Under my Bodyguard's Control (manxman, manxwoman)*Power Tops Book 3*

Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Micah

(Nick Auger, my idea of Micah)

I stood there trying my best to save face by appearing nonchalant and uncaring, but in all actuality I felt like the lowest form of shit. Like everything else, with the exception of my businesses, I'd fucked up yet again. I know I did and this time I'd done it to the one person who has been a constant in my dysfunctional life for years. Bethany was gearing up to give me a piece of her mind after years of dealing with my dysfunction. I'm not surprised she didn't have Daryl toss me out onto the sidewalk on my ass.

My flimsy excuse for my actions, was that she was seeing other people. While I was trying to deal with overcoming the ravenous need growing inside of me to just take her, tie her to my bed, and fuck her until we both can't walk. It literally hits below the belt to know that Beth was too good for me, to delicate, refined, and too pretty to sully with my sins.

When I'd first met Bethany however many years ago, I was attending a monthly meeting with Damien and Marcus. We all used to meet once a month in Marcus' headquarters when we were still in the planning stages of opening The Dungeon. We would get together with everyone, from the architects to the financial advisors and update ourselves on every aspect of our latest investment.

She'd been young, fresh out of college, and too innocent to even be in the same room with me and my fucked up brain. She was, and she still is too pure to be touched by the filth that covers every inch of my mind and body. I had dismissed her after one longing glance. A sweet girl would have no idea what to do with a depraved motherfucker like me.

The fucking Marines had turned me into the perfect mindless, emotionless, and unrelenting killer. I was their drone, their slaughtering machine until they had no more use for me, and gave me an honorable discharge after giving them my younger years. One day I was in the jungles of some godforsaken rain forest killing anything that moved, and the next day they said that I served my purpose, and gave me an envelope with my discharge papers and a fair the well, and just like that I was once again a regular citizen.

I'd drifted not knowing what to do with myself and the skills I'd attained that were useless in the real world. I'd planned to make a career out of the military, but for whatever reason they discarded me like yesterday's trash. By pure chance or I used to think it was a coincidence I'd run into a former team member, another one of Uncle Sam's castaways.

Suddenly, I found myself recruited into a cell of ruthless mercenaries. We were killers for hire, paid by the highest bidders to take out targets for whatever reason, whether it was a political move or a militant one. It hadn't mattered to us as long as we got our money, and yes, sometimes the good ole USA was the highest bidder for our services. The road to freedom is a cutthroat and bloody journey, believe that if you don't believe anything else.

I'd made a majority of my wealth on killing people. I hadn't cared who or what they were. I asked no questions as I took the one thing they could never ever have returned to them, and I did without a care in the world. I knew I had to get out of that situation when the dreams started. They were always the same, I was being dragged kicking and screaming into the depth of a bloody pool by skeletal hands.

The souls of the people I killed would be screaming for vengeance above me, and I was drowned the in the very blood that I spilled. I'd wake up drenched in sweat and repetitiously chanting that the people I'd killed deserved it. They were the scrounge of the earth, drug dealers, pimps, demented cult leaders, and I was doing what no one else had the balls to do by taking them out. But I wasn't god, it wasn't up to me to decide if someone lived or died and the guilt grew until it had almost choked me. I had to get out.