A Sense of Duty: A Former Navy SEAL Falls in Love and Begins a New Journey with his Private Consulting Company: Dark Horse Guardians

A Sense of Duty

Dark Horse Guardians, Book 1

Written by Ava Armstrong

©

All rights reserved including the right

to reproduce this book or portions thereof

in any form whatsoever.

This book is a work of fiction.

Names, characters, places and incidents are products

of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.

Any resemblance to actual events or locales

or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.

A
 dark horse is a little-known person or thing

that emerges to prominence,

especially in a competition of some sort 

or a contestant that seems unlikely to succeed.

~ Prologue ~

Lara's attacker never knew what hit him in a dark alley outside of the restaurant where he worked as a dishwasher. Carefully stalking him for months, she memorized his patterns. She shot out the one street light the night before using the pellet gun. There were no security cameras in the alley. Canvassing the area one last time, she made certain there were no lights or people in the alley where he enjoyed his smoke break at precisely 9:30 every night. Dressed as a homeless person, she crouched in the shadows across the street near a row of trash cans. Rats scurried around her feet, but she focused on the task. He deserved what he had coming. He had raped and nearly beaten her to death. He altered the course of her life. Because he was technically a minor he received a slap on the wrist. She's the one that had a life sentence. She had to live with the aftermath. He arrived at the appointed hour. She watched him with revulsion. His hand shook as he lit the cigarette. Now a drug addict with rotting teeth, he hunched over and inhaled his first draw. Thirty minutes later he was found by one of his co-workers. The police arrived. No ambulance was called. He died from two bullet wounds, one in the head and one in the heart. Death was instant. It was a double tap with hollow points the mark of a hired killer. Authorities concluded it was a drug related gang execution. He became a statistic, another dead junkie. Lara read about the incident in the newspaper with no emotion. She just celebrated her 21
st
birthday.

~end of prologue~

As long as she could remember, being physically attractive made Lara a target. And, the brutal rape changed her in a way she could never explain. Often the scene would replay in her mind like a movie she wished she had never viewed. The humiliation of the rape was bad enough, but the beating she suffered brought her to the point of no return. She feared for her life as she was savagely pummeled with his fists. He was much bigger than her and once he was on top, he had the advantage. "I will never forget that feeling… of being totally powerless." Lara told the licensed clinical social worker in the counseling session. "I didn't realize what he was doing until he flipped me over and pulled my hair. It hurt me and I screamed. But, the more I screamed, the more he hit me. The harder I fought back, the worse it got. But I could not stop fighting. I thought I was going to die."

In the small suburban town, everyone at school knew about the violent incident. She spent three nights in the hospital and missed
six weeks of school. She was bleeding internally for several days. The doctor said it was her kidneys. Her eyes were blackened and many bruises on her body remained for weeks afterward. At one point during the attack, she was slammed with such force into the pavement that she picked pieces of rocks out of her knees and elbows for months. Road rash, they called it. Reddish purple scars remained. She escaped from death, barely. The only thing that saved her was the fact that he was exhausted from raping her twice and released his grip slightly. She jerked away and ran like the wind taking the shortcut home. But, the feeling of vulnerability after the violent attack changed her. There was a simmering rage within Lara waiting to boil over.

Although her parents reported the assault to authorities, very little was done to punish her attacker. He escaped legal penalty because he was a minor, seventeen years old. Seeing him in the hallways at school was frightening. He laughed at her. Lara had nightmares. The social worker called them night terrors. "Why do I keep reliving this over and over?" Lara asked in one session. The counselor said, "You still see this boy in school therefore you are constantly reminded of it. It's a totally normal reaction. Eventually, with time, other memories will push those bad ones out. That's what we need to focus on now, Lara, making positive memories." Lara knew this counselor had no idea what it was like to be beaten and raped. How could she? She was probably twenty-eight years old and the worst thing that ever happened to her was a broken finger
nail.

A few months later, her attacker raped another girl in her school. The rape and beating occurred at a party. Fiona, shy and terrified of retribution, didn't dare to report it. But the details were discussed in the lunchroom amongst those in the know and Lara overheard the whole ordeal. She was disgusted as she listened to girls and boys who laughed about the vicious attack. Again, the monster walked away, unpunished, while another young girl was going to a counselor to exorcise her demons.
He got away with it again
. He followed Lara in the hallways at school. He always had a sickening grin when he looked at her. And, he continued to stare at her. The anger within Lara simmered. She began to stare right back at him. Lara knew an intense anger was beginning to replace her sense of fear. And, it wasn't a simmering anger any longer; it had become an uncontrollable rage.

