Teenage Mercenary Novels & Stories

“Are you for real? He questioned to be certain what he heard from the tattered looking man was right. “Of course! Just mention your problem” the young man instructed. “Well, I am an old man in this young body and I really want to go back to my actual self, can you do that? “Not me, but Mongol can do that, he is a guru in magic spells”. Joe stared at the dark-skinned man like an idiot, he never believed in magic, but he had no choice, after all, he got into a teenager's body. It couldn't have been ordinary.

I did it once during my time in Iraq. I have served for 12 years. My experience and connections gave me an upper hand to secure private combat contracts. People come to us when they need men with high combat skills. Mercenaries, as many call them, are professional soldiers for hire. They serve for the sole purpose of earning money. I like dealing with mercenaries. It gives me a sense of belonging. “I miss my time in the military,” I admit to Jonas ruefully while checking the files. He raises his brow at my sudden admission. “So you could shoot the fucker?”

As soon as I walked in, about a dozen blades were aimed at me. “Halt!” a voice growled. I dropped to one knee in the sand, gasping dramatically. “Don’t shoot. Please, I’m just a mercenary! Just looking for coin! I need work.” Before I knew it, four scouts surrounded me. I could see the suspicion in their eyes. I expected this. A tall man stepped forward. I could tell he was a sergeant by the shoulder plating. One of his eyes had a deep scar. “You’ve got guts, walking in like that.” He said “Or you’ve got a death wish.”

We ate our meagre soup in silence, the air thick with feigned despair. At eight o’clock, the heavy steel bolt on the door screeched open. A man I hadn’t seen before, mid-thirties, with dull brown hair and tired eyes, pushed the slop bucket inside. He was unremarkable, dressed in the same uniform as the others, but without the hard-edged military bearing. He was just a mercenary, a cog in Mia’s machine, clearly there for the money, not the cause. Perfect. He avoided our eyes, clearly uncomfortable with the silent, despairing tableau of women inside.

I dropped it back on the tray, shaking my head from the disgust. As a mercenary, we had been trained to drink almost all kinds of drinks, sweet, bitter, strong, when it was necessary. I couldn't even get drunk no matter how much I drank, it was like a superpower of some sort. I sighed, there was barely anything sweet in this place. They were all so bitter and alcoholic that it hurt. Well, what was I expecting? I came to a place filled with drug lord, mafia lords and illegal business people. And worse, they all smelled of sweat.

“I am very brutal and ruthless but I have a certain respect for women and young children. I have only killed one woman in my whole lifetime and I didn’t know it knowingly. It was a stray bullet.” “You must be ex-military,” I sighed. “Something like that but still not the exact thing!” the boss replied confidently. “I work for a private organization which also runs a militia. I am a mercenary and I do everything. I can be a bodyguard, a kidnapper, an assassin, you name it. I do anything and everything and I serve only one thing in my life.” “Money!” I completed it for him. “Truly, a mercenary serves only money in his life. Nothing more, nothing less.”

I couldn't. "Again, Seraphina," Mikhail’s rough, gravelly voice barked from the edge of the mat. He was a former Spetsnaz instructor Harper had hired at absurd expense, a man who didn't care that I had once been Mrs. Lucian Vance. To him, I was just raw, soft material that needed to be hammered into armor. "Your pivot is slow. If a man of Vance’s size pins you against a desk, a weak hips-turn won't save you. Drive through the heel. Break his knee."

"You're Jason Leigh, right? Human resources informed me that you're only a high school graduate. Do you really understand all this?" "I used to be a mercenary," I corrected him in a calm but clear voice. Tony was taken aback, but he quickly laughed out loud. His laugh was so loud that it echoed throughout the workshop. The people standing next to him laughed along. "What's a mercenary doing here as a stockkeeper? Who would believe you, Leigh?"

Shadow stared reassuringly at Captain. “Furthermore, they are trained to be my substitutes if anything happens to me.” “Your substitute if something happens to you?” For some reason, Ibrahim hated that sentence so much. “The facilities are a brutal place for a mediocre kid. They'll die if they didn't perform. Unlike normal children, we are trained as mercenaries as early as 10 years old. Captain was included. The only difference was, he was hired by the government which later was betrayed by the said government.”

Now, after forcing him to take her into the dark heart of Vancouver's lower East Side and telling a gut-wrenching story of pain and loss, she was acting like life couldn't be better. In the space of an hour she'd turned his entire world and everything he assumed upside down. Him. A man that used to kill for money, a fact she would never learn, despite being so generous with her own life story. After leaving the military he became a hired gun in the middle East, telling himself he was working on the side of good. Until the body count became too high to stomach, even for him. He'd started his security company with the nearly two decades of mercenary money and skills he'd picked up overseas.