Havoc (31 page)

Felix bellows at his son, “Upstairs, Howard!
Now!”

“But, my face.”

“You're lucky you're breathing.” His father
shakes his head, probably unaware of how true that really is.
“Go!”

He mutters something, and Howard’s mother
slides by everyone, grabs an ice pack, and follows behind him to
aid in putting back together his pride and what's left of his face.
I hope they do more than that. That punk belongs behind bars.

“Why don't you get your girl home?” Glove
gives me a powerful shove. I want to shove him back. I want to
shove him into the wall and blame him for the reason I wasn't
allowed to shred that dipshit to pieces.

“Good idea,” Mindy says. Haven's delicate
body comes toward me.

Glove and Lordy still have a death grip on my
shoulders. The minute they free me, I'm racing up those stairs
and–

Haven’s hand touches my face. Effortlessly,
my body melts into it. My eyes close. She wraps her arms around me,
like wings sent from God himself to swallow up the insanity of the
hatred coursing through my system. I wrap my arms around her, rest
my head on top of hers, and inhale the scent from the heavens. It's
time to go. I don't know how much of my temper I'll be able to
control when the questions of what happened begin flooding in.

Striker sighs, “Guess the party's over. I'll
get my med bag.”

“I'll wrap up the leftovers and bring them to
you tomorrow. Go home, you two. Go home, Haven, and enjoy what's
left of the day,” Mindy insists as the other party goers start to
filter into the house, curiosity getting the better of them. I do
as I'm told and begin to escort Haven out of the room.

“Happy birthday,” the gloomy voices echo to
each other.

She glances over my shoulder and, in a weak
voice, croaks, “Thank you all so much. For everything.”

The relocation of Haven is quick and easy,
though the entire way home, she doesn't say a word. She won't even
look up. I never wanted her to see that—what Grim looks like. But,
what did she expect? All I saw was red. I'd kill to protect her.
I’d die to protect her.

She slips away from me onto the edge of our
bed. Immediately, I miss her warmth.

“I know you're thinking it's your fault,
Haven.”

She won't look up, eyes still looking to the
ground.

I slide beside her and wrap my arm around her
waist, “It's not your fault. This is in no way you're fault.”

“I had a feeling, Clint.”

“That doesn't make it your fault.”

“I knew it wasn't gonna end well. I could
feel that, but instead, I went over to him anyway. How could I be
so stupid!”

“You're not stupid.” The accusation she’s
holding against herself is heartbreaking. I should've killed him.
“Howard's an animal, angel. He belongs behind bars if I can't be
allowed to take him out back and shoot him.”

The twisted joke cracks her bummed face.
After a long pause, she remarks, “Is that what it’s like for you
all the time—when you’re on a mission?”

“Not always. It's not usually full of rage so
much as focus. Dedication to completion.”

“I hate seeing you that way.”

“And I hate having to be that way for you to
see. But, I hate you in danger more than that. Don't apologize for
that asshole's mistakes. Don't be sorry because other people are
monsters.” I lift her chin. “Especially if they are hurting
you.”

Silence nestles between us again. Her head
rests on my shoulder, the weight from the situation too much for
her bare. And she shouldn't have to.

Finally, she sighs, “You know, I didn't get
to open my gift from you.”

I smile wildly. I've been waiting so long,
and I almost forgot. Damn it. Get it together, Clint. “Give me a
second.”

I slip out to the hall closet where I’ve been
hiding it. With the small velvet box in my possession, I hide my
hands behind my back like a schoolboy. So kill me. The look of
excitement on her face is worth me acting like an idiot. Strolling
back in, I keep it hidden and watch her squirm in excitement. God,
that's a much better look on her face than the panic that was just
there.

“Come on.”

I let out a chuckle and hold out the small,
black box with the yellow bow. “I got you two gifts. This is the
first.” It's not a ring. It's not the engagement ring I so
desperately wanted to give her because Sir is right. She needs to
live her own life as her own person before we get married. But, I
will ask her one day. That is my word.

She gasps. She touches her lips lightly.

