Chapter One

W eston Murphy sat on the edge of the cliff, both his good leg and his prosthetic limb dangling over a couple hundred feet of empty air. The Montana view would be breathtaking if his heart didn’t feel so heavy.

August fifteenth, his wedding anniversary, had taken on an entirely new significance. It was a day Wes used to celebrate. But, not anymore. Now it was merely a terrible reminder of how he’d lost the love of his life eighteen months earlier. A day that had plummeted his entire world into a bottomless pit of darkness and despair.

Everything lost its vibrancy the day Elizabeth Wright Murphy was murdered. And his soul felt her absence on a profound level.

“Fuck,” he hissed, arm clutched around the jar of her ashes. “I miss you, Ellie. So goddamn much.”

It would be so easy to just lean forward, slip off the rocky edge and end it all. To join his Ellie in the afterlife, whatever the hell that consisted of. His faith might be shaky, but he knew one thing for sure—without Ellie, there could be no heaven.

Reaching up, he grasped the charm hanging around his neck, rubbing it between his thumb and index finger. Taking comfort in the fact it used to be on her neck, against her soft skin. Ellie wore the cursive “E” pendant all the time. Until tragedy struck and Wes found it lying on the boat deck where his wife had fought and struggled for her life.

And lost.

Gritting his teeth, Wes pulled in a sharp breath and raked a hand through his short brown hair, peppered with silver. At forty-six, he felt like he was falling apart a little more every single day. Physically and mentally. Once, he’d been so strong, with two legs and a woman he loved fiercely. He’d been a Navy SEAL, the toughest operator, a force to be reckoned with, and he never hesitated when it came time to complete a mission.

But reality had eventually come crashing down. He wasn’t super human. Not even close. Despite all his training, he’d discovered he was a mere mortal like everyone else. The only thing that made him different, the one common denominator he shared with his frog brothers, was he could endure pain and discomfort longer than the average person.

After losing his right leg below the knee, humility hit him hard. Hell, he’d fallen flat on his ass, wallowing in defeat and feeling sorry for himself until Ellie helped pull him through the depression and loss of his limb. She’d been his angel, his rock, everything he’d needed to eventually heal and accept his new limitations. Without her love and support, he wasn’t sure he would’ve made it.

Ellie was the one person who’d never given up on him.

But, he’d failed her.

When she’d needed him most, he hadn’t been there to protect her.

Squeezing his eyes shut, trying not to let the guilt suck him under, he clenched his hands into fists. He’d never be able to forgive himself. And while he knew holding tight to the blame wasn’t good for him, he didn’t care. It was his burden to carry until the day he died. His Ellie-Bean had been his entire world, and he missed her so badly, it was tearing him apart.

They said time heals all wounds, but Wes knew better. His wounds were still red, raw and festering. No amount of time that passed would ever mend them. There would be no closure. They oozed with guilt, pain and a loss so deep, all he could do was bear it. Continue to pack the hole in his heart with the gauze of his beautiful memories. And, there were a lot of them. Because she made all the ordinary moments feel extraordinary.

Much like a midlife crisis, loss consisted of six major stages: denial, anger, replay, depression, withdrawal and acceptance. Or, so his shrink had said. He wouldn’t have gone to one on his own, but after Ellie’s parents had found him sitting in his garage, Glock in hand, drunk and contemplating ending his life, they’d begged him to seek help.

So, he did. But, it hadn’t helped. Not really. Because “acceptance” was an impossibility. He refused to accept she was gone. How could he? The hardest fucking thing in the world was losing the woman you loved more than anything. She had taught him what unconditional love meant. They had promised to grow old together. Life and experience had taught him to never take a moment with her for granted.

And then their moments had tragically run out.

Looking out over the stunning valley below, he inched forward slightly. Gravel shifted beneath his weight and that nagging death wish took him in its chokehold. Just a little closer, a voice taunted. But what if his death didn’t bring him closer to Ellie? What if by killing himself, it further isolated him from the only thing he wanted?

