Havoc (10 page)

I place my pillow back on my queen-sized
mattress and slink under the covers. She rolls over so her body is
curved, her back presenting itself to me. My eyes lazily roll over
the curves, thoughts of all the things I plan to do to her when
she's healed clawing their way up from the depths they were
banished too. What kinda sick perv fantasizes about a woman like
this?

Haven still seems to be trembling, though her
eyes are shut once more. I roll over onto my side, snake my arm
around her stomach, and crush her body back into mine, her back
hitting the wall of my chest, a wall to stand between her and the
outside world. A wall to create a new version of herself on the
other side. A wall to lean against, find shelter in. I grip her
tighter, and to my surprise, she lets out a long sigh, the trembles
subsiding. Her body relaxes completely, molding into me like a
custom-made glove, like the piece of me that has been missing for
so many years.

I banish the stirring emotions from my mind,
shut my eyes, and get lost in the pattern of her chest rising and
falling. After all, it's begun to match my own.

Before I know it, the soft buzzing sound of
my six a.m. alarm begins vibrating against the hard wood of my
dresser, alerting me it's back to reality. With a harsh groan, I
use my arm that's been wrapped around Haven to shut it off only to
return it immediately to its newfound preferred location, tucked
around her waist. Raising myself over to peer down at her, I
realize she hasn't moved since I crawled into bed beside her. Not a
stir. Not a scream. Not a sound. I feel my face beginning to smile
in pride. I did that. I took care of her. Like I should. My hand
prepares to remove itself when the tip of her thumb strokes it. The
smallest bit of breath catches from the moment I feel an unfamiliar
flush across my body. It's a warm energy spreading everywhere
throughout me and fast. With the feeling igniting like wildfire, I
lose the smile and slip away before it gets worse. What is that? Am
I coming down with something? Did I catch some sort of flu while I
was out in the field? My hands scrub my face hard. What's the
problem, Grim? What the fuck is wrong with you? I let my feet hit
the ground. That's right. Running. A good steady run in reality is
what I need to get myself back together.

Five miles, forty-one minutes. The only thing
I want on my mind is beating my time from the day before. Sweat out
the stress of constant contradictions, the confusion. Pump through
the pain of the broken creature waiting in my bed for me to be
beside her, her gorgeous face, cleaned and healed from, smiling at
me. That warm feeling returns, trying to take over. That's what I
get instead of clarity. That's what I get instead of ease. The fact
that I improved on my time is a mind-fucking mystery.

The door to my bedroom creaks open as I walk
in, the sweat in my hair running down. I need a shower.

Startled, I see Haven awake on her feet and
anxiously tapping her foot up and down. I think I might have just
interrupted an attempt at an escape. I'm beginning to wonder if she
feels safe here or if this just feels like another prison she can't
escape. I pray that's not how she sees me. I pray I'm not just some
new villain for her to hate.

Weary, I say, “Didn't think you'd be up yet.
Thought soldiers were the only ones who willingly woke up before
sunrise.”

“I've always woken up before the sunrise.”
The words whisper from her body. “It's the only way I know how to
measure time. I used to scratch tally marks on my wall . . .”

My shoulders slouch as my jaw begins to
violently throb. I'll kill him. If it is the last thing I do, I
will hunt him down. I will put my KA-BAR to his throat and slice in
one clean sweep.

Without a word, I offer my sweaty hand for
her to take. Leading her over to the window, I push back the
dark-brown curtains and expose a view I tend to take for
granted.

Out of my window are rolling hills that seem
to go on forever in the distance and the sun climbing over them,
exhausted from battling the moon. The first rays explode, taking
over the sky before raining upon the rest of the world. A small
gasp escapes her like she doesn't believe it's real.

“You will live to see many more
sunrises.”

Still whispering, she denies, “You can't
promise that.”

“A Marine is only as good as his word.” My
eyes shift away from the view and over to her. She's looking at me
desperate for reassurance. “And I'm a damn good Marine.”

