I knew my sperm donor hated me but I never really grasped the depths of his hatred until just recently. Sperm Donor, Asshole, Bastard, Son of a Bitch. That’s what I called him, because as far as I was concerned, he was no longer my father. He was just the man who impregnated my mother.

So who am I? My name is John Sinclair, and my nemesis is none other than Milton Sinclair, a powerful and intimidating hulk of a man no one dared question. My mother called him her husband and to most outside our family, he was supposedly my father.

All my life he put me down, belittled me to anyone within earshot, often with a smirk on his face. Not a day went by without a dig or an insult. He reveled in telling anyone and everyone that I was nothing, a weakling destined to be a no-good loser.

It wasn’t just his words – it was his actions. He took great delight in breaking any toy I received as a birthday or Christmas gift, often doing it right in front of me with a sick twisted grin on his face. The worst thing was what he did to a puppy my uncle had given me when I just six years old. After bashing the poor creature’s head in, he took an ax and decapitated the little dog – right in front of me. I still have nightmares about that.

Making matters worse, my mother did nothing to stop him. She was too scared to stand up to the bastard and let him beat and abuse me whenever it suited him. To her credit, though, she shielded me as much as she could and spent many nights cradling and rocking me as I cried myself to sleep.

I envied all the other boys. Why couldn’t I have a father who loved me, played ball with me, or took me out fishing and hunting?

Once, when I was old enough to understand, she tearfully told me that he demanded she abort me. She refused, and paid dearly for her disobedience. Despite his ongoing abuse, she carried me to term and gave birth. He responded by bringing women home to their marital bed and banished my mother and I to a guest suite as he spent his days and nights in the arms of other women.

He got away with all this because he was very rich and well-thought of by the community. He gave great sums of money to causes like Planned Parenthood and propped up crooked rich politicians who often turned a blind eye to his antics and “eccentricities.”

I’m not sure exactly when it happened, but I decided that one day I would make the bastard pay.

I’ll never forget the day I first outed him as an abuser. My teacher asked each of the children in our class to stand and tell everyone else what their fathers do for a living. One child said his father was an engineer, and another said her father was a policeman. I honestly didn’t know what my father did for a living, so when it came my turn, I simply told the class, much to my teacher’s horror, that, “my father beats me.”

That night, we received a visit from Child Protective Services. The Bastard put on a good front and waited until everyone had left before he “addressed” me with his fists. By the time he was done, I had two black eyes, a bloody nose and a concussion. Believe it or not, the authorities believed him when he said I slipped in the shower.

My mother nursed me back to health and enrolled me in a martial arts class. The male instructor I had listened and patiently taught me how to defend myself. More importantly, he gave me a sense of self-worth and made me realize that the Bastard did what he did because of his own inadequacies, not mine. Oddly enough, he quit beating me the day I broke a cinder block at one of our demonstrations. But the verbal and emotional abuse continued.

I left home as soon as I could and joined the Marine Corps. I was determined to show the Asshole I was no weakling. His response? Laughter and derision.

“You’ll come crawling back to me, you just wait,” he declared.

“Fuck you, Asshole,” I said as I walked out.

I not only graduated recruit training, I graduated at the top of my platoon. I went on to become a Force Reconnaissance Marine, and worked myself as hard as I could. I was determined that no one would ever beat me again. After two grueling tours in the Middle East, I came home, met and married Judy. I thought my life had truly changed for the better.

I deliberately kept my parents in the dark about my marriage. I had sent my mother Christmas cards after I left, but nothing else and I said nothing about my personal life. Judy and her parents understood after I explained my childhood to them.

“But he’s your father,” Judy said.

“No, he’s not. He’s the guy who got my mother pregnant, but that’s it,” I said. “I don’t want that bastard within a hundred miles of me and I sure as hell don’t want him to know we’re married.”

I ended up getting sent back overseas for another one year combat tour. Judy tearfully promised to wait for me and we decided to start our family when I got back.

But things went off the rails, thanks to the Asshole.

When I got back, Judy’s parents met me and drove me to their home.

“John,” Judy’s father said, “I hate to tell you this, but your father tracked you down not long after you left. He came by the house with a couple of his goons and said he was going to take Judy to live with him while you were overseas.”

