The Unseen Enemy Series

Chapter 193

Jim had come across abusive men in his years of training, sure, but they'd 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 tall, heavy men wouldn’t be able to stay standing once an ex-Marine started hitting them. Hell, for all Jim knew, Ferguson would give hima 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 into 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 wayhe 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 and f*****g set loose in the world.

Uncle Sam’s psychologists sure f****d 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 colossal administrative f**k-up: somebody had pushed his file forward when it should have been kicked right off the desk and thrown in the trash. That he should be back on the family farm in Iowa.

That maybe I have more in common with fuckers like Ferguson than I do with guys like Dean and Dallas and Chris.

Jim thought about his quick temper, his suspicion, his inability to trust or connect with anybody beyond the guys. And God, just look at him compared to his friends, right? Dallas was a successful business owner, and one of the best damn snipers that anyone had ever known. Dean also had his own thriving business, and he’d been the LT of their unit. Chris had been a foot-soldier like Jim and was now a mechanic, but he also had that almost magical quality that made frightened women trust him, even after they’d been brutalized by the Taliban. Or by four drunk assholes up in a cabin over two days.

And who was Jim, what was Jim? Just a guy who did what he was told to do: as a Ranger, as an employee. Dean was, after all, his boss at the tattoo parlour, and even though Jim liked his work a lot, he knew it was all he could do. He’d never lead, never own, never walk into a room and take command of it.

I’m nothing special. I’m nobody important. How the hell did I end up among the elite? Somebody f****d up somewhere; that’s the only explanation.

This dark, secret fear had been whispering to him for years, and hearing about Ferguson had now dragged it kicking and howling into the light. The hard and undeniable knowledge than an abusive man had been pushed and promoted into the upper ranks was now staring him in the face. And after all, if Ferguson had somehow received what he didn’t deserve and shouldn’t have even been offered, then who’s to say that the same thing hadn’t happened to Jim?

He finished his beer, went to get a third one, then thought about Kat. She’d wake up soon and God knows, the last thing she needed was Jim drunk and angry. He’d promised to make her feel safe, and he guessed that had to start with making sure she was safe with him. None of his f*****g snapping and bad temper.

Maybe you don’t deserve what you’ve been given, man, but you sure as hell can make sure that Kat gets what she needs… including respect, calm and security. It’s not much, and God knows she deserves more and better, but it’s something you can do. So f*****g do it.