My warm hand slips around her before pulling
her into my sweaty chest, the sweet smell of shampoo ticking my
senses, poking at the cold blood I'm used to having pump through my
veins, dramatically demanding it move—that I warm up. Immediately,
her body tenses in reaction, almost as stiff as when I first made
contact with her. Her breath hitches. I bite my bottom lip to hide
my sadness. What do you expect, Clint?

The moment stops as my bedroom door opens and
Sir enters. My arms reluctantly slide down, releasing her. I turn
my attention and greet him with a firm nod, “Sir.”

“Marine.” His head nods at me and then at
her, “Morning, Miss Haven Cartwright.”

There's a flicker of joy in her eyes.
“I'm–”

“Yes,” he shifts his weight between his two
feet. “Congratulations. There's a pile of paperwork for you to go
over today. A few documents for you to sign. You were issued a new
social security number, a new birth certificate, driver's license,
bank account, and a high school diploma. You were also issued a new
background to give when asked. Please comb through the details
diligently. Clint, I expect you to keep on top of this. To see her
through this.”

“Of course, Sir.”

Adjusting his uniform, he nods once more, “If
you two will excuse me, I have to be getting to work. I'll see you
both for dinner.”

And as quickly as Sir arrived, he's gone,
leaving us alone once more. My eyes lower to her face, studying the
faint bruise beside her left eyebrow, thin cut underneath her chin,
the small freckle behind her right ear. It's like looking at a
perfect piece of artwork. My hand adjusts the tags around her neck,
needing the courage to make my next move. I place an airy kiss on
her forehead, my lips quivering, betraying me. I can't even hold my
lips still for that simple action.

I step back, needing room to breathe, to grab
hold of the havoc gearing up in my mind. “You need breakfast.”

Nothing more is said as the two of us
disappear down the stairs, the sound of designer heels clicking
across the hardwood floor, a familiar face lighting up the kitchen
as she places plastic tubs on the bar island.

“Morning, Haven,” Mindy hums, removing the
lid from the containers.

Politely, she hums back, “Morning.”

“Morning, Slugger.” Her attention pulls up to
see me with my hand on Haven’s back. A motherly look sweeps across
her face as she huffs, “For the love of all that is sweet and
sacred, get your butt upstairs and wash away that funk before it
stains my cashmere.”

“I–”

“Now.” She points back up to the stairs. I
gesture toward Haven, and Mindy holds up a hand to close my mouth.
“She will be fine. I'm going to feed her, clothe her.” She dangles
two shopping bags at Haven. “And watch her read these pages of
information my husband sent and your father delivered. Now go.”

My eyes look down to Haven's, and for the
first time, she doesn't look terrified to be left alone with
someone else.

“God, I can feel your sweat seeping through
my pores over here.” Mindy shivers.

I chuckle and open my mouth to tell Haven I
won't be longer than necessary when I'm cut off.

“Today, Slugger!”

My shower is damn near a blur. The blaring
heat wipes out the thoughts that are trying to turn in circles in
my mind, leaving me a blank slate. Cleansed. System rebooted, even
if it is temporary. I'm thankful.

Buttoning the last two buttons on my dark
blue shirt, I travel down the stairs two at a time just as Haven
raises a small, thin, lacy, black pair of underwear in her hands.
Impulsively, I whisper, “Wow.”

Shit. That wasn't supposed to come out of my
mouth.

Quickly, Mindy pulls it away from her,
slipping it back in a bag. “That wasn't for your eyes . . .” In a
low mutter, where she doesn't think I can hear her, she finishes
with, “yet.” Her voice chirps back up, “And what are you wowing
anyway? I'm sure you've seen a pair of those a time or two in your
life.”

The accusation causes my jaw to start
clenching, slightly irked. I recognize the throbbing coming from my
temple. She's not wrong by any means. I've nailed enough women that
the sight of panties shouldn't make me squirm, but Haven didn't
know that. Haven't doesn't need to know that. She doesn't need to
know that the guy who's trying to save her couldn't save himself.
That the guy who was holding her last night had never done that for
another female in his life.

Mindy slips the bag over to Haven and raises
up the other at me. “This bag is for you.”

“What is it?”

“It's safe to assume that Haven has her own
room, yes?”

