Copyright © 2019 Michael James
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No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Contents
Untitled
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Epilogue
About the Author
Also by Michael James
Chapter One
April 5, 2019
I am Abbot Easton and this is my diary. I've never done this sort of thing before. My friend Keets told me it helps him deal with things that we've seen on the job, especially on the nights that sleep doesn't come. If he sleeps as little as I do, he must write a hell of a lot. Getting a good night's sleep is rare. In fact, I can't remember when I last got a full eight hours. Four is basically my max.
Keets and I were SWAT team together for twenty-three years. We bonded quickly when we met. I never doubted he had my back and I'm positive it was a mutual understanding. I told him most of my life's story, leaving out the part that I'm not allowed to talk about. He loves to talk, so I never minded listening about his childhood. Hell, every once in a while I'd acted as if I did some of the things he did when really, I never did. I've always felt horrible about the lies, but I had no control over my youth.
I didn't start being me until I was eighteen. That is when I was allowed to leave. My eighteenth birthday wasn't like most kids. No, I got papers handed to me that said I was someone else. I literally laughed at them. I was already Heath Parkinson which was ridiculous and I wasn't about to have Jasper Chaplin as my new name. I was warned that day the risk I was taking by using my real name. I laughed again at them. I didn't want to be Braden Coleman, either. I don't even want to remember that kid. So, on my eighteenth birthday, I became Abbot Easton. I walked away from that Amish farm where I lived for six years with my new identity in hand and a couple of hundred bucks in my pocket. I left Braden Coleman and Heath Parkinson behind and never looked back.
I don't think about my father much and I have very few memories of my mother. I don't have any siblings and I couldn't even tell you if I have any surviving family. I was separated from them all when I was twelve.
My father was in the mafia. Hell, he was the mafia from what I remember. Growing up, many different men and women walked into our home all hours of the day. It was like a revolving door without any kind of lock. It wasn't unusual to see lines of cocaine shooting up someone's nose. My father was always handing that shit out like every minute of the day. I said I had a few memories of my mother, well sniffing coke is one of them. I was a kid when she died, I think I was nine or maybe ten. I didn't even cry when she fell to the floor and never got back up. I didn't know her. Now that I'm an adult, I know why. She loved her drugs more than me.
The men that were always stopping by with pistols either in their waistbands or tucked into their boots were my father's employees. Drug runners, hitmen or whatever else he wanted to be done. The women were just junkies that he pimped out. My father's pockets were never empty. Our home was huge and well decorated. I remember a lot of red and gold in just about every room, except in my room. Speaking of my room, sometimes my bedroom wasn't even off limits for his whores and I'd end up having to sleep on the floor of his room. I hated it. I hated him. I couldn't wait to get away from him.
On rare occasions, he talked to me, all he talked about was how one day everything would be mine. I wanted no part of it. I was a kid, so I did what kids do and lied to him. I told him what he wanted to hear. The son of a bitch probably bought it, too. I remember the smile on his face and the cigar smoke in the air as I told him lies. The motherfucker was proud that I would one day take his place.
That day never came. As I said I was twelve the last time I ever saw him. I'll never forget the night our home was invaded. I read SWAT team on the back of one guy’s vest while another one had a gun pointed to my head. I raised my hands quicker than ever before in my life. I might have pissed my pants because I was terrified. If I had known they'd be the men to get me out of the hell I was living in, I might have run full force into their arms. They saved me, but unfortunately, I went from one hell, right to another kind of hell.
Chapter Two
I wake in a sweat and I wipe my brow as I sit up. A dream of my past crept its way into my night. Dreams that I thought were buried long ago. I toss the sweat-soaked sheet off me, twisting my body and put my feet to the hardwood flooring. I bend forward and put my elbows to my knees, running my fingers through my hair. I scratch the back of my neck, wondering what brought on this dream. As I said, it's been a long time. I don't want the past to come back. I've worked hard to forget my childhood.
I find the table lamp and turn it. Right there in plain sight is the reason for the nightmare. The damn diary that Keets said would help did just the opposite. My reasons for loss of sleep is switching gears. I'm not losing sleep over the job tonight. No, the fucking past that I wrote about earlier in the night is why. I wish I knew why I even put my past to pen and paper in the first place.
I stand from the bed and strip it of the wet sheets. I toss them into the laundry basket on the way to the master bathroom. I don't bother with turning the light on once inside, I just open the glass shower door and turn the water on cool. When I step in, the water hits my skin and it washes away the sweat. I wish it could wash away the first eighteen years of my life. I know no matter how far I bury it deep inside me, it is always lurking, ready to slap me in the face.
I turn the water off and grab a towel. I don't bother with drying off, I just wrap it around my waist as I walk back to my bedroom. I take one look at the unmade bed and go over to the sliding glass door. No use in making the bed right now, sleep isn't going to come anyhow.
