Hell Hath no fury like a billionaire's Ex
Chapter 113: The Professional Nappers

Chapter 113: The Professional Nappers

Liam’s POV

I stumbled backward, nearly tripping over my own feet in my haste to comply. Jackson herded me back to the living room, where he pushed me down onto the couch.

"Things would have gone smoothly between us, you know," he said, settling back into his chair but keeping the gun trained on me. "Until you decided to be a greedy, controlling bastard."

Something inside me snapped. Maybe it was the alcohol still coursing through my system, or maybe it was just the accumulation of everything that had gone wrong in my life, but I found myself raising my voice at him.

"I told you to stay away from Diane!" I shouted, the words pouring out of me in a torrent. "I specifically said to back off after that farmers market incident! You decided to do whatever you wanted, and now the police are looking for you. How is that my fault?"

Jackson’s eyes narrowed dangerously, but I was too worked up to stop.

"You were supposed to be professional! Whatever mess you created is on you, not me. I can’t pay for a job you didn’t deliver properly!" I was gesturing wildly now, my voice getting louder with each word. "And why the hell did you have Diane’s picture with a red X drawn across it? Who asked you to do that?"

"You—" Jackson started to interrupt, but I kept going.

"Because of your stupid mistakes, the police came to my house to interrogate me! They think I hired someone to threaten my pregnant wife! I believe they have eyes on me now, and it’s all because you couldn’t follow simple instructions!"

As I ranted, I was slowly, carefully reaching for my phone with one hand, trying to keep the movement subtle while continuing to wave the other hand around dramatically.

"What makes you feel you can talk to me the way you want?" Jackson said, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "Huh?"

He leaned forward, the gun now pointed directly at my head. "I could kill you right now. Then I could go to Diane and kill her with your unborn children. Wipe out your entire lineage from the face of this earth. Don’t push me, Liam."

Just as my fingers were about to close around my phone, Jackson’s trained eye caught the movement. Without hesitation, he swung the gun toward the couch and fired.

The bullet tore through the leather cushion inches from where my hand had been, stuffing and fabric exploding in all directions. I threw myself sideways, barely avoiding the shot, my heart hammering so hard I thought it might burst.

"Don’t you fucking dare!" Jackson roared.

The reality of how close I’d come to dying hit me like a physical force. My face went white as the blood drained from it, and for a moment, I couldn’t breathe. Death had just brushed past me like a whisper, so close I could still feel its cold touch.

Jackson stood up and walked over to where I was cowering on the couch, pressing the barrel of the gun against my temple. The metal was warm from the recent shot, and I could smell the acrid scent of gunpowder.

"So you don’t want to die," he said with a twisted smile, rubbing the gun against my skin like he was petting an animal. "Interesting."

He pulled out his own phone with his free hand, never taking the gun away from my head. "Now, Liam, you’re going to send me my fucking money. Right now."

With shaking hands, I retrieved my phone from where I’d dropped it during my desperate dodge. Jackson positioned himself directly behind me, the gun pressed against the back of my skull as he watched over my shoulder.

"How much?" I asked, my voice barely audible.

"The full amount we agreed on, plus interest for this little collection visit," he said. "Fifty thousand."

My fingers trembled as I navigated to my banking app. The gun barrel felt like it was burning a hole through my head, and I could feel Jackson’s breath on my neck as he watched every movement I made on the screen.

I transferred the money, each digit feeling like I was signing my own death warrant. When the transaction went through, Jackson’s phone chimed with the alert notification.

He smiled—the first genuine smile I’d seen from him all night.

"There we go," he said, finally pulling the gun away from my head. "That wasn’t so hard, was it?"

He stepped back, but kept the weapon pointed at me. "I only came here to collect my balance, nothing more. But if you act too smart again, if you dare mention this to the police, I’m going to come back and kill you. Don’t mess with me, Liam."

Before I could react, he swung the gun around and struck me hard in the temple with the butt of the weapon. Pain exploded through my skull, and darkness rushed in to claim me as I collapsed unconscious onto the couch.

-----

I woke up to sunlight streaming through the living room windows, my head pounding like someone was taking a sledgehammer to it. There was dried blood on my temple, and my mouth tasted like I’d been chewing on copper pennies.

For a moment, I wondered if the entire thing had been a nightmare brought on by too much whiskey and stress. But the bullet hole in my couch and the lingering smell of gunpowder told a different story.

Groaning, I pushed myself to my feet and stumbled toward the front door, dreading what I might find. Sure enough, Anthony and Marcus were still lying exactly where I’d left them, unconscious and completely oblivious to the world around them.

I walked over to Anthony first, drew back my hand, and slapped him as hard as I could across his massive face.

SMACK!

The sound echoed through the foyer like a gunshot. Anthony’s eyes flew open, unfocused and confused, as he tried to figure out where he was and why he was lying on the floor.

"What... what happened?" he mumbled, attempting to sit up and immediately grabbing his head as dizziness overtook him.