At school she was known as the girl who had
that awful thing
happen to her in middle school. By the time she turned fourteen, Lara realized the counselor was full of shit. "You may have feelings of self-hatred or become promiscuous because of this incident." the social worker expertly advised. But for Lara, it was just the opposite. Lara worked on her protecting her soul and improving her brain and believed she was better than the guy who raped her. She knew she was intelligent and beautiful. Tall and lean, she never slouched to appear shorter nor avoided wearing heels. She stood out being tall and enjoyed towering over the boys in her class. Being tall somehow made her feel more powerful. But being pretty had its cost: girls were jealous; boys hated her.

High school was the worst four years of her life. "Why am I being treated differently, as if I am somehow responsible for what happened to me?" Lara asked the social worker. "That could not be further from the truth." the social worker replied. Lara knew she didn't bring the attack upon herself. She had always been a borderline tomboy. She was not a girly-girl. She refused to spend her hard earned money for a manicure. She shoveled cow manure on a dairy farm and worked at a fast food restaurant while in high school. But, whatever she accomplished, some believed it was because she was pretty. Her skills and abilities did not matter. Because she wore lipstick, Lara was judged harshly. Because she was
attractive, there were whispers that she brought the attack upon herself. At a young age she realized it was a burden she would have to bear, but only she could make it bearable.

School was a nightmare. Cliques formed. Mean girls excluded Lara from their stupid groups. She spent her childhood in a grounded working class family with a loving mother and a father who encouraged her to be a strong, independent woman. But, being raped at the age of thirteen transformed her, causing her to utilize tactics to deflect the attention of males. In high school, she wore saddle shoes and brightly striped knee socks. Her clothing was radical, mismatched patterns and colors, picked up in thrift stores. No make-up except for lipstick; it kept her lips from getting chapped. The way Lara dressed and carried herself kept many boys away. Most males did not understand her, and if they did, they feared her. She was not a follower. Lara did not respect anyone who half-heartedly did anything. Life, for her, was an all or nothing proposition.

She began to embrace her life as a lone wolf, an outsider. She read voraciously, all of the classics and modern literature. She memorized poetry and Shakespearean sonnets. She wrote her own poetry on napkins and in notebooks. Lara's particular passions were art, history and architecture. She was an aficionado of jazz at a time when rap music was in vogue. She watched classic movies at a time when her peers were going to raves and experimenting with drugs. She was in the art club, played no sports and had two friends who occasionally stopped by to do homework. At times, it was difficult for Lara to even relate to them. Their lives were so alien to her. Strangely different from her generation, Lara had strong values that never wavered. She had always been against abortion, the use of illicit drugs, and casual intimacy with men. That was the real irony of it all.
Lara had ethics, morals, yet she was the one that got raped.

Twice a week for two years Lara saw a counselor. Lara spoke with no emotion. She stared past the counselor as if in a trance. "Why did this happen to me?" Her words echoed in the cinderblock room as she spoke. "It's not your fault…" the counselor said, but Lara did not believe her.
She believed she had unwittingly given her attacker the advantage
.
She allowed herself to be vulnerable
and alone
.
She gave him the opportunity
. She was done believing anyone, especially counselors.

She started to work on an emotional force field to protect her. But, it did not protect her completely. The force field disappeared on the hot summer night when her attacker drove up to the fast food window to give her a personal message. She heard the voice on the crackling speaker inside, not knowing it was the brutal bastard that raped her. When she saw his face at the drive-thru window she stopped breathing. She was suddenly face to face with the monster that raped her. He had a sneer on his face as he looked her straight in the eye, "I'm not through with you…" He grabbed the food and sped off. She felt a mixture of panic and anger as it overtook her.
But, finally she gained a rational sense of mind, coldly rational.
And, the strategy started to formulate. It might take years to put into place, but it became her secret mission. That's when she met Don and Rusty and, without their knowledge, she devised a detailed plan. She would kill the guy who ruined her life and make it look like someone else did it.