When I step out into the frosty morning, the air is cool and crisp. Spring has sprung, but the winter air still lingers. A few hours from now when the sun rises and beats down on the earth we will be reminded it's another season change.
I pull out a chair and sit. I welcome the chill as it will keep me awake. The last thing I want to do right now is fall back into that nightmare. So, I kick my feet up and make myself comfortable. I'm going to stay out here for as long as possible.
I stare off into what is left of the darkness, waiting for the sun to show its face. Then I can start my day. First thing on my list of things to do is coffee with Keets. Who knew I'd be retired at forty-two and drinking coffee with Keets at a cafe like we're in our goddamn sixties. He retired a year before me, so I'm pretty sure he's better at being bored than I am. It probably helps him that he has a wife and a child to fill his day.
I start thinking about the diary. I can't quite put my finger on the reason I wrote what I did. I leap up from the chair suddenly. I need to get rid of it. I can't let anyone read it.
When I pick it up, I skip the first few pages, suddenly feeling compelled to write. I grab a pen. It's like the blank pages are calling for my soul.
April 6, 2019
I was just a kid when I was told to forget who I am and where I came from. That's the way the witness protection program works. It took me just a few short days to answer to my new name, Heath. It took me a he
ll of a lot longer adjusting to Amish life. My fake uncle was a bear. A mean old bastard. He was strict and if you disobeyed his rules, he wasn't afraid to give you the belt. I know first hand. I got that belt a few times myself. I witnessed the others get it as well. Fifty percent of the time, I think he enjoyed it. It made him feel some sort of power over us kids. In reality though, it just made him an abusive dick, especially when one of the girls in his care disobeyed him.
Alden Parkinson laid down the rules on day one. “Work, school, work, dinner, then bed. That's what you will do seven days a week. You keep your hands to yourself, boy. Don't you cross me or step out of line and we will be good. Do you hear me? Now go wash up for supper, Heath.” I stared up at the man stronger than an ox. God, I wanted that SWAT team to come rescue me again. That mean old, son of a bitch scared the shit out of me.
I went from having no responsibility to having whole days full of chores. From video games to stacking hay bales practically overnight. Alden didn't give a shit about the blisters on my hands or the sore muscles. He had work to be done and the kids in the program were his slaves.
Months went by before I had enough. I was tired and I just needed to let my body heal. I didn't give a damn about his crops or feeding the livestock. I wanted to sleep. I wanted to be lazy. Alden, however, didn’t see it my way. He dragged my ass out of bed. He didn't stop once I hit the floor. No, he dragged my ass all the way down the stairs and all the way out to the barn. The barn is where he'd give you a whopping. Where the belt met your body. He didn't give a shit if it hit your back or ass. As long as he was making contact was all he cared about. It didn't even matter if the belt made a slit in your clothing or if he cut into your skin. He was done when he was done. Stand there and be a man, is what he'd say.
The beating was way worse than the pain my body felt before that belt. I never stayed in bed longer than I was supposed to again, that's for sure. However, that wasn’t the last encounter of being dragged to the barn.
I slam the book closed and wipe my forehead. I run my hands down my face to try and fill my mind with something else. I’ve done this so many times through the years it should be simple enough, but something deep inside of me is fighting the memories. I want it to stop. I want it to go away.
Chapter Three
I enter the small cafe to meet up with Keets and I spot him across the room with a coffee cup already in hand. I make my way over to him, checking my watch to make sure I'm not late. It isn't like him to beat me someplace. He has a tendency to be late everywhere he goes unless his wife is with him. She keeps him on a tight schedule.
I slide into the booth, and before I can say good morning, he's telling me I look like shit. I laugh it off. I have no intention of telling him about my night. I definitely won't be telling him about the diary I started either.
The waitress comes by to refill Keets’ coffee. I'm pleased that she assumed I wanted coffee and sets a mug in front of me. I watch her walk away.
“She's right up your alley.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“She's blonde and cute as hell. The type you go after.”
“I don't always go for blondes.” He gives me a look. “Should I point out the chick your wife set me up with was a brunette? Besides, that girl is a little too young for me,” I say when I glance at her again.
“From what I hear, you didn't make it past dinner.”
“She was a bitch.”
“Hey, that's Olivia's best friend.” I give him a look as he did me. “I wouldn't say, bitch, maybe snobby is a better fitting term.”
“You tell me you'd date her and I'll change my wording.”
“Nope, can't do that I'm a happily married man.” He picks up his coffee and drinks it. He watches me as he does. Oh god, here it comes. “Seriously, when are you gonna find someone?” Right on cue, Keets.
My answer is always the same. “Never.”
“I don't get your phobia with settling down. I know you've told me over and over you don't have one, but come on, Man, what is it?”
“I was born to be single.” He burst out laughing and so do I.