I moved to where Marcus is and delivered an equally forceful slap, watching as he too jerked awake with a startled yelp.

"WHAT HAPPENED?" I roared at both of them, my voice dripping with sarcasm and rage. "WHAT HAPPENED? I’ll tell you what happened, you incompetent morons!"

Anthony was struggling to get to his feet, using the wall for support, his face a mask of confusion. "Sir, I don’t understand..."

"You don’t understand?" I laughed bitterly. "Let me explain it to you, you overpaid, over-muscled paperweight! While you were supposed to be protecting me, some lunatic waltzed into my house, drugged you both, and held me at gunpoint for hours!"

Marcus was now sitting up, blinking rapidly as he tried to clear his head. "Drugged? Sir, I don’t remember—"

"OF COURSE YOU DON’T REMEMBER!" I screamed, pacing back and forth in front of them both. "You were unconscious! Completely useless! I hired you to be my security, and you got taken out by one guy with a syringe!"

Anthony finally made it to his feet, swaying slightly. "Sir, if someone got past our perimeter—"

"IF?" I interrupted, my voice rising to a shriek. "IF? There’s no if about it, you giant buffoon! He didn’t just get past your perimeter—he made you both take a little nap while he robbed me!"

I pointed dramatically at Anthony, who was still trying to steady himself against the wall. "Look at you! The mighty ex-military bodyguard, brought down by what was probably a horse tranquilizer! I’ve seen more intimidating mall security guards!"

Marcus attempted to stand, but his legs buckled and he sat back down hard on the marble floor. "Sir, we need to call the police—"

"THE POLICE?" I threw my hands up in exasperation. "Oh, that’s rich! The same police who are already investigating me because my previous hired help was incompetent too! Yes, let’s definitely call them and explain how my crack security team got outsmarted by a single intruder!"

Anthony was looking more alert now, but also increasingly embarrassed as the reality of the situation sank in. "Mr. Ashton, I’m deeply sorry. This has never happened before in my career—"

"Well, congratulations!" I said with mock enthusiasm, clapping my hands together. "You just earned yourself a participation trophy in the world’s most pathetic security failure! I’m sure it will look great on your resume right next to ’defeated by mystery drug administered by single assailant.’"

Marcus had finally managed to stand, though he was still swaying like a tree in a strong wind. "Sir, what did they take?"

"What did they take?" I laughed hysterically. "Just my money, my dignity, and my faith in private security! But don’t worry—I’m sure the intruder left a Yelp review about how easy it was to break into my ’secure’ mansion!"

Anthony straightened up, trying to regain some semblance of professional composure despite the fact that he was still clearly disoriented. "Sir, we need to review the security footage and—"

"Security footage!" I slapped my forehead dramatically. "Of course! I’m sure the cameras got excellent shots of you both face-planting onto my marble floor! We can use it as a training video for what NOT to do when protecting a client!"

I walked over to Anthony and looked up at his considerable height, having to crane my neck to meet his eyes. "You know what the best part is? The guy who did this? He’s probably about half your size! But apparently, size doesn’t matter when you’re unconscious, does it?"

Both guards were now looking thoroughly ashamed, which only fueled my anger further.

"I pay you both more in a month than most people make in a year!" I continued my tirade. "And what do I get for my investment? Two human sleeping pills who couldn’t protect a pork chop from a vegetarian!"

Marcus opened his mouth to speak, but I held up a hand to stop him.

"Don’t," I said sharply. "Whatever excuse you’re about to give me, just don’t. Because right now, I’m trying to decide whether to fire you both or use you as doorstops, since you’re apparently better at lying on floors than actually securing them!"

I began pacing again, gesticulating wildly as I continued my rant. "Do you know what I’m going to tell people when they ask about my security team? I’m going to say I hired a couple of professional nappers! Men who can sleep through anything...including armed intruders!"

The absurdity of the entire situation was starting to hit me. Here I was, screaming at two grown men who had been drugged and were probably suffering from some pretty serious side effects, while I stood there with dried blood on my head from being pistol-whipped by a maniac.

"You know what?" I said, my voice dropping to a more normal volume as exhaustion began to set in. "Just... go. Both of you. Go sleep off whatever chemical cocktail you’ve been dosed with in your duty post, and when you wake up look for someone to fix the couch in the living room."

Anthony and the other guard exchanged glances, both clearly wanting to say something but unsure if it would just provoke another explosion.

"Sir," Anthony said carefully, "we really should call the authorities—"

"No," I said firmly. "No police, no reports, no nothing. This stays between us. The last thing I need is more law enforcement attention."

I rubbed my temples, feeling the full weight of what had just happened. Jackson had been in my house, had threatened me at gunpoint, had drugged my security team, and had walked away fifty thousand dollars richer. And there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it without making my situation even worse.

"Just go," I said wearily waving them off with my hand. "And if anyone asks, this never happened."