“That bastard,” I said. “What else did he say?”

“He specifically told us that he was going to make a cuckold of you and that Judy would be happy to do it,” Judy’s mother said. “I couldn’t believe it, but she later told me that’s exactly what she wanted to do because your father said you needed him to do it.”

“And,” she added, “he said he would do to both of you what he did to your dog if anyone tried to stop him.”

“You may not have known it, but he just communicated a threat to murder your daughter,” I said, telling them what he did to my puppy. “I’ll kill the motherfucker,” I said. “So help me, I’ll kill him. And she’s toast if she went along with it.”

“Please John,” her father said. “Divorce her if you must, kick her to the curb, but please don’t physically hurt her. If what you’re telling me is true, then I’ll do everything I can to help. Judy may be an idiot, but she’s my daughter and I don’t want any harm to come to her.”

“All right, I promise I won’t hurt her unless she forces me to. But she may become collateral damage. If she’s taken up with him there’s no telling what he’ll get her to do,” I said. They weren’t happy but they seemed to understand. “Now, please take me home. I have things to do.”

Judy’s parents drove me home and came in the house with me, just in case she was there. The house was dark and I heard nothing to indicate anyone else was in the house. A quick sweep of the house indicated we were alone. I thanked them for the ride and promised to stay in touch. They left, but not before reminding me of my promise to not physically hurt their daughter.

I set all the locks on the front door and checked all the other doors and windows to make sure they were secured. I didn’t want to be surprised in the middle of the night so I braced chairs under the door handles so they couldn’t be easily opened. I set traps on the doors as well so I would know the second anyone tried to open them.

Fortunately, Judy didn’t know about my gun safe, hidden in the back of a closet in my study. I knew the Bastard wouldn’t bother to look out of his own arrogance and condescension. I decided to use those traits to my advantage.

I checked my inventory and found that everything was just as I left it a year ago. I secured the safe and checked to see if Judy left anything to indicate where she was or what she was doing. Quite a bit of her wardrobe was missing, along with her jewelry and her toiletries. Her lingerie was gone as was most of her undergarments and shoes, indicating she had apparently moved out.

She did leave a DVD on our dresser with a note in her flashy cursive handwriting that simply read, “Watch Me.” I had a pretty good idea what it was, but decided to check it out anyway.

The video opened with Judy’s smiling face.

“Hi, honey,” she said in the video. “Listen, I know this is going to be a bit of a shock to you, but I’ve decided to stay with your father.” She giggled. “I know you really don’t think much of him, but he’s assured me that I’ll be well taken care of and you have nothing to worry about. I don’t know when I’ll be back, but he tells me I’ll be a much better wife to you after he’s taught me a few things. He’s already shown me so much. Yeah, I’ve been screwing him, but believe me, it’s only sex and I only love you, okay? Nothing personal, but his dick is here and yours is, well, overseas somewhere. I know you’re over there protecting us from terrorists and all but I miss you. And I’m really horny, you know? Sorry. Talk to you later, okay? Gotta go. Bye now, bye.”

The next face to appear was his. The Asshole. His leering mug took up most of the screen and I couldn’t see what Judy was doing.

“Thought you could hide from the old man, didn’t you, boy? Thought you could just marry some girl and I’d never find you? Thought you were free of me, I’ll bet. Wrong. I’ve taken your wife and yeah, I’ve been fucking her brains out for the last few months. So have quite a few of my guys. You should see what she looks like with two dicks in her pussy. God, what a screamer.

“Anyway,” he continued, “she’s going on a little trip with me to visit some of my special overseas customers. Don’t worry, she’ll be safe as long as she’s a good girl. Now, I know you’re supposedly some kind of a bad-ass Marine and all, but I promise you – if you decide to play hero I’ll do to her what I did to that stupid little dog you had as a boy. Remember that? I really enjoyed seeing the pain and horror on your face as I cut its stupid head off. And don’t think I won’t do it to your wife. Hell, I may just do it anyway right after I fuck her in front of you. Check her out,” he said, turning so I could see Judy, who was on our bed getting spit-roasted by two very large and well-endowed black men, no doubt part of the Bastard’s security detail.

