Havoc

by Angie Merriam

  Lordy nods, and Glove groans, “If I would've known we could give you chores to do.” Lordy slaps him upside the head, shutting him up. “I got you something, too.”

  She puts the recipe in the box, and I secure it as well as the trash while grumbling, “Glove, I swear on my career, if you got my girl a giant box of condoms as a gift, I'll make sure you never need another.”

  “Terrifying, Grim,” he shutters, holding up a bright blue bag with sparkles. There's a familiar sleazy smile on his face, now meaning one thing. That gift’s going to cause him to stop breathing. High pain. Good thing Striker's here. We might be needing an ER doc. “If condoms would get me dismemberment, I can only imagine that this is going to get me shot.”

  “Clint was kidding.” She nudges me in the side.

  I was not kidding.

  She riffles through the bag to pull out a framed photo of me in my Marine gear.

  “I know that it's going to be hard without him around all the time. And I'm sure you've got plenty pictures of Grim's ugly mug already, but I wanted you to have one where you could be reminded he's not chasing skirts or robbing banks. He's fighting for his life, his honor, his rights. Hopefully, when the days get too much to bare, you'll see this photo and remember he's out making a difference.”

  If I didn't know any better, I would say there was respect in his voice.

  “This is incredible,” she coos at Glove and places a kiss on his cheek, the same cheek I will plant my fist in it if he so much as thinks it’s any more than a mere representation of gratitude. “Thank you.”

  I do my best to divert the emotional situation we've stumbled into, “Where'd you get that?”

  “I have my ways.”

  Lordy says, “It's weird you have secret photos of us.”

  “I'm glad you think so, too!”

  “Hey!”

  “What else are you holding hostage, Glove? Locks of hair?” Lordy's question makes me laugh deeply. It feels great to be laughing with my friends and my girlfriend, all in the same breath. These are what shore leave moments should be made of. This is what life should be made of. This is living.

  Glove scratches his belly. “This is your real gift. Being made an ass for your entertainment.”

  “Do you keep bar receipts in your shoe box of memories, too?” Lordy makes me laugh more.

  Glove growls, bites his tongue, and looks at Haven, “I need a beer.”

  “That way.” She points toward the grill.

  He walks away with Lordy on his tail, still mocking him. Haven’s fingers slide the gift box out of my hands, and she scolds me, “That wasn't very nice.”

  “It was in good fun.”

  “Clint.”

  “Oh, come on! He had that coming.”

  She looks displeased. “Clint.”

  Quickly, I insist, “Sorry.” She forgives me with a kiss on my cheek, and I feel pleased myself once again.

  The party continues, and I feel more enthralled by Haven than I was before. I love seeing her carry herself with confidence and share with the world that she's not defeated. That she wasn't destroyed by some sadistic son of a bitch who tried. Her laugh is filled with excitement and love. Her smile radiates perfection and comfort. Everything about her screams self-assured in the sexiest of ways.

  My crotch starts to bulge, and I find myself desperate to escape with her back to our room. “You ready to start getting these presents home, angel?”

  As if Haven catches onto my drift, she raises her eyebrows, “I–”

  “Grim, can I talk to you for a minute?” Glove cuts her off. “In private?”

  “Anything you want to say to me, you can say in front her,” I say as she continues reaching for gifts.

  Glove holds out a polite hand, “Do you mind, Haven, if it's just us?”

  “Of course not.”

  Annoyed he is putting a kink in the plan of me making a few moves on Haven behind closed doors, I fight back, “Can it wait? I'm about to help Haven take these home.”

  “I've got it.” She struggles, one of her gifts nearly falling out of her little hands.

  Out of nowhere, Lordy offers, “I'll help her.”

  As he lifts the heavier objects out of her hands, his brushes against her, and I tense, “I–”

  “Please,” Glove urges me.

  “I'll be fine,” she sweetly insists. “Lordy can help. It's OK, Clint. Talk to Glove.”

  Unhappily, I nod, plant a kiss on her forehead, and point at him, “Lordy, do not let anything happen to her, or it's your ass. Got that?”

  She leans over and kisses my cheek, whispering, “Alpha,” in my ear. Between her hot breath, her even hotter lips barely touching my earlobe, and the thoughts I've been having of her all day, I get ready to follow after her, insisting that Glove can wait.

  His arm is on my shoulder, and I stop, realizing she needs to know I trust her when she's alone with another guy. She deserves that much. Though, I don't think Lordy will try something. He doesn't have that kinda death wish. Man, I wanna to try something.

  “I swear, Glove, if this was just a way to try to get me to tell you what Haven's like in bed, I'll drown you in the pool.”

  He chuckles, and his beer touches his lips before he responds, “Nah. Not trying to rile you up on her special day. I, uh, wanna talk to you about something.”