I wish I knew the answer to his question, but honestly, I don't. I can't seem to find that one girl who makes me want to be in a relationship. I've dated many women over the years. Some have lasted a few months here and there, but nothing has brought me to the point of saying she's the one. I'm not the type of guy to drag some chick around when the connection just isn't there. Who knows, maybe deep down I like being single. I have no problems when it comes to my sex life. I always have a variety to choose from. I have a full club of partners who indulge in my lifestyle. Why do I need just one girl to satisfy my needs?
“Are you still coming tomorrow?”
“I don't know, Keets. It's your vacation.”
“Bill and Sandy are coming. It's an adult weekend away from the kids. You can't back out on us.”
“Oh good the fifth wheel, I love that idea.”
“Justin is going as well. At least I believe he is.”
“He's not my type, being brunette and all.” I joke.
Keets and I hang out for another half hour or so. He is set on me going to the Outer Banks with them this weekend. I give in and tell him I'll go. What else do I have to do anyway? This retirement shit takes some getting used to.
Before I leave the cafe, Keets’s wife, Olivia sends me all the details on where we are staying. I decided that I might as well go and get some new clothing since I'm out. It's been a couple of years since I've gone on a vacation. In fact, the last one I did go on was with the Keets’.
Javen and Olivia are like family to me. As soon as Javen introduced me to Olivia, I knew they were perfect for each other. I think they were together around the two-year mark before they married. I had the honor of being the best man at their wedding. There are times I think Olivia knew I was part of the deal. She has always included me in holidays and such. I am lucky to have them in my life.
Shopping is not my thing. I buy what I need and get the hell out of the store. I normally have a personal shopper do this sort of stuff for me. That's how much I dislike it. Unfortunately, my little shopper and I had sex one night and it kinda ruined things. She got all clingy afterward and read too much into the sex we had. She was just sex to me, apparently, she took it as me wanting to date her. Not my style. Not really my type, either. Keets knows me well. He was right, I generally do go for blondes.
I park my bike and scan the outlet mall storefronts. I need a one and done store. I have no desire to hit up two or three clothing stores. Kelvin Kleen I'm sure has everything I need and of course, it's way on the other side of the strip. It's a nice day, so fuck it, I'll walk.
I take a couple of pairs of jeans, swim trunks and a few dress shirts to the counter to cash out. The young lady is blushing while she rings me up. She can't even look at me straight on, she peeks through her thin lashes at me instead. She's the girl next door type, the settling down girl that some lucky young fella will get one day. Another girl comes out from the back room, she, however, isn't shy. She passes by me, touching my upper arm. She is the fuckable type, but I see through her flirty act. She wants the benefits of a boyfriend, but also doesn't want to be tied down. She wants a sugar daddy and that isn't me. I have no problems fucking younger girls, but I am no one's daddy fantasy.
“You don't need to bag that. I'll just stuff it in my backpack.” The girl nods and tells me my total.
“Are you sure you don't need anything else today?”
I glance at the second girl trying her hardest to be all sexy. I decide to fuck with her. “There is something I need.”
“What might that be, handsome?”
“Someone who is a freak in the sheets. You know, one that doesn't mind nipple clamps, spankings and getting fucked hard. Someone who can take my hard cock pounding into their ass.” I look at the poor girl behind the counter. Shock is written all over her face. I look back at the other girl. “Are you as na
ughty as you look or is it for show?” She lets out a huff and walks away. I laugh inside. I pay for my stuff and lean over the counter. “I was just fucking with her.”
“I think I love you. Most guys kiss her ass.”
“Have a good day, sweetness.”
“You, too, sir.”
I probably shouldn't have done that, but I couldn't help myself. The funny thing is, if she were a little bit older, I'd do all those things to her. I'd give her a taste of the most pleasurable sex she'd ever have in her young life. I'm pretty confident in saying I'd give her, her first real orgasm, too. I bet she has faked every single one she's ever had so far in her young life.
Chapter Four
I went for a ride after shopping. I lost track of time for the first time in a long time. I didn't have a care in the world besides me, my bike and the road I traveled. I stopped off at some point to have a bite to eat and then headed back home. Once I got home I washed my bedding, packed my bags for the weekend and remade my bed. I'm not used to having this much time to myself. Work kept me busy and in my spare time everything was always done in a rush. You never knew when you'd get called in. Being SWAT team, you were on call 24/7. It made life feel like it was lived in fast forward speed. You could be in a middle of dinner and if you get the call, you go without hesitation. Hell there's been a few times I was in the middle of having sex with some chick and I'd have to leave. SWAT team becomes your life and it seems boredom is becoming my new life and it's only been a couple of weeks. I'm going to need to find a hobby or some kind of shit to do. Although, I do see a lot of rides in my future this summer.
Dom Diaries: Tangled up in you Page 1
