Wreaking Havoc

by Harley Stone

  “That’s twice, babe. I already told you, I fight dirty.”

  It was Sunday, and this was my weekend off. I had all kinds of shit to do around my house, but the naked little vixen lying beside me was already making me hard again. Sucking a big, dark red nipple into my mouth, I reached for another condom.

  We alternated between fucking and napping until it was time for Julia to get up and get ready for work. We showered, dressed, then I walked her down to the shop and gave her a kiss goodbye before heading out. I didn’t know whether it was appropriate for friends to kiss goodbye, but I also didn’t give a shit.

  Julia

  REGRET. THAT’S WHAT I expected to feel after the wild, passionate night of casual sex I experienced with Havoc. Instead, I felt wonderful, invigorated, and sore. Holy crap, was I ever sore. That man and his giant penis had worked me over good, and I’d loved every minute of it. He walked me down to work and kissed me goodbye—which was a pleasant surprise—before heading out. And now I was buzzing around the bookstore, straightening shelves, dusting away cobwebs, and looking for woodland critters to sing to because I was sure this had to be a fairytale. Only my prince was a friendly neighborhood biker with his club logo tattooed on his chest, was hung like a horse, and stayed hard like an alligator. Seriously. I’d read that alligators have constant erections, and last night, Havoc had been one of those glorious reptiles.

  I picked up my cell phone to call Laura and tell her about my incredible night, but remembered that she was on her way to the Caribbean for her ten-day honeymoon. Damn. I finally had juicy details to share and nobody to share them with.

  I needed friends.

  So far, I had one friend, and he was the reason why I was walking funny. Maybe I should tell him how great last night was? I picked up my phone and considered it, but he’d only been gone for a couple of hours and I didn’t want to appear desperate. Wasn’t there some rule about waiting and making the guy text first? That sounded like a game, which was in violation of one of Havoc’s conditions, so I should probably just be honest and let him know how he rocked my world. Before I could change my mind, I sent him a quick message to let him know I had fun last night. Fun. Talk about an understatement.

  A couple of customers came in and I greeted them and pointed out the sci-fi/fantasy section before checking my phone for a reply. Nothing. I put away my phone and rang up the customers before checking again. Still no text back. My stomach churned, second guessing my text. Second guessing everything we’d shared last night. He’d been so sweet and wonderful at the wedding and on the ferry. It felt like we’d connected. Had I screwed up everything by letting him into my bed?

  What if he didn’t enjoy it?

  What if he was just another horny asshole who’d played me for sex?

  He himself had told me he was no saint. Was that his way of letting me know he’d bounce after we did the deed?

  I’d been wrong about Wesley, what if I was wrong about Havoc, too.

  Stop.

  I had to get out of my own mind or I’d go crazy. It was too soon to assume anything about Havoc. He’d seemed genuine, so I shouldn’t be so quick to judge him. He was probably preoccupied and would text me back when he got the chance. The world didn’t revolve around my stupid insecurities and need for an immediate response. Why was I staring at my phone like a paranoid lunatic? Desperate to stay busy so I wouldn’t think about it, I pulled out a bottle of cleaner and went to work shinning up the storefront windows. Then I wiped down the mirror in the bathroom and dusted all the framed art. By the time lunch came around, the store was practically sparkling it was so clean. I checked my phone for a response from Havoc and instead found a text from an unknown number. Frowning, I clicked it open.

  ‘You looked amazing yesterday. I miss you. Can we meet up and talk?’

  Definitely not the text I was hoping for. I typed out several creative suggestions for how Wesley could die before erasing them all and choosing not to respond. I was still contemplating the benefits of killing the irredeemable fuckwit, and if I actually snapped and went through with that course of action, I didn’t want to leave any evidence.

  My phone beeped with another incoming text. ‘Has Havoc told you our little secret yet? Or is he seeing how many more times he can get you to scream his name, first?’

  As I read the text, ice flooded my veins and little warning bells went off in my mind. I read it again and again, trying to deny the implications. Wesley knew about Havoc’s challenge. How? There was only one obvious answer, and it flitted around in my brain waiting for me to grasp it, but I refused. I’d just had the most amazing night of my life and I couldn’t accept that it had all been a setup.

  There had to be another explanation, but I couldn’t think of one.

  Tears stung my eyes.

  Refusing to let them fall, I blinked them away and looked at my phone again. Still no response from Havoc. Or maybe this was his response. Admission by silence.