It wasn’t a chance he was willing to take.

With a muttered curse, he pushed his body back to more secure ground and set Ellie’s urn aside. He ran his hand lovingly over its smooth ceramic surface, and for what may have been the millionth time, it felt like a knife pierced his heart, its blade twisting deeply.

He never should’ve let her go on that research trip. But, of course, his wife had her heart set on going to the exotic location where the sea turtles needed rescuing. Fuck those stupid turtles. I wish they’d all go extinct.

No, actually, he didn’t. Ellie loved those little bastards and, as a marine biologist, she’d studied and protected them. Wes hadn’t liked the idea of her traveling all the way to the South China Sea, but she had a good, competent crew and a heart of gold. They’d come to a compromise—she would leave at the scheduled time, with security, and he would follow a few days later, after the stupid appointment that now seemed so insignificant. They’d needed a new water heater.

His wife had died when he’d been home waiting around for someone to install a fucking water heater.

The absurdity of it never failed to upset him. He still punished himself by taking cold showers when guilt clawed at his conscience.

But Wes couldn’t deny Ellie anything. She was far too independent and had already visited so many exotic locations, determined to study and protect sea creatures and their environments. From sharks to dolphins to marine iguanas, her dedication inspired him. It was one of the things he loved about her. Seeing her light up and express her passion made him so happy. Her smile was contagious and he couldn’t fathom how anyone could extinguish that brilliant light she’d possessed.

And no matter where she went, she always came back. Until she didn’t…

Wes squeezed his eyes shut, his head pounding. He pressed his fingers to his temple and massaged, deciding not to fight it…to just let himself go back in time to when everything was good.

The first moment he saw her at a freshman mixer at the University of Michigan, he’d been inexplicably drawn to her. She’d been laughing with a friend and he couldn’t look away. Her light brown hair glistened with golden highlights and her blue-green eyes made him think of the sea or a tranquil lagoon that he wanted to submerge himself in. She must’ve felt his stare because she’d turned, met his gaze and gave him a shy smile. And that was the end of that. Wes was officially smitten.

Though nervous as hell to approach her, he’d forced his feet to walk. He had no smooth move or pickup line prepared, so he’d merely said hello and asked if she’d like to go out, hoping like hell he didn’t look like a lovestruck fool. Or worse, a creep. Her sea-colored eyes had lit up, and after exchanging a quick giggle with her friend, she’d said yes. They’d been eighteen years old—practically babies in the lifetime he thought they’d have together—and less than twenty-four hours later, after their first date, Wes was in love.

That first year together flew by. While Ellie excelled at her studies, Wes realized college wasn’t for him. With her full support, he’d tossed his books in the trash and enlisted in the Navy. Even though they were only nineteen years old, they were madly in love. Wes wasted no time proposing, and right before Boot Camp, conveniently located on the Western shore of Lake Michigan, they got married in a small ceremony, surrounded by family and friends.

Wes twisted the plain gold wedding band on his finger. He couldn’t take it off. In his heart, he would always be married to Ellie. There wasn’t another woman out there for him.

“I don’t want to do this life without you, Ellie-Bean,” he whispered to the valley below, now painted in pinks, golds and reds. But Fate didn’t give a shit about what he wanted and had stolen the most important thing in his universe.

It would be so easy to give up and join her…but he knew Ellie would be pissed if he turned into a quitter. You’re a fighter, Murph, he reminded himself. By continuing to live, at least he could keep her memory alive.

Grabbing onto a boulder, he hauled himself up and found his balance. Wearing a prosthetic was a challenge and, in the beginning, he wasn’t sure he’d ever get the hang of it. Other amputees and his physical therapist at Walter Reed told him it would take seven to nine years to adjust. That had been eighteen years ago when he was only twenty-eight. Now, he was an old pro, the biggest issue being the arthritis setting in and not being able to wear the prosthetic as long as he used to. At his age, aches and pains were worse due to his injury, and all the additional pressure he put on his left leg didn’t help matters.

