Saving Ariel: a Protective Hero Second Chance Romantic Suspense Read online

  Saving Ariel

  The One I Want

  Ellie Masters

  JEM Publishing

  Copyright © 2021 Jet & Ellie Masters

  Saving Ariel: The One I Want series

  Book 1

  All rights reserved.

  This copy is intended for the original purchaser of this print book ONLY. No part of this print book may be reproduced, scanned, transmitted, or distributed in any printed, mechanical, or electronic form without prior written permission from Jet & Ellie Masters or JEM Publishing except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return it to the seller and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.

  Image/art disclaimer: Licensed material is being used for illustrative purposes only. Any person depicted in the licensed material is a model.

  Editor: Erin Toland

  Proofreader: Rox LeBlanc

  Interior Design/Formatting: Ellie Masters

  Published in the United States of America

  JEM Publishing

  This is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, businesses, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Created with Vellum

  Dedication

  This book is dedicated to my one and only—my amazing and wonderful husband.

  Thank you, my dearest love, my heart and soul, for putting up with me, for believing in me, and for loving me.

  You pushed me when I needed to be pushed. You supported me when I felt discouraged. You believed in me when I didn’t believe in myself.

  If it weren’t for you, this book never would have come to life.

  Books by Ellie Masters

  The LIGHTER SIDE

  Ellie Masters is the lighter side of the Jet & Ellie Masters writing duo! You will find Contemporary Romance, Military Romance, Romantic Suspense, Billionaire Romance, and Rock Star Romance in Ellie’s Works.

  Sign up to Ellie’s Newsletter and get a free gift. https://elliemasters.com/RescuingMelissa

  YOU CAN FIND ELLIE’S BOOKS HERE:

  ELLIEMASTERS.COM/BOOKS

  Military Romance

  Guardian Hostage Rescue

  Rescuing Melissa

  (Get a FREE copy when you join Ellie’s Newsletter)

  Rescuing Zoe

  Rescuing Moira

  Rescuing Eve

  Rescuing Lily

  Rescuing Jinx

  Rescuing Freya

  Rescuing Eden

  The One I Want Series

  (Small Town, Military Heroes)

  By Jet & Ellie Masters

  each book in this series can be read as a standalone and is about a different couple with an HEA.

  Saving Ariel

  Saving Brie

  Saving Cate

  Saving Dani

  Saving Jen

  Saving Abby

  Rockstar Romance

  The Angel Fire Rock Romance Series

  each book in this series can be read as a standalone and is about a different couple with an HEA. It is recommended they are read in order.

  Ashes to New (prequel)

  Heart’s Insanity (book 1)

  Heart’s Desire (book 2)

  Heart’s Collide (book 3)

  Hearts Divided (book 4)

  Hearts Entwined (book5)

  Forest’s FALL (book 6)

  Hearts The Last Beat (book7)

  Contemporary Romance

  Firestorm

  (Kristy Bromberg’s Everyday Heroes World)

  Billionaire Romance

  Billionaire Boys Club

  Hawke

  Richard

  Brody

  Contemporary Romance

  Cocky Captain

  (Vi Keeland & Penelope Ward’s Cocky Hero World)

  Romantic Suspense

  each book is a standalone novel.

  The Starling

  ~AND~

  Science Fiction

  Ellie Masters writing as L.A. Warren

  Vendel Rising: a Science Fiction Serialized Novel

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Saving Brie

  Ellie Masters The EDGE

  Books by Ellie Masters

  About the Author

  Connect with Ellie Masters

  Final Thoughts

  Books by Jet Masters

  The End

  Chapter One

  Ariel

  Hurricane Julian is the tenth storm of the season. The Category 5 monster barrels down on the Gulf with the tenacity of a bull staring down a china shop. Chomping at the bit, Julian digs in, ready to destroy, and I intend to fly directly into the maw of Julian’s fury. Metaphors aside, things are about to get ugly, and I love every minute of it.

  It’s been far too long since adrenaline spiked in my veins. After leaving the military, I took a job as a medevac pilot, flying my helicopter to any of the thousands of oil rigs peppered throughout the Gulf.

  Dangerous work, injuries are an unfortunate occurrence, despite rigid safety protocols. My crew answers those calls, heading out to ferry the sick and injured back to definitive medical care.

  It isn’t a kickass job steeped in death and glory, not like the military, but it does have its moments. Most of the time, it’s a thankless job, but it pays the bills, and it keeps me flying.

  I never feel more alive than with a stick in my hands and air beneath my feet.