The Asshole turned back to the camera.

“Oh, this is nothing. I’ve got video of her getting fucked by 15 guys, all bareback. You should be getting those videos in the mail any day now. I’d say she’s pretty much ruined for you, cucky boy,” he said, laughing. “Oh, and just in case you decide to re-marry after you divorce this slut, well, let’s just say, ‘I’ll be back.’”

He stepped aside and the camera zoomed in on Judy taking a huge load of cum in her pussy and her mouth at the same time. The two men switched places and began assaulting her well-fucked holes again. I had seen enough and turned the video off.

The whole thing sickened me, but I had to remain calm and collected. Crying or screaming wouldn’t bring her back and it wouldn’t take away the pain I was feeling at her betrayal. I had loved the bitch exclusively for five years and we were on the verge of starting our family. So much for that. It was clear to me that my wife was now his slut so divorce was a foregone conclusion. And I would make the Asshole pay.

But first, I needed two things and I needed them right now. First, I needed intel – where was he going, how and when? He could have left a month ago or just this morning for all I knew. Second, I needed backup, and I knew exactly who to call.

I went back to my study and found the two unused burner phones in my safe. They were more than a year old, but would do the job. I activated the first and called my mother’s personal cell. I had the number from a card she sent me while I was overseas. Obviously, the Asshole didn’t know she had it or he would have taken it from her.

Surprisingly, she answered on the first ring.

“Hello,” she answered quietly.

“Mom, it’s John,” I said. She immediately began crying.

“John, is it really you? I’ve missed you so much.”

“Yes, mom,” I said. “Look, this isn’t just a social call. The Bastard has taken my wife and I need to find them. What do you know?”

“I’m sorry, John, he’s taking Judy overseas someplace, I don’t know where.”

“So they haven’t left yet?” I asked.

“I think they’re leaving tomorrow. He’s loading up his cargo ship tonight and they’re set to leave tomorrow afternoon, I think,” she said.

“Tell me everything, Mom,” I said. “I need to know. Who is he doing business with? Where is he going? What’s the name of the ship?”

“Well, I don’t know exactly who it is, but I know he’s been meeting with some men from the Middle East. They all had Arab-sounding names like Abdullah or something and I overheard them saying something about a shake. I don’t know what that’s all about,” she said.

“It’s not a ‘shake’ like a milk shake, Mom, they were talking about a sheikh, an important man of some kind. Do you know the name of the ship?” I asked.

“I think it’s the ‘Northern Express,’ at least that’s what I heard him say,” she said. I was familiar with that ship. It wasn’t a cargo ship, more like an oversized ocean-going yacht with a larger-than-normal hold. The Asshole had a special suite on it and had it equipped with a helipad. I spent more than one trip in the bowels of the damn thing and knew it quite well. I even had architectural drawings showing the layout of the vessel. Those would come in handy.

“What’s going on with Judy, Mom? Has he had her there at the house?” I asked.

“Yes,” she said. “He’s been having sex with her in our bed and he introduced her to those men. I can’t believe he’d take your wife like that. John, I’m so sorry.”

I had to wonder why he would introduce her to them, and then it hit me – he intended to either sell her to them or give her to this sheikh.

“Why are you putting up with this shit, Mom?” I asked. She sobbed.

“Because, John, he controls everything. My money, even my access to food and water. I have no choice. I’m basically a prisoner in his personal dungeon,” she said.

“Mom, how has his business been lately? Has he said anything to you about it?” I asked.

“A time or two, he’s mentioned that things were a bit difficult but he had something going on that would set him up. At least that’s what he said. Why?”

“Mom, I hate to say this, but I’m beginning to think he’s engaged in something highly illegal. Don’t say anything to him, and for God’s sake don’t tell him I spoke with you. Got it?” I asked.

“Sure, honey, I won’t say anything. What are you going to do?”

“I’ve got no choice but to divorce Judy. I’ve got other plans for him,” I said.

“Are you going to kill him, John?” she asked.

“He’s given me no other option, Mom. I’m sorry. I know you’re married to him but this has to end,” I said.

“Just do me two favors, John,” she said.