I lift the necklace out of the box for her,
“When I go back on active duty, my tags have to come with me, but I
want you to feel safe and know everything is still going to be all
right. That I'm still with you. On this tag,” I show her, “is your
name, your birthday, and the date of our first kiss. On this one is
my name, my birthday, and the most important day of my life—the day
you came into it.” With a boyish smile, I do my best not to become
overly sappy where she can see. But, it's hard. These tags are like
a wedding ring before the wedding ring. A promise of a future
promise. Her wearing them is like having her declare to the world
when I am not around without words that she is mine. And only mine.
“They're 100 percent platinum so if you're allergic to–”

“Platinum? Isn't that ridiculously
expensive?”

“There's no one I would rather spend that
kind of money on.”

She touches my tags around her neck, a little
weary. I didn't mean she had to give them back to me now. “Angel,
you don't–”

“I do.” She smiles and removes her mother's
ring from the chain, leaving her father's band. She places it back
around my neck. “This belongs to you.”

Following suit, I place the new tags around
her. “And this to you.” Cautiously, I raise the band. “And
this?”

“I want you to have it. I want you to have a
part of me while you're out on that field in those other countries,
other worlds. I want you to know I'm here for you if you need me,
here waiting for you.”

To hear Haven say those words feels like
she's trying to have whatever emotions I still have bottled up
released. I love that she will be waiting for me. I love her. I
lean over and gently press a hand to her face. I need to feel her
lips. I need to feel her. She lets me in the way I've become
accustomed to. Her lips melt against mine. Her tongue is hot beside
mine. For some reason, she places a hand to my chest and pulls
away, leaving my mouth on fire.

“I got you something, too,” she declares,
standing up. I lean back on the palms of my hands. “One
minute.”

Haven disappears before I can even argue.
This is her birthday. I shouldn't get gifts. And I still need to
show her the tattoo on my arm. The real gift. My permanent claim to
her that she will forever be mine. I pull my phone out of my pocket
to turn it onto silent. No distractions. No one else matters. Just
Haven.

I'm dismissing texts from Lordy and Glove,
apologizing for what I went through, for what Haven went through,
and for having to hold me back. I know they did it for a good
reason. A night in jail on my girlfriend's nineteenth birthday
doesn't seem right.

Suddenly, I hear her step back into the room,
and my attention jerks up. Haven is standing in front of me in a
matching black lacy bra and thong-like something I would find in a
Playboy magazine but better. Natural. Beautiful. My cock is now at
full attention. God, I hope I don't fuck up her first time. But
looking at her in that increases the possibility.

“Holy. Shit.”

She bites her bottom lip. I wish I was that
bottom lip. “You like it?”

I try to respond, but nothing coherent seems
to come out. I try to say she looks amazing, sexy, like the hottest
thing in the entire world, but everything comes out jumbled. More
blood is rushing to my cock then my brain. How the fuck does she
expect me to think or speak when she looks like this? I'm acting
like I've never seen a half-naked woman before. Get a grip, Marine.
And I almost do until she straddles me to the bed, her legs pinned
down on each side of me. Oh. My. God. When the fuck did she become
a sex kitten? I sit up and admire the perfect curves of her boobs,
the way they are sitting at attention right in my face. Her perfect
curves would easily drive any man over the edge, down to her
perfect hips that have widened since she came into my life. I
gently stroke down her backside, this feeling more like my birthday
than hers, but manage to stop my hands at the top of her thong.
God, I'm so hard that it hurts.

With a heavy sigh, my entire body restraining
itself, I look into her eyes, “What’d I do to deserve you?” She
smiles, and I slip her a very chaste kiss. I can't afford anything
more, or I'll never get to give her her real gift. “Ready for the
other part of your present?”

She lifts her eyebrows in a sexual fashion,
“Sure.”

I stifle a groan. Take your time, Clint.
Reluctantly, I lift her body off my lap and place her beside me.
Maybe space will bring this raging hard-on down. I stand up and
grab the hem of my shirt when she croaks out, “Clint, wait.”

The motion stops, my shirt falls, and I wait
for her to say something.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Anything.”

“Earlier, Mindy said something, and it got me
curious.”

“About?”

“How many girls have you been with?”