  This promises to be an interesting run because everyone is headed off the oil rigs rather than flying to them. They flee the storm I willingly fly into.

  Pre-flight prep takes most of my concentration, but I think back to the last time I braced for the worst. This is a cake walk compared to that.

  My third combat tour in the desert was a shitstorm and ended my career in the Army.

  It was early morning on base when the call came in. A special ops team had injured men on the ground and were pinned down, requesting helicopter evacuation. The area was supposed to be secured by the time my team arrived. After the briefing, my co-pilot, Reggie, aka Rocks, and I went to our helicopter.

  The ever-present sand and grit permeated everything. While the team in back secured their gear, Rocks and I went over the flight plan. Once finished, we squeezed the rabbit’s foot Rocks hung in the cockpit for good luck. It began our tour gleaming white but was now a dusty brown
from all the sand.

  “You ready, Angel?” More than a chick who flies, they called me Battle Angel, or Angel for short, a play on a famous Manga character because I was small but packed a punch.

  “Ready.”

  We lifted off and headed into the desert. Fifty clicks out, I dropped down, using the rocky terrain to hide our radar signature.

  As we approached our target, gunfire burst from the rocky scree. Pings sounded as bullets struck the outer shell of the helicopter.

  “Shit!” The area was supposed to be secure, but it was too hot to land. I piled on speed and began defensive maneuvers as Rocks radioed in a status update.

  “They’re telling us to leave,” he said.

  One of the worst parts of the job was aborting a mission and leaving men on the ground, but I couldn’t disobey orders. We would return just as soon as it was safe.

  As I angled away, a man stood up from behind a large group of rocks with an RPG propped on his shoulder. The man staggered as he fired. A smoke trail headed directly for me bringing a rocket grenade on a direct intercept.

  “Evade! Evade! Evade!” I banked hard left, angling down to pick up speed.

  Rocks gripped his seat as the helicopter shuddered under the impact. The rocket grenade exploded, taking out the tail section and put me into a spin a hundred and fifty feet off the ground. My entire instrument cluster lit up, lights flashing, alarms blaring.

  With deafening alarms screeching in my ears and lights flashing on my display, I fought the deadly spiral.

  The helicopter slammed into the ground, crunching and groaning as metal twisted and broke apart. The hard landing bounced us on the rocks and flipped the helicopter on its side.

  When I came to, my head felt like it’d been split in two. Smoke poured down my throat. The coppery taint of blood coated my tongue, and I spit out the offensive substance. Blood blurred my vision, but not the macabre scene of Reggie and the shrapnel that speared him through the chest. His eyes stared back at me, filled with the terror of his death. I looked over my shoulder while pulling on the straps securing me to my seat. Two of the SOST team were dead. Two others were injured.

  Only after unbuckling did I realize my left leg had been shattered. Smoke filled the air. We were on fire and moments from an explosion. I bit back a scream as I clutched my injured leg and breathed in fumes.

  The whole thing was going to blow.

  Crawling to the back, I dragged one of the wounded men out of the helicopter, then headed back to rescue the other. A bullet ricocheted off a nearby rock, but I never once thought to stop. I grabbed the last survivor and dragged him toward safety. Bullets peppered the ground around my head, over my shoulders, and beside my hips and my feet. I gave hasty thanks for their terrible aim, at least until one of the shots scored a hit in my good leg.

  Gritting my teeth, I dragged the last man behind a sheltering clump of rocks, getting the three of us to safety.

  Two years later, my shattered leg and lack of sufficient rehabilitation to make me combat-ready, found me sitting before a medical evaluation board. The Army awarded me a medal and a medical retirement. My military career was over. My career in aviation wasn’t, but it was sidelined.

  We didn’t have hurricanes in the desert, but we had hostiles with guns, plenty of ammunition, itchy trigger fingers, and a fanatical will to kill infidels. I battled sandstorms and survived getting shot down. Now, I’m lucky to battle a violent gust or maneuver around a localized storm.

  Back then, I flew in hot, hand steady on the stick, with a crew of medics hanging on for dear life with clenched hands and puckered assholes in the back. Landing in the midst of gunfire can make the cockiest pilot quake in their boots or shit their pants, but I faced those kinds of missions with steely determination and eerily cool composure.

  I do that now.

  A distinguished combat veteran, my hand remains steady as I lift out of Mobile, Alabama, with a critical-care transport team strapped in the back of my helicopter.