“Sure, Mom. What?”

“Make sure the fucking son-of-a-bitch suffers before he dies and then come back home to me. I want to see video of him suffering. Promise me,” she said with an edge in her voice I had never heard before.

“You got it, Mom,” I said. “I’ll be in touch, okay? If you learn anything, you call or text me on this number. Got it?”

“I will, John,” she said. “Be careful. I love you, son.”

“I love you too, Mom,” I said, my voice shaking. I hadn’t said those words to her for years.

I broke out the second burner phone in my stash, activated it and called two good friends I knew would help me out.

“Yeah, who is this?” said a gruff voice on the other end.

“Mike, this is John. I need your help. You up for it?” I asked. Mike Williams was a former Marine who now did freelance work for the highest bidder. He and I spent a lot of time eating the same dirt in Afghanistan and other places and I couldn’t think of a better man for this operation.

“John, you sly bastard. You need my help? Must be something serious. You know I owe you one so of course. What’s up?” he asked.

I briefed him on the situation as quick as I could. He listened and said nothing until I was finished.

“You know who we need for this?” Mike asked. “George MacGregor. You know him?”

“Name doesn’t ring a bell,” I said.

“I’m not surprised,” Mike said. “I’ve worked with him several times after I got out. He’s a good man and can also handle a chopper. Sounds like you may need a pilot to get off that boat. Plus, he has contacts in places you and I can’t talk about. I don’t think he’s doing anything at the moment so I’ll call him and have him reach out to ya. By the way, he doesn’t work for free. You okay with that?”

“I hope he doesn’t value his service too much, but yeah, I’m okay with that. Have him call me but remember, time is of the essence here. That ship sails out tomorrow afternoon at the latest,” I said.

“Got it,” Mike said. “I’ll text you as soon as I talk to him.”

I got a text from Mike about 30 minutes later telling me to expect a call. Seconds later, my phone rang.

“John Sinclair?” asked a man with a slight accent. Australian? British? I wasn’t certain, but I figured it had to be George.

“Speaking,” I said. “Is this George MacGregor?”

“One and the same, mate,” he said. “A mutual friend tells me you need a bit of help.”

“Yes, I do,” I said.

“Well, let’s meet and see what we can do for each other,” he said. “Don’t tell me anything over the phone, I’ll wait.”

“Very well,” I said. “Meet me at my house. I’ll explain everything.”

“All right,” he said. “Text me your address and I’ll be there in about a half hour. Make sure you have a cold one ready for me, okay?”

I liked this guy already. “You got it. I’ll see you in a half hour.”

We hung up and I texted him my address. I also sent Mike a text: “My place. 30 mins.”

A half-hour later, a Ford F150 pickup pulled into my driveway and a large man I assumed was George ambled to my front door. I opened it before he had a chance to knock and handed him a cold Foster’s. He smiled, took my beer and shook my hand. Mike pulled in a minute later. I waved him inside, shook his hand and handed him a cold beer which he readily accepted.

“John Sinclair, I presume?” George asked with a grin. “I’ve always wanted to say that.”

“And you must be George MacGregor,” I said.

I briefed them on the entire situation, including my relationship with the Asshole. I even showed them the video.

“So what do you plan to do?” George asked.

“Simply put, the Asshole dies. The more painful, the better. I’m divorcing the slut. I promised her father I wouldn’t deliberately hurt her, but she could become collateral damage. I’d rather avoid that if possible,” I said.

“Milton Sinclair’s your old man, right?” George asked.

“Yeah,” I said.

“Hmm,” he said. “Let me make a couple calls. I’ll be right back.”

Mike and I caught each other up while we waited for George to come back. A few minutes later, George returned to the living room and sat down.

“I thought I recognized the name, so I made a couple inquiries,” he said. “You understand I can’t reveal my sources, right?”

“Copy that,” I said. Mike nodded in agreement.

“It seems that old man Sinclair – your sperm donor – has caught the interest of several alphabet agencies concerned about his so-called business dealings with certain Middle-Eastern entities. Specifically, with one Sheikh Abdullah. Abdullah, by the way, is known to have dealings with a number of terrorist organizations and is believed to be in the business of providing arms to groups like al-Qaeda and ISIS. He’s also thought to be involved in human trafficking, specializing in beautiful white western women. Like your wife,” George said.

