Zulu, p.1
Zulu, page 1
Copyright © 2022 by Sybil Bartel
Cover art by: CT Cover Creations
Cover Photo by: Wander Aguiar
Cover Model: Matheus R.
Edited by: Hot Tree Editing
The Ryter’s Proof
Formatting by: Champagne Book Design
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.
Warning: This book contains offensive language, alpha males and sexual situations. Mature audiences only. 18+
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Title Page
Books by Sybil Bartel
ZULU
Dedication
Prologue
Part One
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Part Two
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
Chapter Forty-Eight
Chapter Forty-Nine
Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty-One
Chapter Fifty-Two
Chapter Fifty-Three
Chapter Fifty-Four
Chapter Fifty-Five
Chapter Fifty-Six
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Chapter Sixty
Chapter Sixty-One
Chapter Sixty-Two
Chapter Sixty-Three
Chapter Sixty-Four
Chapter Sixty-Five
Chapter Sixty-Six
Chapter Sixty-Seven
Chapter Sixty-Eight
Chapter Sixty-Nine
Chapter Seventy
Chapter Seventy-One
Chapter Seventy-Two
Chapter Seventy-Three
Chapter Seventy-Four
Chapter Seventy-Five
Chapter Seventy-Six
Chapter Seventy-Seven
Chapter Seventy-Eight
Chapter Seventy-Nine
Chapter Eighty
Chapter Eighty-One
Chapter Eighty-Two
Chapter Eighty-Three
Chapter Eighty-Four
Chapter Eighty-Five
Chapter Eighty-Six
Chapter Eighty-Seven
Chapter Eighty-Eight
Epilogue
NOVEMBER
ECHO
WHISKEY
DELTA
Acknowledgments
About the Author
BOOKS BY SYBIL BARTEL
The Alpha Elite Series
SEAL
ALPHA
VICTOR
ROMEO
ZULU
NOVEMBER
ECHO
WHISKEY
DELTA
KILO
The Alpha Bodyguard Series
SCANDALOUS
MERCILESS
RECKLESS
RUTHLESS
FEARLESS
CALLOUS
RELENTLESS
SHAMELESS
HEARTLESS
The Uncompromising Alphas Series
TALON
NEIL
ANDRÉ
BENNETT
CALLAN
The Alpha Antihero Series
HARD LIMIT
HARD JUSTICE
HARD SIN
HARD TRUTH
THE ALPHA ANTIHERO SERIES: BOOKS 1-2
The Alpha Escort Series
THRUST
ROUGH
GRIND
The Unchecked Series
IMPOSSIBLE PROMISE
IMPOSSIBLE CHOICE
IMPOSSIBLE END
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ZULU
Navy SEAL.
Sniper.
Mercenary.
The Navy trained me to be the best, but the Teams turned me into a deadly weapon. Every mission honing my tactical skills, I never missed a shot. Living for my brothers and the Trident I’d earned, I didn’t look past my next deployment.
Then my friend and former teammate made me an offer—private sector, government contracts, combat missions and the chance to fly my own jet. Retiring from the Teams, but not the mission, I joined Alpha Elite Security.
As second-in-command at AES, I demanded precision because I didn’t do things the wrong way. Until a mysterious brunette asked me for an exfil from her husband’s wake, and everything went FUBAR.
Code name: Zulu.
Mission: Exfiltrate.
ZULU is a standalone book in the exciting Alpha Elite Series by USA Today Bestselling author, Sybil Bartel. Come meet Zane “Zulu” Silas and the dominant, alpha heroes who work for AES!
For my only child, my beloved son, Oliver.
You were my greatest gift. The world was a better place with you in it.
Everything in my life was better because of you.
Thank you for teaching me unconditional love, perseverance, and compassion.
You are and will always be my entire world.
I love you, Sweet Boy, and I miss you beyond measure.
Oliver Shane Bartel 2004-2020
For my readers, thank you for all of your love and support.
Gratefully yours, XOXO
Two years ago.
My arms heavy, my body weighted, I tried to open my eyes, but I was tired.
So tired.
And warm.
Much too warm.
Inhaling with a heaviness on my chest I didn’t understand, I forced one eye open.
Bright sunlight blinded me.
Quickly closing my eye as my head started to pound, I tried to turn away from the brightness, but I was pinned in place.
By warmth.
Warmth with a deep, even breath.
This wasn’t right…
I forced both eyes open.
Blinking against the bright sunlight, my gaze came into focus, and my breath caught.
