Ezra: My Broken Bodyguard 3

EZRA: MY BROKEN BODYGUARD 3

EZRA’S STORY

EPISODE ONE

My shore leave was so close I could taste freedom on the tip of my tongue. Fuck, I needed this time off. My team and I had been in Yemen for three weeks. After our successful mission, the helicopter dropped me and my team off in the middle of the ocean. We climbed aboard a small speedboat, then whipped across the ocean toward our ship that was four hours out from Chicago, Illinois. All I could think about was decompressing.

I had so much blood on my hands from the latest mission. When I closed my eyes, I vividly saw the faces of those I killed.

At O four hundred, we tossed grappling hooks over the side of our ship’s railing and scrambled up the ropes.

I saluted the officer on watch. He was expecting us. For those of us who were wounded, we made our way to the ship’s doctor.

The doc wrapped my abdomen in white gauze and handed me a vial of painkillers. I shuffled to my bunk bed, plopped down, and fell into a deep sleep.

Suddenly, an enormous hand jolted me awake, and a gruff voice said, “Costa, wake up.”

I palmed my face. “No, I just want to sleep.”

“Nope, you’re getting off the ship. We’re going to the club,” Dominguez Suarez, my best friend, stated.

“You said you wanted to get off the ship and have a good time. The last two times you changed your mind at the last minute. Not this time. Let’s move. We’re leaving in one hour.”

“Dominguez,” I bit out in warning as I opened one eye.

His burley form came into view. His raven hair was cut low, like the rest of us on the ship.

“I’ll haul your ass off the ship in your boxers,” Dominguez chuckled.

I heard a few others chuckle, too.

“Trust me man, as your friend, I’m telling you to take advantage of this break. You need one.”

He was right, I couldn’t squander this leave. I knew what to expect tonight. Once we reached the club, we’d hang out in VIP. Have a few drinks, then we’d go our separate ways and seek women who’d accompany us to our hotel rooms. However, tonight I just felt like people watching. Maybe tomorrow night I’d hook up with a woman and get the release I needed.

I sighed. “Okay, okay.”

***P***

Two hours later, I found myself in the dimly lit VIP section at a popular club in downtown Chicago. The music pulsated through my body. I slid a hand over the expensive navy suit jacket that fit my muscled frame perfectly. I was accustomed to the finer things in life. Growing up, my younger brother, sister, and I got whatever we wanted. Our luxury lifestyle allowed me to be a wild child. So I enjoyed all the dangerous toys, like dirt bikes and skateboards. There was no greater high than jumping off of an ATV in midair into the mud. I loved living life on the edge. Which was why I enlisted in the Navy. The thrill of escaping bombs excited me. Well, I wouldn’t go that far on the excitement scale. What I really wanted was to make a difference and save lives.

Resting an arm on the chrome banister, I sipped the amber colored liquor as I peered out into the crowd. Sweat dripped down their skin as they moved to the boisterous music.

Pondering on my life, I gulped down half the whiskey in the low-ball glass. I wasn’t just a sailor anymore. I was a twenty-one-year-old Navy Seal. I had no intention of becoming a Navy Seal. Just a sailor. However, my commanding officer had discerned something in me that no one else had, and he had taken me under his wing, shaping me into the formidable Navy Seal I had become. Graduating at the top of my class had been a testament to my unwavering dedication and relentless pursuit of excellence.

My daily work consisted of saving lives, a deeply fulfilling and noble endeavor that gave meaning to my existence. Yet, what they never warned you about was the inescapable solitude that came with being a Special Operative. The shadowy world I inhabited left no room for personal attachments, for a girlfriend or a wife. The ever-present threat of retaliation from an unseen enemy loomed, a constant reminder that my commitment to duty had come at a high cost. The sacrifices made for the sake of my country weighed heavily on my shoulders, even as I sipped my whiskey in the midst of the vibrant nightlife, the echoes of my past missions never far from my thoughts.

Whenever I visited my family, I had to practically go undercover. That meant growing out my hair and a beard. Full lumberjack mode to stay off the radar. Depending on how dangerous my previous mission was, I sometimes wore prosthetics.

A wide grin curved my lips. Happy I left the ship. This set was nice. It was best I enjoyed this time off. Because next week I’d be on another dangerous mission.

My gaze moved over the crowd again. There were several attractive women here tonight. A few had asked me to dance. I declined. My four friends were off doing their own thing. Maybe one was fucking a woman in a bathroom stall. And another held up in a corner, whispering sweet nothings into a woman’s ear. I spotted Ramsey at one of the three bars on the lower level. Dominguez was still in VIP with me. He had some woman dangling from his body while they danced. I chuckled at the spectacle. I was the only one out of our group, content observing those around me.

I noticed a woman waving her hands in the air with her eyes closed and head thrown back. She was lost in the music. It was beautiful. She didn’t care who was watching. It was obvious she loved to dance. I smiled at her ability to lose herself around others. That was something I could never do. Her captivating mocha-hued face held my attention in the dimly lit club. She was nothing short of stunning, a vision. The moment I laid eyes on her, the other women became irrelevant.

As the music surged, a confident man moved closer, his hands finding their place on her hips, aligning their bodies. Her acquiescence intrigued me; perhaps he was her significant other. Leaning in, he whispered something into her ear. His face lit up with a cocky grin.

In an instant, her eyes flickered open, and a scowl descended upon her breathtaking countenance. She didn’t hesitate, unleashing a fist against his chest, a testament to her fierce independence.

“I just want to dance,” she declared, her words lost to the surrounding cacophony. From my vantage point, I couldn’t hear her words, but I could read her lips, and the determination in her eyes spoke volumes.

My hand curled into a fist. I considered tossing the asshole out of the club on his ass.

But I kept an eye on her. More women approached, asking if I wanted to dance. Some pushed tiny pieces of paper into my pocket. I was sure with their phone numbers on them.

My eyes found the beautiful woman every time. She danced with her friend, then a few other guys. Guys tried shoving drinks into her hand. She refused. That brought a smile to my face.

She flashed a beautiful smile at the last guy and thanked him for the dance. He gripped her ass, holding her against him. What was with the guys in this club? Were they all hard up for pussy?

She wiggled out of his hold and twirled around. Each step she took was more unsteady than the last. I didn’t waste time hustling down the stairs. As I approached the bar, a man inched toward her.

I placed my hand up. “She’s with me,” I growled. A scowl quickly took over my features.