Page 26 of Tear Me Down
Men begin pouring out of the trucks the moment they park, and one right after the other, they line up in perfect formation. Eight rows, six men in each, all ranging from early-twenties to mid-fifties. I see Damien’s dad walk out from between two of the trucks and stand in front of the men, looking as tall as ever. They all straighten and stand at attention the moment he stops advancing, not daring to move an inch as they wait to be addressed. Each one of them looks serious and determined, like if Mr. Hartley were to command them to step into battle right at this moment, they’d do it with no questions asked.
“Damn, your dad really does have a specific presence.”
“Yes, he does,” he says, sounding defeated already, but he squeezes my hand faintly and steels his spine—readying himself for the day ahead.
I release his hand and let him walk ahead, beside his dad, as I stay off to the side, and Damien stops where his father is, instantly standing tall with his hands behind his back. His usual relaxed and comfortable appearance is gone in the blink of an eye and replaced by a hardness that I only normally see when he’s in action. I’ve noticed this tension between them at his parents’ house. Normally, he’s so laid back and loose, but not with his dad. He always calls him Sir, and is very tense, like he’s waiting for a command. I couldn’t imagine growing up with a father like him.
I had two fathers, who were very different from one another. There was my real father, who would forget I exist. The one who’d slapped me around and order me to cater to his drugged-up friends. The man who’d lay unconscious for days—so long in fact, there were times I thought he was dead. Then there’s Mr. Anderson, the man who took me in, and surrounded me with warmth. The one who made sure Serena packed two lunches every day until I was old enough to make my own lunches, because he knew I wouldn’t have eaten. Even once I was old enough to go grocery shopping, he still often had her pack an extra, because the only diet my parents needed was crack and alcohol. He’s the man that taught me how to change a tire and change different light bulbs and fuses out of the box because ‘that’s what dads teach their daughters.’
On one hand, I had a father who beat and abused his wife, and on the other, I had a father who made sure his wife was never with needs or without affection. Two very opposite sides of the spectrum. Mr. Hartley? I feel like is a very tight line between the two. I imagine he loves as fiercely as Damien but is too hardened to show it.
At their house, I could see his desire to be close to Damien, even though he kept a distance. If Damien walked outside, so did he. If Damien was with me, he was across the room. I can see the overwhelming love Mr. Hartley has for him, but I don’t think he knows how to show him. So instead, he’s hard. Tense. Over-bearing.
Damien told me how his dad had been training him behind his mom’s back since he was five, and then around ten his mom found out. Some boy was picking on Emma, and Damien showed him how that wasn’t allowed. He said it almost got him expelled, but Mr. Hartley convinced the school that it wouldn’thappen again, and ‘convinced’ the kid’s parents not to press charges. I can only imagine what he did to that kid. With how Damien is now, and how protective his mom told me he was of Emma? It must have been something horrid.
“I would like to make something clear to every one of you,” Mr. Hartley speaks boisterously, startling me from my thoughts and drawing my attention as he starts walking up and down the lines of men. “This is not my operation. Past today, I am not involved. If any of you cannot show my son the same amount of loyalty you show me…” He stands at the front again, proud and tall beside Damien. “Leave now.” He stands still and watches them intently, clearly scanning the precise crowd and staring each of them in the eyes to find a weakness. Surprisingly, I am too, curious if Damien’s hunch about these men is correct.
After no one moves for a few moments, he nods to Damien and steps back with a look on his face that I can’t quite decipher. Pride? Longing? Maybe even a hint of grief? Is he afraid to pass the torch down to him? Does he not think he can handle it? There’s a wariness in his gaze that makes me question him, but I obviously keep my mouth shut. I still don’t know what all was talked about when they had their little meeting at the party last week, but from what I imagine, it possibly had something to do with this.
When Damien steps forward to take his rightful place, it even intimidates me a little. He looks very serious and menacing, much stronger than his father looked. In my mind, Damien is a dark God taking his rightful place as commander over Hell’s soldiers, displaying his birthright and securing his position.
“Let me make something clear,” my King proclaims. “This is not government sanctioned. You all will be labeled as vigilantes. Criminals.” His thunderous voice booms through the air and the men stiffen, just like they should. “I don’t run my organization like the military. You don’t stand, or salute to me, and God help you if you call me sir.” I smile at that, knowing that he’s never viewed himself as better than any of his men, and that he truly feels they’re all equal to him. “We do this because we want to help people. We rescue women and children, we keep drugs and guns off the streets, and we fuck up the ones that put them there. Everyone will be filled in on the names and protocols of our operations, and I do expect you to adapt to them quickly. This is not easy. I will demand a lot from you, but I will also give you a lot in return. Our loyalty to each other is everything. We fight for each other, we die for each other, and we live for each other.”
I look over to the loading docks to see the other men walking out, all looking strong and stubborn. Like if any of the mercenaries even look at Damien wrong, they’ll pay the price. Carter, Zeke, and Alex lead them, while Serena walks out of the back door and up to me.
“What’s going on?” I ask her in a hushed tone.
“They wanted to back Damien,” she whispers back, and I look over to see the three of them stand by his side. The rest of the men fall in behind them, arms crossed, and while they may not look as professional or groomed as thesoldiers do, they stand just as tall—showing their loyalty and causing a warmth to spread across my chest.