A naked, masculine chest.
Oh, God.
A naked, sculpted chest attached to a muscular arm thrown over my bare stomach with large fingers splayed across my hip.
Oh, no. Oh no, oh no, oh no.
Panic-struck, heart suddenly pounding, I shoved at the arm to try to escape.
His eyes opened, and his serious, blue gaze met mine, but he did not move his arm.
Deep, sleep rough, the man who was not my husband spoke in his native Greek. “Kaliméra.”
Desperately trying and failing to remember anything from last night after the ceremony, anxiety coated my throat as English spilled out, and I foolishly asked a question that was too little too late. “Where is my wedding dress?”
Holding my panicked gaze with his calm resignation, he nodded behind me.
I glanced over my shoulder.
Oh, God.
White silk and lace, black custom tuxedo, dress shirt and veil—all of it was heaped half on a chair, half on the floor.
A strangled cry escaped past every single layer of poise I’d ever had.
Shifting in his bed, but not letting go of me, his hand tightened on my hip as the covers fell further away from his naked body. “Parisa.”
“No.” I tried to shove away from him, but his hand caught my arm.
Then my husband’s son switched to accented English and strung together two words that destroyed every last fractured piece of trust I’d stupidly been holding on to.
“I’m sorry.”
Three Weeks Ago
Zulu
Santorini, Greece
Scanning the cliff-top terrace overlooking the Aegean Sea, I glan ced at the empty lower level before speaking discretely into my comm. “Western perimeter check. Clear.”
“Southern perimeter check, clear,” Vance “Victor” Conlon replied.
Echo grunted in disgust. “Unless you count some fuck behind the carport trying to score with a drunk blonde, heliport and east perimeter are clear.”
Victor chuckled. “You jealous he got to her first?”
“Fuck off, Twin,” Echo replied.
“Echo, Victor, focus up,” our boss, Adam “Alpha” Trefor, warned. “Interior check clear. Moving to upper level.”
“Copy,” Victor chimed at the same time Echo muttered, “Fucking bullshit assignment. I hate funerals.”
“Wake,” Alpha corrected.
“Same difference,” Echo complained.
“Zulu, incoming,” Victor warned a second before I heard it.
Heels clicked on the stone behind me, then her quiet voice carried on the breeze. “It’s like a hilltop prison up here.”
“Here we go.” Echo snorted. “Horny widow strikes at pretty boy pilot she’s been eye-fucking all night. Hundred bucks says she’s sucking your co—”
Muting my comm, I turned.
Brunette, young, stunning.
The widow.
I’d noticed her the second I’d laid eyes on her. She was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen. “Mrs. Taralas, I’m deeply sorry for your loss.” I wasn’t. I’d met her husband. When Alpha started Alpha Elite Security, Konstantinos Taralas Sr., the Greek shipping magnate, was one of AES’s first clients. He was a ruthless son of a bitch who’d made a lot of enemies. He’d also been at least thirty years older than his widow. Hell, even Taralas’s eldest son was a few years older than her. Before laying eyes on the woman this afternoon, I would’ve bet my offshore bank account she was in it for the money.
But watching her systematically avoid Taralas’s three bachelor sons and every rich prick with an agenda all evening, I couldn’t tell if she was actually mourning her asshole of a husband or if she just wanted to escape this event as much as I did.
I hated being land locked.
I hated being trapped, period.
While I’d been on the Teams, a mission in Bosnia that’d gone completely FUBAR cured me of ever wanting to be trapped again.
The cockpit of a plane aside, I didn’t like being anywhere I didn’t have options, and this remote villa was a textbook setup for an ambush. One road in and out, perched on a cliff two hundred meters above the sea—the woman was right. This place was a fucking prison. Add in the fact that shit had felt seriously off since the second we’d stepped off the helo, and I was just waiting for something fucked up to go down.
With the same drink in her hand she’d been holding for two hours, the gorgeous widow nodded politely to acknowledge my condolences. “You’re with Alpha Elite Security, aren’t you?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Long silky hair, dark eyes, perfectly poised—she was even more beautiful up close. “Is there something I can help you with?” I took note of her accent, or lack thereof, but I didn’t comment on her cliffside fortress assessment.
“Please, call me Parisa.” She stared out at the Aegean. “And the last name is Bahar, not Taralas. Konstantinos said his surname belonged to his first wife. Now they are together again.” She saluted her tumbler to the sea. “May they rest in peace.” She took the first sip I’d seen her take all night.