At the age of fifteen, she decided that she would make her own destiny in the Darwinian jungle of life. Lara Reagan O'Connell recreated herself. The reality was, those girls at school who excluded her did Lara a huge favor. They gave her the gift of self empowerment. She focused on learning at a rapid pace, rather than getting caught up with a group of females who found it necessary to feign stupidity in front of boys to make them seem more attractive. Being pursued by males, however, caused Lara anxiety and fear, thus her guard was always up.

She found coping skills in mixed martial arts. She used the incident of the attack as a learning tool and earned a black belt by age twenty. Martial arts taught her breathing control, concentration, meditation and how to take a large person off their feet instantly. Don Henderson, her Grand Master at the dojo, and a Viet Nam vet, became a trusted mentor. At the same time, Lara became fascinated with firearms and developed a passion for shooting ranges, 9mm Glocks, and the smell of spent ammo. Target practice took the place of church. With training, she became a marksman. At age sixteen, Lara bonded with her concealed carry instructor, Rusty McManus, an older man, a former FBI agent who trained FBI and secret service agents in his later days. Rusty showed her how to hide weapons in her home, carry a variety of concealed weapons on her person, how to shoot from a seated, prone, or supine posture. As Rusty said, you never knew what position you would be in when your life was threatened. You needed to be prepared for anything.

It was at age fifteen that she stopped seeing the counselor. She was on her fourth one anyway; they kept leaving to have a baby or move to another state. Lara found her conversations with Don and Olivia Henderson far more helpful. They became a crucial lifeline for Lara. Occasionally, she called in the middle of the night after an episode of night terrors. Don and Olivia were both kind and reassuring. In six months, they helped to bring Lara more peace than all the counseling sessions that went before.

PORTLAND, MAINE

~ Lara ~

It was the night of the piano recital. Her favorite professor happened to be an accomplished pianist and had just finished his performance. No matter how busy her life was, Lara never missed one of Professor Harris' recitals. In the last year of her master's program, she was eagerly looking forward to graduation in the spring. The cocktail party was packed into a small space with too many people and she felt claustrophobic. Lara's careful guard was down the moment she first set eyes on
him.

Meeting Ben took her by surprise. She felt his blue eyes following her as she moved through the throng of people. He made her uncomfortable with his sudden and intense eye contact. That was the first sign of trouble. Lara had never met a male that she could not stare down. She prided herself on being able to make any man turn away. She had always been in control of every situation, every conversation, even eye contact. Lara's life was orderly, planned and controlled, until she met
him
.

Dressed in a long pink sweater, black pants and boots, carrying a bulky leather sack, she doubted she looked attractive. Lara's long dark hair was loosely pulled to the side in a pony tail, with black curls escaping. Being germ phobic, she wore pink leather gloves that night. When Ben approached Lara, he extended his hand and introduced himself with a welcoming smile. "Hello, Lara? My name is Ben". She left her gloves on and felt awkward doing so as she shook his strong broad hand. "Lara, I have heard so much about you from Professor Harris." He actually pronounced her name correctly – he said
Lara
, the way it was
meant
to be pronounced. She did not immediately respond. She couldn't. Her heart was racing; was it the claustrophobia or was it him? A moment passed. She smiled at him afraid he was imagining she was deaf or mute or both. She felt unprepared and started sweating. Lara did not know who he was, nor did she know why he was speaking to her. Feeling self-conscious, the only thing she could utter was, "Professor Harris? Yes, he is my history professor. How do you know him?" Ben smiled, "He is my uncle." When Ben smiled, it was with his whole face. There were attractive laugh lines and dimples. His deep blue eyes lit up as he held Lara's gaze. She noticed he hadn't shaved for a couple of days. The scruff looked good on him, a symbol of masculinity, as if he needed it. Lara scrutinized him. This guy was just too handsome. She detected a slight Irish brogue and she surmised: he's black Irish, like me, black hair, fair complexion, blue eyes. Even though Ben was a stranger to Lara, she was not feeling her usual sense of paranoia. She was standing unusually close to him in the jam-packed room. He smelled of lavender and sandalwood, wore a button-down shirt with a sweater vest and corduroy pants. Lara smiled. Good he is a fellow geek. She scanned the room quickly looking for an exit. Ben stayed close to her. "Did you enjoy the performance?" he asked. "Oh, yes," she was now pushing through the crowd speaking to Ben as he moved alongside her, "I have spent many hours listening to Harris practice in his office. He has the baby grand in there, and I often go in after class to sit on his couch and visit with Einstein – that's his dog." Ben smiled again, "Actually, Einstein is my dog."