“Fuck my life,” he ground out, swiping up the jar and turning away from the gorgeous Montana sunset. It had nothing on Ellie, and he’d never be able to fully appreciate one again without her. Kind of like everything in his life. Without Ellie, things had lost their shine and excitement. Lately, each day was more of a struggle than the previous. Nothing could fill Ellie’s void or ease the incredible loss he’d endured. Distractions were temporary fixes. It didn’t matter how many hobbies he had or TV shows he binged or books he read, his mind inevitably returned to her and the memories they’d created together. There’d be no new memories, though, and that depressing thought kept his world in a constant state of gray.

When he thought about possibly meeting another woman, exposing himself in every way and being vulnerable like he had with Ellie? Impossible. There was no one else for him. He’d be faithful to Ellie until the day he died. Maybe that didn’t make sense to other people, but it was simply him being true to his heart. And to his soulmate. Even if that meant years of loneliness.

Sighing, Wes walked over to his SUV and got inside. As a BKA, below the knee amputee, learning to drive again had been a challenge in the beginning. Some amputees were able to operate a vehicle without modifications, but he’d had a left accelerator pedal installed in his car. It was easier and put less pressure on his hip. He reached down, on the verge of putting the car in drive, when a beep alerted him to an incoming text.

Carefully setting the jar of ashes on the passenger seat, Wes grabbed his phone and opened the message.

Brand: Team meeting at O.G. Everyone available?

Why wouldn’t we be? Wes thought gloomily. They were all a bunch of washed-up, former military men circling fifty with nothing else to do.

Brandon Ward, their team leader, was the first of their group to step over the half century line. And fifty looked damn good on him. In the fifteen months he’d known the man, Brand had never looked happier. Wes knew it was because of Julia Evans, his fiancée. Falling in love had a way of doing that, though. It was like slipping on a pair of rose-tinted glasses and suddenly being able to see the beauty and wonder in the world.

Wes texted back: On my way.

He needed to get his mind out of the dumps, and this new mission would help. Pirates were scouring the South China Sea again and Wes was in the mood to hang them all by their thieving necks. Maybe, if he was really lucky, he’d be able to find the ones who had killed Ellie. Sure, it was a longshot, but Wes was a persistent, determined and very stubborn sonofabitch. He had to be, otherwise he never would’ve made it through SEAL training and joined DEVGRU’s Red Squadron. And he certainly never would’ve learned to walk and, more importantly, live again after his amputation.

It didn’t take Wes long to reach Old Glory, the bar Brand owned. Brand was a former Delta Force commander, grumpily retired until recently. His old mentor Mitch Evans had popped back into his life when Mitch’s daughter Julia had approached Brand, asking for help after her dad was taken by a powerful Mexican cartel. The perpetual bachelor hadn’t been able to resist her. After a successful extraction, Mitch revealed how he was working with the CIA and top government officials. He asked Brand to form a ghost ops team to carry out highly sensitive and covert missions. Wes had jumped at the opportunity to join the effort and their first op, ironically, had been to rescue Julia down in Mexico from the same monsters who’d taken Mitch.

Now, Brand and Julia were engaged and inseparable. Seeing the way they looked at each other always caused a flood of memories, reminding Wes of how it felt when he’d fallen in love with Ellie. It was truly the most amazing experience and ultimate high. Much more exhilarating than jumping out of a plane or being in the thick of an op.

As the leader of their new team, affectionately dubbed TMC—The Motley Crew—by Julia, Brand embraced his new role. He was born to lead his men into battle and they were warriors to the bone. All former military, they hadn’t served together—except for him and Corey—and met at Old Glory. Although he, Brand, Corey, Chaz, Lex and Jayson were buddies and ribbed each other nonstop, when it was time to get serious, they flipped the switch to mission mode and excelled at what they did best.

The seventh member of their team, Xander Hawke, on the other hand, was a different breed. The former CIA agent had helped the crew down in Mexico, proving himself an invaluable asset, but Wes and the others were still trying to get a read on the guy. Maybe Wes’ gut was off, but he had a strange feeling Xander had ulterior motives.