  Hurricane Julian churns a couple hundred miles offshore, flirting with the western coastline of Florida as it barrels directly toward Mobile. Instead of petering out, it looks to be picking up steam.

  Earlier, it looked like any other gorgeous day on the Gulf; deep blue skies with barely any clouds and nearly mirror-smooth waters. The calm before the storm lies about the hell to come.

  There are no blue skies for this flight, however. The sun set an hour ago. I fly into the inky blackness and head out to sea.

  “It’s bumpy as shit back here,” Andrew, my flight nurse, calls out through our integrated headsets.

  “How’s Julian?” Larry, our medic, sounds concerned.

  I don’t blame him. It’s going to be a rough flight, but we’re still far ahead of the storm.

  I glance at my weather radar. “Still on a direct course.”

  “How much time?” Larry asks.

  “Enough.” I try to soothe him, but I’m too busy flying to settle Larry’s nerves.

  While devastating, hurricanes travel at a relative snail’s pace. However, the winds are already kicking up and toss the Gulf into a frenzy. Below us, the normally calm waters churn and the waves kick up. Gusts will make my job harder, but I look forward to the challenge.

  “Lots of air traffic,” Andrew's voice crackles through the headset.

  A glance left confirms Andrew’s statement, although it isn’t a surprise. Lights from other helicopters dot the night sky as they ferry crew off all active rigs in Julian’s path. Beneath us, tossing about in the waves, a steady stream of boat traffic lights up the dark waters.

  Flights will continue until all crew members are evacuated from the fixed platforms. Per protocol, stationary rigs evacuate their entire crews, while drillships off-load only non-essential personnel. They then disconnect from their wells and steer the drillship away from the storm to wait things out.

  Our patients are on the former, a stationary rig with a complete evacuation underway. Last man off will turn out the lights, as the saying goes. A glance at the clock and I give a nod. We’ll have plenty of time to stabilize the wounded crew and make it back far in advance of the worst of the weather. Unfortunately, our helicopter will block the evacuation of the last crewmen remaining.

  Hopefully, all non-essential personnel will be gone by the time my crew arrives. The rig I fly toward is located a little more than a hundred miles offshore. We have a relatively quick flight and will be there in thirty to forty-five minutes, depending on changes in wind speed as Julian approaches.

  I call the rig, confirm my ETA, and the availability of the landing pad, which gives me twenty minutes to obsess over things I can’t control. It’ll be nice to have a little more action and pretend the rest of the world doesn’t exist.

  During the flight, the slow drizzle turns to rain, and the wind kicks up. Hopefully, the heavy stuff is still some distance off. When we approach the rig, I call in and move toward a helideck suspended two hundred feet above a seething sea.

  Weather in the Gulf is calm compared to other places around the globe, but I hold a healthy respect for it.

  Summers can be pristine without a breath of wind or turn into full-blown squalls within minutes. In the winter, cold fronts move fast, bringing dramatic wind shifts and plummeting temperatures. Fog is more common than not, the result of the high humidity, and of course, there are the ever-present thunderstorms, which crop up with the worst timing, bringing high winds. More than one helicopter has been tossed off a helideck and plunged into the Gulf with those powerful gusts.

  My respect isn’t healthy. It’s profound.

  I battle gusts, concerned not only about landing, but a takeoff that threatens to pitch the helicopter into the water below.

  It’s getting sketchy out here. We won’t be able to spend much time on deck, especially with the rain getting heavier. Julian isn’t fooling around and picked up speed. It comes to enact a profound vengeance upon the world, and the last thing I want is to be
anywhere near the full brunt of its fury.

  “Hang on,” I call to my passengers. “It’s going to be bumpy, and don’t unbuckle until I tell you.”

  Understandably, the flight nurse and paramedic are eager to get to our patients, but if they get out before the skids are anchored, it could be the last thing they do. Before touching down, I arm the floats, a precaution in case I don’t stick the landing. If the gusts buck us off the platform, the floats will deploy, giving us a chance of escaping the helicopter. My motto is to plan for the worst and pray for the best.

  Right now, I wish for a break in the sheets of rain pouring down. I can’t see crap.

  Almost there.

  A gust blows me off the helideck and I curse. This is turning into a real goat rope. But I regain altitude and realign for a second approach. Winds gust from the southeast, Julian testing the waters.

  Okay, easy now. There’s a flare boom to the right and a crane to the left I need to avoid. I kick the tail a little to the right after clearing a stairwell. One more check to make sure the floats are armed.

  Holy crap! Where did that antenna come from?