I shoot her a look, realizing I never even
gave her the option of being that far away from me. She needs me
close by. Last night proved it.

Mindy tries to stifle what looks like pride
on her face, “Hm. All right. These are a few things to spruce up
her living quarters wherever that may be. We'll grab more, but for
the time being, there are aroma therapy candles.”

Confused I ask, “Aroma what?”

“Scented oils.”

“Why?”

“Four hundred-thread-count Egyptian
sheets.”

“Why would you purchase sheets from
Egypt?”

Realizing she's confusing me, she stops. “Oh,
dear. You're like a savage sometimes.”

“A Marine, ma'am.”

“I know. Simplicity is the faithful companion
of a Marine.” She offers a faint smile at me. “However,
domestication is the faithful companion of love. Now, eat some
breakfast, Haven, so we can do some real shopping.”

She points, “What about the–”

“You can review the paperwork this
afternoon,” she insists. “Now, skedaddle so we can get going.”

I plop down on the stool beside Haven, the
sweet smell of syrup mixing with the sweet smell of her. “Where are
we going?”

“We?” Mindy's perfectly thin eyebrows rise.
“Oh, no, Slugger. No.”

“With all do with respect, Mindy, I'm not
letting her out of my sight.” I pick up a piece of bacon, my eyes
challenging hers.

Surprised, Mindy puts a hand on her hip,
prepared to argue with me until she can't anymore. We've never
argued about girls before. In fact, the only women she's
occasionally seen me with are the ones I’ve happened to be trying
to get rid of before the sun rises as she grabs the morning paper.
And Le Le. The advice and conversation for both of them were always
the same, no more than a “Please be safe” and a “Respect your home
for what it is.” But Haven is different. I don't know how she
knows, but she does, the way I imagine my mother would if she were
still alive.

Not letting Haven out of my sight isn't just
about the fact I want her close to me, but I’m her ultimate
protection. I help her feel safe. Yesterday, Haven was afraid when
she heard the mailman come to the door. For a moment, she thought
it was someone else more menacing. Taking her out in public seems
risky. But she needs the exposure to feel free, to start to face
her fears. On the off chance we go out and she's spotted, I need to
be there. Defend her. Protect her. Bury the bastard on the
spot.

She growls, lifting her Starbucks cup back up
to her lips, “God, Slugger, you're just like your father.” Unsure
of what that means, I do my best not to glare. With a wave at me,
she finishes, “Fine. But try to keep up?”

Feeling victorious, I cock a half-crooked
grin and slide another piece of bacon into my mouth. How hard could
it be?

Instinct is a big part of how I operate, not
only on the field but off as well. It's what has kept me alive when
doing missions and kept me sane when operating in unfamiliar
territory, but I learned today I have none when it comes to women.
OK, so I wouldn't say none, but I am getting more clueless by the
minute. Haven and I spent the day with Mindy at high-priced
boutiques and expensive spas. I kept a close watch on the employees
as they eyed Haven’s bruises, curiosity clear on their faces. With
the help of my cold stares and Mindy's cash distractions, her usual
stylists promised discretion, and no one mentioned anything out
loud.

The two of them get things done to them that
make me wonder how exactly they don't get exhausted from just
getting dressed in the morning. Thankfully, I spend the day
observing and not speaking too much. I've always believed I had a
good grasp on how the opposite sex functions, but after seeing what
goes on behind the curtain, I'm not sure I do. Today was like being
in enemy territory yet having no idea, no clue, how to survive
without succumbing to their every request.

Last night at dinner, Haven was given the
short version of our little village's secrets. Once she got more
comfortable, she asked several questions, but Sir didn't give many
answers. He doesn't trust her. Facts say he has every right not to.
The feelings inside of me are screaming mercilessly that he
couldn't be further from the truth. That's the problem with
instinct when it gets colored by emotions. Instinct is your natural
will to survive, a deeper ability to read a situation before you
get tossed in harm’s way or make the wrong choice. Emotions as part
of that can rock your ship to the deep end, where you don't know
left from right, up from down, or right from wrong. Up until
yesterday, this was never a problem, but now, it's the biggest one
I have.