Hot Summer Night

3 - Declan

"Where is that cocksucker?" I hissed, looking through my scope, trying to find the no-good, rotten perpetrator hiding inside the bank, holding everyone inside as hostages and using them as shields from us.

My two spotters held their binoculars to their eyes, scanning the area, shaking their heads the longer they looked around for the suspect without such luck.

Until now.

Murphy lowered his field glasses, looked straight ahead with his own eyes, then returned the binoculars to his perfect globes, saying, "Don't shoot. I see him. He's hiding behind a woman and keeping her tightly close to him as he wanders around."

Goddammit.

"That's not what I asked." Through gritted teeth, I seethed, "Where? Is. The. God damn motherfucker?"

Murphy lowered his binoculars when he turned his head and looked at me, his eyes showing fear in his eyes. "He has a hostage, Mitchell. Don't be careless, or she's dead."

To be a superb hunter, you need to be an accurate shooter. Only, I'm not a hunter per se. I'm a sniper—which, in my eyes, is similar since snipers sometimes have to hunt down the person they need to take off the streets, and your shot has to be accurate to get the job done. And so nobody else gets hurt or killed. Also, being a sniper, there are no ifs, ands, or buts because you must be accurate when you pull that trigger.

As a Marine, I trained to be a sniper, amongst other important, strategic things they wanted me to learn. After eight years—four years of serving my country and four years as a reservist—doing countless tours, becoming a certified sniper, a black belt in martial arts, and more, I transitioned to the Army National Guard. And because they say I'm the best, most feared, and deadliest sniper, the Mobile, Alabama, police department hired me to lead their sharpshooter/sniper department.

After I joined the Army National Guard, they learned my qualifications and skills, and they trained me to be one of the world's most lethal warriors by making me a green beret. And I take my job seriously.

So, for Murphy to order me not to shoot, fearing I'd make a mistake by killing an innocent woman, pisses me off.

I don't make mistakes.

Not anymore.

Not after making two massive back-to-back mistakes in my life.

Marrying Felicity after I impregnated her and our marriage lasting only a year was one of my mistakes. But the biggest mistake I ever made, which still haunts me to this day, was leaving the best thing that ever happened to me—the love of my life as she slept.

It's not that I wanted to leave her while she slept. I had to.

After my sergeant had called in the middle of the night, informing me there was a job I had to get done, that my ride was outside my apartment waiting, and that I only had ten minutes to get on base before the plane took off, I had to flee.

I was warned that if I weren't there on time, there would be hell to pay, and I'd be done. So, I dressed the fastest I ever dressed and left without a note or saying goodbye. And I felt like the biggest piece of shit for not waking her and letting her know I had to leave for a job that needed to get done.

I had no choice but to leave how I did. I did what I had to do—what I was ordered to do, and I've been paying for losing the one woman I loved with all my heart ever since.

What still pisses me off about that situation is that I was told I'd only be gone for a month. I ended up being away for two long fucking years. If I were only away for the month I was promised, the love of my life would still be in my life.