“Why hasn’t anything been done to stop him,” I asked.

“Good question,” George said. “It seems the Asshole has made a number of very strategic and substantial contributions to very high-ranking political figures. People you’d recognize in a heartbeat if you heard their names. He’s also spent more than one night in the Lincoln Bedroom at the White House. Accompanied, of course, and with someone other than his wife.”

“So he’s protected at the highest levels,” Mike said.

“Very much so,” George said. “And if he were to be exposed and or brought down, a lot of other important men would be very embarrassed, to say the least.”

“That means in addition to being a child-abusing, wife-stealing asshole, he’s also a traitor,” I said. “It also means it’s not enough to simply kill him. He needs to be destroyed, completely and publicly.”

“I tend to agree,” George said. “Others do as well, but no one is in any position to do anything at the moment. That’s not say nothing’s being done, however.

“You were right about the Northern Express leaving tomorrow,” George said, looking at me. “There’s three undercover operatives on that boat right now. They’re scheduled to weigh anchor at 1800 hours tomorrow and they’re set to arrive at King Abdul Aziz port in Damman. We can only assume Abdullah will meet them there. According to the manifests, they’re carrying ‘dry goods,’ coffee, that sort of thing. The operatives, however, say they’re actually carrying weapons. AKs, RPGs, you name it.

“There’s also rumors that Sinclair has sold Abdullah an ADM. Are you familiar with those?” George asked. Mike and I both shook our heads.

“In modern parlance, they’re sometimes referred to as ‘backpack nukes’ or ‘nuclear landmines.’ For 25 years, they were carried by your Special Forces – designated the B54 SADM. In theory, the military quit stockpiling them years ago, but we’ve heard that some companies, like Sinclair’s, have started surreptitiously producing them again, on a very small scale of course. These weapons are what were once classified as ‘tactical nukes’ with a very small yield, perhaps half a kiloton. By comparison, the bomb dropped on Hiroshima was about 15 kilotons.

“Don’t let the low yield fool you, though. A .5 kiloton bomb detonated on the surface would produce a fireball roughly 197 feet in radius. Everything within that 197 feet would be instantly vaporized. Thermal radiation would extend to just over 1300 feet or about a quarter of a mile. It would do great damage no matter where it’s detonated. If used in a city like New York, it would kill and injure many thousands and wreak untold damage to the economy. In short, something like this in the hands of al-Qaeda would make 9/11 look like a picnic.”

“But how would Sinclair get the nuclear material?” Mike asked. Good question. Stuff like that wasn’t exactly sold on Ebay.

“It wouldn’t be easy,” George said. “But with his connections, he could probably arrange it. Bottom line – if Sinclair did sell something like this to Abdullah, he needs to be stopped. Understand?”

Mike and I nodded in agreement. This was suddenly about much more than my wayward cheating wife.

“I take it we’ll have no official backup?” I asked.

“None whatsoever, thanks to old man Sinclair’s connections. But, trust me when I tell you that the entire intel community will be very happy to see Sinclair dealt with. Permanently,” George said.

“Can your guys get us and our gear on board undetected?” I asked.

“Yes, it’s being set up right now,” George said.

“Good. Well, let’s get to it,” I said, rolling out a diagram of the ship’s interior.

We spent the next hour discussing the layout of the boat and formulating a tactical plan. Eventually, we agreed on something we all agreed could work.

“So basically, we’re going to get in, hide out for a couple hours until the boat’s in international waters, kill the old man, grab the soon-to-be ex-wife, sink the boat and fly home. Is that right?” George asked.

“Pretty much,” I said. “Trust me, the Asshole is so cocky he’ll have less than a skeleton crew and they won’t be expecting us. It’s not that big a boat and can run with a very small crew. We’ll be able to take care of them in no time. And hopefully, your undercover guys will help us out.”

“That’s pretty daring if I do say so myself,” George said.

“What’s that old SAS motto, ‘Who dares wins?’” I asked. George smiled.