After shutting off his car, Wes got out and walked through the parking lot, hating how the stones beneath his right shoe made his gait sloppier than usual. He loathed appearing unsteady and worked his ass off when it came to maintaining his balance and coordination. Wes never wanted anyone to look at him with sympathy or count him out of the fight because he wore a prosthetic. This ragtag group never did, and he appreciated that more than words could say.

It was still a couple of hours before the bar opened, but the front door was unlocked and Wes pushed it open. He was greeted with fist bumps as he made his way to his usual seat. Dropping into the chair, he adjusted his prosthetic, expecting to hear the usual banter, but everyone was quiet and looked extremely serious.

“What did I miss?” Wes asked, looking around, but no one said anything. His attention zeroed in on the man with a thick, dark beard threaded in silver and piercing ice-blue eyes sitting next to him—his best friend, Corey. “Cor?”

Corydon Emerson might have been even more emotionally fucked-up than Wes. He struggled with PTSD and blamed himself for an op that went horribly wrong when they’d been in Red Squadron together. Wes had tried to convince Corey to let go of the past, but it hadn’t worked. Sometimes his friend’s depression became so bad, he hid himself away in his isolated mountain cabin, forging steel blades and hanging out with his wolf, Storm. It was the only thing that seemed to give him peace.

Brand cleared his throat. “We have new intel. The pirates we were tasked to take out just attacked another boat. This time, they left a calling card.”

Wes’ stomach clenched. “What?” he forced out, dreading Brand’s answer, yet needing to hear it, too.

“A coiled sea serpent.”

Everyone’s attention shifted to Wes as he absorbed Brand’s words. “Just like with Ellie,” he murmured, the image forever burned into his mind. Holy shit. Right after attacking Ellie’s boat, the bastards had disappeared, gone underground because things had gotten too hot. Now they were back and Wes would make sure they paid.

“We don’t know for sure yet,” Brand stated carefully. “That’s what I want you to verify.”

A muscle flexed in Wes’ jaw when Brand slid his iPad across the table. The symbol was exactly what Wes remembered—a black tribal serpent, its tongue flickering, spikes along its back and its tail pointed. Like the devil.

“It’s fucking them,” Wes growled. “The motherfuckers who attacked Ellie’s boat.”

“You’re sure?” Charles “Chaz” Madden asked, his normally sarcastic voice gruff. The big, former Delta guy was rough around the edges and always had an opinion. But his loyalty was unwavering and fierce. “Because if these are the same fuckers, we’ll make sure justice is delivered, Murph.”

“Yeah, I’m sure.” Vengeance burned through his veins and Wes couldn’t wait to make those assholes suffer. Just like they’d made Ellie suffer. But, Wes would make sure it was one-hundred times worse.

Beside him, Corey swore under his breath while Jayson Knight and Alexander “Lex” Battle just shook their heads. Jayson had a daughter named Emma who’d recently gotten engaged and moved out. As a single dad, the empty nest syndrome was hitting him pretty hard. Lex, on the other hand, the youngest of their group at forty-five, was still reveling in the single lifestyle with no intention of ever settling down.

Across the table, Xander Hawke sat there like a statue, bright blue eyes full of something Wes could’ve sworn was hatred. But the emotion disappeared as quickly as it had surfaced. Normally, their group was loud and boisterous, but right now it felt like they were at a funeral.

“Wes, I need you to be sure you’re ready to go on this mission—” Brand began.

“I’m ready. Don’t you fucking dare think about leaving me behind.”

“He’s not in the best headspace,” Xander said, voice flat, and Wes glared at him, “but that’s going to work to our advantage.”

“How so?” Jayson asked, hazel eyes narrowing.

Xander laid his hands flat on the tabletop and smirked. “Because, boys, correct me if I’m wrong, but we’re about to go cut the heads off some filthy pirates. Right?”

“You’re goddamn right we are,” Wes gritted out.