Read Online Enemy From The Past (Unseen Enemy Book 4) by Marysol James - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Marysol James
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make me a liar?”
“Uh. No.”
“OK, then. You get some sleep, then we make some dinner, then we go. Deal?”
“Deal.”
In her bedroom, she peeled off her clothes, climbed in to bed and closed her eyes. The last thing she felt before falling in to a dreamless sleep was a deep sense of calm.
I’m not alone, for the first time in years. I’m safe.
For now.
**
About five minutes after Kat – or whatever the hell her name is – closed her bedroom door, Jim started to have some trouble with himself. He sat and drank a second beer, trying hard to stay in control of his anger.
Now that he knew almost all of Kat’s full story, he felt an odd combination of relief and rage. OK, yeah… he’d guessed that she was on the run from something, and he’d assumed it wasn’t pleasant, and he’d known that he’d be pissed about whatever it was. But still, he was taken aback at just how much he wanted to look Sheriff Michael Ferguson in the eye as he beat his head in to a wall, over and over again. Jim longed to do to this asshole what he’d done to Kat: Jim wanted to scare him, hurt him, humiliate him. Make him feel unsafe and insecure.
Tit for tat, you fucker.
In a weird way, though, what was really making him see red was the news that this guy was ex-military; that he was, in fact, one of Jim’s fellow highly-trained brothers. When Kat had innocently said that he was ‘one of you’, Jim had jumped at her precisely because she was right. This sick, abusive asshole with a badge and a gun was one of them. And since Jim, Dean, Chris and Dallas knew what this guy was capable of – in some ways, they knew even better than Kat, despite her personal experience at his hands – that made stopping him their responsibility.
We take care of our own – and that goes both ways.
Jim had come across abusive men in his years of training, sure, but they rarely made it to the elite squads. And God knows, he’d been no stranger to throwing a punch when he’d signed up for Basic, and additional training had honed and sharpened his already-considerable skills. Ranger training had made him nothing short of a lethal weapon, and he knew this ex-Marine was the same. The thought that he’d put his hands on Kat made Jim physically sick: most men wouldn’t be able to stay standing once an ex-Marine started hitting them. Hell, for all Jim knew, Ferguson would give him a run for his money in a fist fight. A woman like Kat wouldn’t have a prayer.
Jim’s anger ballooned up in his chest and he took a deep breath, felt his heart rate drop again. The thing about really intensive and specialized military training was that the farther you advanced in it, the more deadly you became, but you also became more controlled, more focused, more disciplined.
It was a delicate balancing act, a beautiful symbiotic relationship, one that had been drilled in to Jim’s head over and over: with great power comes greater responsibility. Just because Jim and his friends could wreak havoc and spread human misery didn’t mean they should or would . But Ferguson had turned his back on the creed, the code. He’d gained tremendous power and now he used it to hurt others.
But how did he get so far in the military in the first place? According to Leanne and Bobby, the guy had been sending up red flags all over the place as early as high school football practice… no way he should have even been a Marine. No way he should have been given the tools of destruction that he had been. He should have been stuck as a grunt forever, not handed elite skills and training.
Uncle Sam’s psychologists sure fucked that one up.
Jim wrestled with his own thoughts before reluctantly facing the truth of what was really upsetting him: the truth was that he’d long been afraid that his own training was a mistake. That he’d somehow slipped through the cracks, lucked out, slid on through. That Jim Alden was not anything close to elite material. That it had all been a
“Uh. No.”
“OK, then. You get some sleep, then we make some dinner, then we go. Deal?”
“Deal.”
In her bedroom, she peeled off her clothes, climbed in to bed and closed her eyes. The last thing she felt before falling in to a dreamless sleep was a deep sense of calm.
I’m not alone, for the first time in years. I’m safe.
For now.
**
About five minutes after Kat – or whatever the hell her name is – closed her bedroom door, Jim started to have some trouble with himself. He sat and drank a second beer, trying hard to stay in control of his anger.
Now that he knew almost all of Kat’s full story, he felt an odd combination of relief and rage. OK, yeah… he’d guessed that she was on the run from something, and he’d assumed it wasn’t pleasant, and he’d known that he’d be pissed about whatever it was. But still, he was taken aback at just how much he wanted to look Sheriff Michael Ferguson in the eye as he beat his head in to a wall, over and over again. Jim longed to do to this asshole what he’d done to Kat: Jim wanted to scare him, hurt him, humiliate him. Make him feel unsafe and insecure.
Tit for tat, you fucker.
In a weird way, though, what was really making him see red was the news that this guy was ex-military; that he was, in fact, one of Jim’s fellow highly-trained brothers. When Kat had innocently said that he was ‘one of you’, Jim had jumped at her precisely because she was right. This sick, abusive asshole with a badge and a gun was one of them. And since Jim, Dean, Chris and Dallas knew what this guy was capable of – in some ways, they knew even better than Kat, despite her personal experience at his hands – that made stopping him their responsibility.
We take care of our own – and that goes both ways.
Jim had come across abusive men in his years of training, sure, but they rarely made it to the elite squads. And God knows, he’d been no stranger to throwing a punch when he’d signed up for Basic, and additional training had honed and sharpened his already-considerable skills. Ranger training had made him nothing short of a lethal weapon, and he knew this ex-Marine was the same. The thought that he’d put his hands on Kat made Jim physically sick: most men wouldn’t be able to stay standing once an ex-Marine started hitting them. Hell, for all Jim knew, Ferguson would give him a run for his money in a fist fight. A woman like Kat wouldn’t have a prayer.
Jim’s anger ballooned up in his chest and he took a deep breath, felt his heart rate drop again. The thing about really intensive and specialized military training was that the farther you advanced in it, the more deadly you became, but you also became more controlled, more focused, more disciplined.
It was a delicate balancing act, a beautiful symbiotic relationship, one that had been drilled in to Jim’s head over and over: with great power comes greater responsibility. Just because Jim and his friends could wreak havoc and spread human misery didn’t mean they should or would . But Ferguson had turned his back on the creed, the code. He’d gained tremendous power and now he used it to hurt others.
But how did he get so far in the military in the first place? According to Leanne and Bobby, the guy had been sending up red flags all over the place as early as high school football practice… no way he should have even been a Marine. No way he should have been given the tools of destruction that he had been. He should have been stuck as a grunt forever, not handed elite skills and training.
Uncle Sam’s psychologists sure fucked that one up.
Jim wrestled with his own thoughts before reluctantly facing the truth of what was really upsetting him: the truth was that he’d long been afraid that his own training was a mistake. That he’d somehow slipped through the cracks, lucked out, slid on through. That Jim Alden was not anything close to elite material. That it had all been a
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