  I shrug, “So talk.”

  “It's about Lei.”

  My eyes glance back to see Le Le pretending like she's not watching us, “What about her?”

  “I was just wondering. Would it bother you if we were to . . . hook up?” The nervousness in the question strikes me so strangely that I feel compelled to laugh but don't want to in his face.

  “Are you seriously asking me if I mind you banging my leftovers?”

  “Well, yeah.”

  “Wow,” I have to admit I’m impressed. “Glove asking me if I care if he hooks up with an ex. I'm baffled.

  “You're my brother, and that's more important than the ass in that skirt.” He glances over at Le Le and tips his beer her direction. “Though her ass does look amazing in that skirt. Brothers first. But, don't tell Lordy I said that. I don't want him thinking I've gone soft.” I shake my head, and he continues with, “I was just wondering, you know, since you're all wrapped up in Haven if you minded.”

  Coldly, I respond, “I couldn't give a shit less. As long as it's not Haven you're after, you can have anyone in the world, Glove. With a blessing.”

  “How long were you two together?”

  Scratching the back of my neck, I shrug, “I don't know. A while.”

  “How long ago?”

  “When I joined the Corp.”

  “You had a girlfriend?” Glove sounds betrayed. I nod. “You never mentioned her. Just like you never mentioned Haven.”

  “Unlike Haven, who was too important to mention, Leighyani wasn't important enough.”

  Sensing exactly what I meant to imply, he nods and raises his beer, “Haven really must be something special, huh?”

  “You have no idea.” The words compel me to look for her. They should've been back by now. That trip, including drop-off time, should have concluded by now. I scan the party. No signs. An immediate unease creeps into my veins.

  Without another word, I march past Glove and head toward the glass door, which I swing open. At that moment, the world around me seems to come to a halt. Howard is pinning Haven's body against the counter, lips smothering her, as her tiny arms beat against his chest. I'll kill him. I'll fucking kill him.

  I fling Howard's pasty, light body off of my girlfriend and begin bashing his face in. My fists tight. Precise. Each blow with more rage than the last. And somehow, I'm the same calm I am in a mission. Because I am. I will end him. That is the objective. I can see blood coming from his body and the smallest twinge of relief fills me. Every strike feels like I'm undoing the mistakes and injustice of his very existence. He doesn't deserve to live. He should've never been born.

&n
bsp; As my hand draws back for another hit, two bodies slam into me, lurching me back against the wall and pinning me away from finishing my duty. This fact enrages me. Nothing stands in the way of me and my missions. Shaking, I struggle against Lordy and Glove, who are giving their all to keep me in place, barely being able to handle it. The longer I'm restrained, the angrier I get. The blood in my body is past boiling point, and there's only one focal point in my vision.

  A voice, I'm not sure who, shrieks, “Felix!”

  Within seconds, Howard’s father flies through the door, just as the dick rises to his feet. My shoulders push against Glove harder. He's the weaker point. If I can just get past him, I can tear the pretty boy prick's vocal cords out. It won't hurt. For long.

  “Whoa. What happened?” Felix cautiously slips by me.

  “He's psychotic!” Howard cries out like a girl.

  “I'll show you psychotic, you rapist son of a bitch! You pathetic sack of shit!” Glove's grip weakens as suspected. I lunge forward, fast and hard. Glove's reflexes are quicker than I give him credit for. They retreat me back to the wall before I can get another move in.

  “Look who’s talking!”

  “You–”

  “Enough!” Felix shouts, the volume barely registering over the sound of my blood pumping. “What the hell happened?”

  “He was holding Haven down against her will! Forcing himself on her! I'll kill him!” I answer, my attention briefly on Felix before turning back to Howard. “I'll kill you! I swear to God.”

  “Clint!” The angel's voice speaks, cracking the wall of bleak around me. Haven. My body stops struggling as my eyes move over to her. She's snuggled against Mindy, tears streaming down her soft face, a plea from the heavens escaping her.

  “Is that true?” Felix questions his own son, who’s propped up against a kitchen chair now.

  Still cocky, he shrugs, “She was begging for it.”

  “Liar!” Haven steps forward toward him and screams.

  “Come on, sugar, you know you wanted it. It was written all over that pretty little face of yours.”

  With strength in her voice, she leans toward him and sneers, “Not if you were the last man on Earth!”

  The change from desperate need for me to stop to desperate need for me to defend triggers my body to lunge forward once more. Fuck. They pull me back and slam me against the wall again, curse words flying out of my mouth so effortlessly that I'm not even sure exactly what I'm saying anymore.

  “Clint!” The sound of Haven’s voice reaches me again, and I feel myself back down from the rage. How does she do that? How is it that's all it takes to tame the beast inside of me?

  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 o
f 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?”