“I don’t do a chain of command. You don’t have lieutenants, captains, or privates. You have me, Zeke, Carter, and Alex.” Damien points to them. “Besides us, we’ll say who takes point. That doesn’t mean that I doubt your knowledge or skills. So, here’s what we’re going to do first: Alex is going to show you to the locker room so you can set your things down, and then you’re going to show me what you’ve got. From there, we’ll decide what positions you’ll be best placed in.”
Serena and I turn to see another car pull into the parking lot. A cute, mint green BMW drives up and parks beside the Charger, and after just a few moments, Melanie and Danielle step out of the car, quietly chatting amongst themselves as they walk over to us.
“Hey. What are you two doing here?” I ask quietly as Melanie pulls me in for a quick hug, then Danielle.
“I'm going to be finding housing for all of these guys. So, Dani is here to help me document everything—that way, I know what I'm looking for. Plus, we have to catalog skill sets, military positions, and clearances they still have. Things like that, so it’s easier for Damien to group them,” Melanie says professionally, as if she’s already on top of it, but I can see the dark circles under her eyes and how her body language droops. Probably from lack of sleep due to her infant son.
“Serena and I will help, too.” I nod and introduce them to Ser. As I look back over, Damien turns and walks inside, allowing all of the men to follow, but leaving his father behind to witness.
It’s been three hours, and I feel like we’ve barely scratched the surface of these mercenaries. Out of the forty, eight of them also have retired K-9 soldiers that require…special accommodations, I should say. The one I’m sitting beside now, Daisy, is a very sweet girl. A beautiful four-year-old German Shepherd who apparently looks and acts very sweet right now, but doesn’t always. Her owner, Darnell, told me that once about every thirty days, she needs to…blow off some steam.
Daisy was part of a military operations project where the K-9 officers would hunt down and attack specific enemies whenever a laser pointer was aimed at them. They would signal a command to ready the dogs, point the laser, and then speak the third command for them to attack. Diesel and Dallas were also part of what they called Delta Squad and require the same accommodation.They just need to be allowed to patrol every day with the men, or at least have some type of physical or mental stimulation. So, I made sure to text Damien, so we know to create a schedule for them. Now, once a month? They have to…get their energy out…in a more aggressive way. That’s what Darnell and the other two owners told me, but I get the gist. It’s kind of like Damien in a way. If his inner monster is caged in for too long, he gets antsy.
I figured a lot of the mercenaries would have families, but I’m surprised that not many of them do so far. With their time and dedication to the military, most of them aren’t married. Well, anymoreI should say, and that makes my heart twang with sadness. A lot of them don’t have kids either, and while they seem happy enough, some of them seemed almost pained to tell us that no one would be joining them in moving here.
Melanie tells them they can get set up in the bunk room while we find places for them to stay, and most of them are just as happy as if we had already found them a new home. She said that a lot of these guys are used to being on the move, and don’t really have a place to settle down. So, they’d probably be happy with anything stable right now.
As I jot down his details, I pet Daisy’s head, letting her soft fur glide between my fingers, and smile at her little dog grunts. She has that blissed out, peaceful look that dogs get when you rub them just the right way, and it brings me so much serenity in all of this chaos. Dogs have always had a calming affect on me, and even though I’m not sure how often I’ll actually be able to interact with this one, I already feel a special connection to her—like she already feels at home here. I direct my gaze in Damien's direction, willing the wave of calmness to flow from me and into him, knowing he needs it.
Standing up and looking over at my irresistible fiancé, I watch as he continues to spar with the mercenaries one by one—assessing how they fight, how they hit, if they’re quick or slow. Sweat drips down his bare chest as his heavy breaths force his ab muscles to heave up and down, and the beads run down to his V-line that points to his monstrous dick. I feel the heat return between my legs, and my clit throbs as he stands and enjoys his latest act of violence. One of the mercenaries is hunched over and grasping his midsection before Damien puts his hand out and helps him up, keeping his professional demeanor while letting some of his caring qualities shine through.
I focus back on his eyes to see him staring at me, smirking and starting to look more like his confident self, but when he looks away, he stops in his tracks. Any ounce of confidence he was feeling crashes and burns, then turns to ice, hardening to stone. I can see the rage wash over his body as I follow his line of sight to see one of the mercenaries staring at me. His eyes are drooped and heavy, and when I meet his gaze, a grin grows on his face. The posture that once looked stern outside is now languid and relaxed as he rakes his eyes down my body.
He’s checking me out? Seriously? Is he stupid? I go to look back to Damien, wanting him to know that I’m obviously not interested, but I don’t have to look far. He's already closing the gap between him and the soldier.
Oh shit.
Before I can register what’s happening, Damien storms up to him and punches him in the face, sending him to the floor with a thud so loud that it rings through the training area. The man, Waylon I think, attempts to get up, but Damien is already on top of him. He hits him in the face over and over again, not holding an ounce of violence back as he beats him mercilessly. A part of me wants to run over and try to stop him, knowing that this could set off some bad tension between his normal guys and the soldiers, but the other half of me loves the way he looks. I feel my breath stall as he continues to hit the man, and he tries to fight back, but Damien’s consistent punches keep him down.