Stowing away the last name comment, I added another check mark to the asshole column for Taralas. “My apologies, Miss Bahar, I was unaware.”
“Parisa,” she corrected, holding her drink with both hands. “I’m surprised Kostas didn’t give you a complete dossier on me before coming here today.”
My instincts kicking into high gear, I discreetly scanned the terrace for Kostas or one of the other two sons Taralas had. “Parisa.” Repeating her sexy fucking name, I didn’t give it the attention it deserved because I was already glancing across the terrace again. Her tone, her comment, the shit that’d been nagging at me all night, trouble was coming. I’d been at this too long not to sense it. “Your husband’s eldest son didn’t mention anything besides the high-profile guest list and need for security.”
“I’m sure,” she absently replied, giving me a quick glance before looking back out at the ocean. “You’re not like the others.”
Shit.
Momentarily tabling this whole damn assignment, I turned. Then I did what I never fucking allowed myself to do. I stared, blatantly and unapologetically, at a client. Taking in every damn inch of this woman’s profile and sexy curves, I thought of all the ways I could make her fall apart.
Then I reined it in and sized her up for exactly what she was.
A strikingly beautiful widow at her husband’s wake.
I looked back out at the water.
Fucking Echo and his comment. I sure as hell wasn’t immune to a beautiful woman, but I had my limits, and a client’s widow was at the top of my no-fly zone. Not that I could deny she’d been glancing at me tonight, but Echo was wrong about one crucial fact. She hadn’t been eye fucking me.
I knew women, especially ones on the hunt. Allergic to commitment, one-nighters were my specialty. I could spot a woman looking for a good time a mile away. I also recognized when a woman was looking for more, and I avoided the hell out of them. Except this widow, she wasn’t either. Her glances aside, she’d only had one objective all night. Mission, avoid.
Until now.
Looking down at the sexy brunette and giving her my full attention, I stupidly took the bait. “The others?”
“The boss, the bastard and the playboy.” She nodded over her shoulder toward the ten-bedroom villa before glancing out at the ocean. “The other men you work with.”
Fighting a smile, I almost wished I hadn’t turned my comms off. “I’m not sure I should comment on that assessment.” Or ask where I fell in the lineup. Either way, she’d nailed Alpha, Echo and Victor.
“Which is why you’re different.” Looking up at me, she held her stare for a purposeful beat. “You’re the nice one.”
I fucking smiled. “Now I know I shouldn’t comment.”
Her locked expression held. “I need to leave. Can you please take me home?”
Alpha appeared on the other side of her. “Mrs. Taralas, your son-in-law is going to address the guests before dinner is served. He’s asked for your presence. May I escort you inside?”
Sparing me a glance as a flash of panic crossed her features, she turned toward Alpha, but she didn’t correct him like she had me about her last name. “Thank you for the offer, Mr. Trefor, but I’ve asked your associate if he would please escort me home.”
Looking over her head at me, Alpha raised an eyebrow.
Reading him loud and clear, but more concerned with what I just saw, I addressed the widow. “You’d like to fly back to the estate in Piraeus this evening?”
Alpha and I had flown the team on one of AES’s private jets from Miami to Greece after we’d gotten the call from Kostas that his father had passed. He was requesting security for the wake to insulate the guests and the event from media attention. But once we’d landed in Athens, Kostas made a last-minute decision and switched the location. Instead of the family’s main estate just outside the port town of Piraeus, he moved the wake to the Taralas villa in Santorini.
Unable to get into the landing queue at Santorini’s small, busy airport in time for the wake, we’d scrambled to get a rented helo, then Victor had flown us over. If the widow wanted off this island, as much as I hated to admit it because his piloting skills were reckless at best, the woman needed Victor, not me. He was the helo pilot.
“Not the estate, the Solace.” The widow glanced at Alpha. “I don’t need to be flown, just driven to the marina. The yacht is berthed, and the crew is waiting.”
Not missing a beat, like he already knew about this, Alpha nodded. “Of course. Zulu and I can take you.”
Parisa set her drink on one of the patio tables. “I appreciate the offer, Mr. Trefor, but please stay and do the job Kostas hired you for.” She glanced nervously toward the villa. “Mr. Zulu can take me. I wish to go right now, though.”
Konstantinos Jr., aka Kostas, walked up with the attitude of a man born into wealth. “Is there a problem? The guests are waiting.” Tossing his stepmother a hostile glance, his glare cut to Alpha. “I told you to get everyone inside. That includes her.”