The question baffles me. Wow. Never been
asked that before. My body flops down on the bed beside her, and I
stroke the stubble I meant to shave this morning on my chin.
“Honestly?” She nods. “Not sure. If it's disease you're worried
about, I get checked regularly at the clinic on base. And I had
Striker check me out while you were in the hospital.”

“It's not that.” She looks down, embarrassed.
What could she possibly be embarrassed about? It's me who can't
remember. “I just, I just don't want to be another forgotten memory
after we do this, you know?”

Dumbfounded. Heartbroken. Those are the only
two words I can fucking think of to describe how what she just said
made me feel. Fuck. I hate feelings. How can she question that she
could ever be a forgotten memory? Having her say those words out
loud feels like a shotgun blow to the chest, being pistol-whipped
with my own weapon. Feels like someone trying to pull my beating
heart and show it to me. My chest burns. My head aches. Why can't
you just feel the good without the bad? Without the
disappointment?

I do the only thing I can think of. I
continue with what I had planned. My back turns so it's facing her,
and I slide off my shirt, allowing her to see my back.

“Those wings have my mom's name sketched in
them. Down the middle. Those are replicas of my actual tags, in
case of the worst.” I stand and point to a spot close to my ribs
below a scar. “I got stabbed my first deployment. I made a stupid
mistake. Realized I wasn't invincible. Got Alpha and Omega right
underneath. Alpha means the beginning. It also means one. Mom used
to say ‘Alpha’ when Sir left, that even though he was gone, we were
all still one. One family. One unit. Safe. Sir always used to say
whatever begins must someday end. Omega. The end. The day I got
stitched up, I realized he was right. Someday everything ends, but
before it does, I wanna make it count.” I swallow, a bit nervous
but a bit desperate. “And then I got this one when I realized I’d
found the only person I’d ever fall in love with, the one person I
want to spend the rest of my life with.”

I lean down and reveal the tribal sun on my
arm, partly on shoulder. One of the rays says “Haven” in a wave to
match the other rays.

“I love you, Haven. I can't undo the women
I've been with. I can't undo the one-night stands or carelessness
of my past, but I can swear to you you'll never be a forgotten
memory or just a face without a name I brought into my bed. You're
the last face. The last name. You're it for me.” I lightly touch
her face. “And if you're still afraid that this is some sick bet
with myself to bed you, then let's not do this. Let's just lay in
bed. Let's just–”

That’s all that comes out before her lips are
pressed on mine. While it feels good—God it feels good—I can't help
but feel these are guilt kisses. That's not what I want our first
time to be about, especially not for her. I hesitate during the
kissing, which is like torture. She's persistent, her tongue
enticing. Tasting like candy and love. It's very tempting. God,
it's temping. Now her hands are clawing at my back, exploring the
wings as she leads me backward onto the bed. I want her. I have to
have her. I have to show her that she's it for me.

My lips begin kissing her neck. She moans and
arches her back like a cat waiting to be petted again. Fuck me,
that's hot. I let my lips kiss her again, this time on her
collarbone, her shoulders, the top of her chest, each kiss
receiving praise in the form of a moan. I lightly run my hand up
her thigh. Her breath catches. My name slips out.

“Clint.”

I damn near come right on the spot.
Determined to use my brain up top as much as the one below, I
continue exploring her body with my mouth and my hands. Her perfect
nipples. Her perfect breasts. Her perfect thighs. Each scar and
faded bruise its own shape and shade of perfection. They are what
make Haven, Haven. And if she is perfect, then so are they.

I spend what feels like hours listening to
her moan freely with each perfected touch and kiss while navigating
around her entire body. She occasionally gets the desire to run her
lips and hands across me. I let her, against my better judgment.
This night is supposed to be about her. Not me. Plus, every time
she touches my cock or anywhere near it, I swear I'm going to lose
it.

Naked. Both of us. My body hovering above
hers, her legs parting way for entry, welcoming me without words.
It feels surreal. I do my best to pull my lips away from hers, my
hand reaching for the drawer that I put fresh condoms in today,
when she lifts her lips back onto mine, dragging my attention down
once more.