand why so many men felt the constant need to make pleasing women their sole mission in life.