Die for You

Chapter 4

I spent the night in a proper bed for the first time in, well, ages actually. Army bunks don't really count as real beds and neither do the torture devices they had in the hospitals I ended up staying in after suffering from bullet holes and broken bones from an ambush.

This bed is warm, dry comfortable and not covered in cardboard and pigeon shit that I had to lay in. In short, it was fucking fantastic and I woke up feeling rested yet anxious about the day's events.

LT Jones or JJ as we call him, and his wife, Lauren, got me cleaned up, spruced up and bought me some new clothes.

My hair is now a pale platinum blonde; I'd never been blonde before and I found I kind of liked it. If I met myself in a bar I'd probably try to hit on me, if you know what I mean.

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I had the nightmare again last night though; more faces appeared in that rocky hole, more of the people I've lost along the way. At least this time I didn't wake up screaming. I'm sure JJ and Lauren wouldn't have appreciated me waking up their son, little Albert, in the middle of the night; it took the little bug hours to go to sleep as it was.

I really don't have any idea what I'm getting myself into today, all I know is that JJ will take me to the office and get me set up then I'll presumably get briefed. I'm not used to doing things in this ad-hoc manner but it's a job, and I really could do with nailing this.

I take a look in the mirror, checking myself out front, sides and back, adjusting seams and shoulders ensuring everything is just so - I've spent almost all my adult life in uniform and uniforms have to be right or you never hear the end of it, so old habits die hard.

As I take one last look in the mirror, I'm struck by just how professional I actually look. The suit is similar to my dress uniform in styling and for the first time since the ambush, I'm feeling a little bit more like the old me. I'm finally ready to face the world, or at least James Porter.

JJ's given me a bit of a background on Porter as I've dumped the robe and got dressed. James Porter, born in Baton Rouge, Louisiana, 30 years old, ex-US Ranger, decorated four times on active service.

Based on information, James is highly selective about the individuals he employs. His staff is made up of former military personnel from specialized units around the world, all of whom have experience in combat and have successfully led their teams to safety. He takes pride in offering his clients bodyguards who have survived combat, making them feel secure. His business provides a range of services worldwide, from personal bodyguarding for celebrities to protective duties in combat zones, such as the ones I experienced in Iraq and Afghanistan with Jones. Most of the time, the company provides personal protection for businessmen seeking to conduct deals in newly liberated societies.

It was a lot to process, but it seemed that James Porter made his living off of the experiences of others, he just knew what it was like to bleed.

Surprisingly, this made me feel better.

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"I like you, Sarocha; you're my kind of soldier, you've got skill, you've got respect, you've got integrity and you've got intelligence. I think we could work well together; I think you'll be good for my company, a real asset. Welcome aboard." James Porter said smiling as he offered his hand.

I stood up and shook his hand, "Until tomorrow then, Blondie, you have a good evening ya' hear." He smiled cheekily and strode away.

I sat back down in the chair, breathed out a sigh of relief and thought about the last hour.

Somehow I'd managed to pull it off, despite my temper. All I had to do now was prove myself; well, that I was used to.

More than used to in fact, every day in Iraq and Afghanistan you were asked to prove yourself, and every day you survived was the proof that you were good enough.