“Indeed. I admire your pluck, John, but it takes a lot more than that to be SAS. Trust me,” George said.

“I hear you can fly a chopper, George,” I said. “Can you handle an Airbus H225? That’s what the Bastard has on the ship these days.” He looked at me with a cocky grin.

“There’s not a chopper made I can’t fly,” he said.

“Good.” I said. I faced George directly. “I understand you don’t work for free.” He looked at me and nodded his head.

“Normally I don’t. Truth is, I hate child abusers and cheaters with a passion. I hate traitors and human traffickers even more so. And don’t get me started on people who abuse animals. Fact is, I’m already on contract to deal with Sinclair. I’m not at liberty to say with who. So, buy me a cold one and we’ll call it even, eh?” he said, extending his hand. I took it and we exchanged a hearty handshake.

“Thanks,” I said. “We’ll need some firepower.” I got up and motioned George and John to follow me to my study. I opened the gun safe and let them look around.

“We’ll need to go with what we can conceal, so I doubt the rifles will do us any good. But there’s a good selection of handguns and plenty of ammunition. Take your pick, gentlemen,” I said.

Mike and George looked through my collection and each picked two handguns and several magazines fully loaded with hollow-point bullets.

I reached down, grabbed a roll of slow-burning cannon fuse and got two over-sized M-80s.

“What’s that for?” Mike asked.

“I’m going to light the old man’s fire up, Mike,” I said. “Get that roll of primer cord and some blasting caps as well, we’ll need that to sink the old tub.”

We grabbed our gear and packed up. It was getting late so I decide to grab some sleep. I showed Mike and George around the house and we settled down for the evening. Tomorrow was going to be a very busy day.

I was exhausted but couldn’t get my mind off Judy. How could she have fallen for that son of a bitch? Why did she have to screw up our lives?

About 3 am, George’s phone rang, waking us all up. George went into another room to take the call and that’s when Mike noticed a square envelope on the floor by the door. It looked like someone slipped it through the mail slot. He picked it up and handed it to me. I couldn’t help but wonder when it was delivered so I checked the security camera footage on my computer.

According to the video, a sedan pulled up in front of the house with a single occupant. A man wearing a dark suit got out of the car, came up to the door and slipped the envelope through the slot. He looked around, noticed the two extra vehicles, got back in his sedan and drove off.

George was back by the time we returned to the front room.

“That was Juan Carlos,” he said. “Not his real name of course. He says he can get us safely on board with our gear if we meet him at 1600 hours tomorrow. On the dot. He also tells me the other undercover operatives will help us. There’s a total of 12 people on the boat right now, mostly orderlies and passengers. The old man has three security guards outside his stateroom. Your wife is there along with some Middle-Easterners. One of them is probably Abdullah himself. He tells me there was some kind of celebration that took place earlier. Maybe that’s what on that DVD you’re holding.”

“Well, let’s check it out,” I said. Opening the envelope, I retrieved the DVD and discovered Judy’s rings, coated with a dried substance. I popped the DVD in the player and hit the remote.

The video started with Judy, naked, riding the cock of a Middle-Eastern man. She looked directly into the camera as she rode him, moaning as she normally does during sex. After he ejaculated inside her shaved pussy she stood up, scooped some of his semen into her hand and wiped it on her rings. She made a show of removing her rings and tossing them into an ashtray filled with cigar ashes.

“Just so you know, John,” she said, “I won’t be coming home. I divorce you, I divorce you, I divorce you. I’m now the property of Sheikh Abdullah. I belong to him, body, mind and soul. His cause is my cause and my pussy is now his to command. I had hoped you would have been here to witness the ceremony. It was beautiful and I would have loved it if you could have been here to personally hand me over to my new husband. It would have meant so much to me if you had been here to witness him taking me in person but as always you’re too busy for the things important to me. Now, watch as I suck his cock and swallow his cum. Yeah, I know that I never did that for you, but your father taught me to enjoy it and now Abdullah will benefit from his training.

“Please understand, John, and don’t be sad. You’re a good man and I’ll always remember you fondly, but I just don’t love you that way anymore. Maybe one day you’ll find another woman. And tell my parents they won’t be allowed to see me anymore.”