  I wanted to text Havoc and ask him point blank if he’d told Wesley about us. No, I wanted to call him, so I could spit out any lies he tried to feed me. But the two of them would just love that, wouldn’t they? I bet they couldn’t wait for me to call Havoc, crying, admitting what a fool I’d been. Not this bitch.

  Pieces were fitting into place, creating a picture I couldn’t deny. Havoc had conveniently shown up right when I needed him. After I’d told my sister I’d take him to her wedding. Could Laura be in on this? The thought sliced open my heart and a sob bubbled out of my chest. No. And yet… I couldn’t rule anything out. Wesley trying to provoke Havoc at the wedding… all for show. No wonder Havoc walked away so easily. Some “helper of the city” he turned out to be. I bet he was laughing his ass off when I asked to be friends with benefits. All his talk about being exclusive…

  Shit.

  Was Havoc somewhere laughing himself silly over my stupid, gullible ass? Maybe sharing a beer with Wesley at some skeezy watering hole?

  Wesley. I should have seen this coming. That bastard and I had been separated for more than a year and divorced for ten months and thirteen days. He’d let me walk out of his life with nothing more than a wave goodbye. It had been too easy. Wesley was far too possessive and vindictive to let anyone, or anything, go. Still, he hadn’t fought for me. He hadn’t even bullied me into coming back, and he could have.

  ‘Why are you doing this?’ I typed to Wesley. I had to know, hoping that the knowledge would help ease the pain of Havoc’s betrayal.

  Seconds later, my phone pinged with his response. ‘Why do you think? You’re mine, Julia. You’ve always been mine.’

  I don’t know what I’d been expecting, but that wasn’t it. ‘You let me go. No, you pushed me away.’ I replied.

  ‘I changed my mind.’

  While I stared at the words, trying to deny the way they twisted my insides and tied my shoulders in knots, Justine came in and plopped her backpack on the counter. I felt her gaze on me as she asked, “You okay?”

  No. Definitely not. I thought I’d escaped, but now I was back on Wesley’s radar. No, I was the center of his bullseye. And he wasn’t the stupid weakling I’d taken him for. I couldn’t take him down. Hell, I couldn’t even counter his attacks. I’d been foolish and conceited to believe I was so much smarter and better at the game than he was.

  Wesley was actually a threat.

  But truth be told, he wasn’t the one tearing me up inside.

  Havoc had kissed me goodbye.

  Had he immediately betrayed me to Wesley, or had he kicked the idea around for a while first?

  “Julia?” Justine sounded worried.

  The gallon or so of coffee I’d consumed throughout the day was threatening to come back up. “I need a minute. Man the store?”

  Before Justine could answer, I grabbed my phone and hurried toward the stairs in the back and up to my apartment.

  Tucked behind the ibuprofen in my bathroom cabinet was a prescription for some sort of anti-psychotic Mom had
started me on in middle school. It was for anxiety or paranoia or some other ailment I didn’t have but had been coached into answering the questions for.

  “It will make you feel better,” Mom had promised.

  What she meant, was that it would make me feel nothing. And nothing was currently what I needed. The number of emotions spiraling out of control in my head was crippling. I needed to mute them, so I could get through this day without throwing my idiotic, gullible self off a roof. I needed to think, not feel. Careful not to look into my bedroom and drudge up memories of Havoc on my bed, I went straight to the bathroom and tossed two pills back. Then I headed to the kitchen for a drink of water, which I immediately upgraded to rum. I needed the numbness to kick in faster, and alcohol seemed like the best catalyst. Screw warning labels; they didn’t understand the emotional barrage I was dealing with here. Once I was sufficiently self-medicated, I dragged myself into the living room and collapsed on the recliner and pulled a faded five-by-seven photograph of paradise from the hollow book on top of the coffee table.

  Focusing on the image until it was set in my mind, I closed my eyes and attempted to go there in my mind.

  Havoc’s sexy smirk was all I saw.

  Swearing, I shook my head and focused on the picture before trying again. Still no luck. I pulled the saltwater breeze candle from my coffee table drawer and lit it. By the time the fragrance filled the room, the pills and rum were kicking in. I inhaled deeply through my nose and closed my eyes again.

  Finally, I found myself standing on the Nā Pali Coastline of Kauai. The lush, rocky hiking trail clung to the side of the mountain, giving a breath-taking view of both the vast, blue ocean, and the rugged terrain. This was always the one place in my mind where I could find peace and quiet. The one happy memory I could count on. I was just a child with my Hawaiian nanny, visiting her family for a wedding. The festivities had been fun, but this trail was what I remembered the most. As I stood on the cliffs watching the dark forms of sea life swam beneath my feet, I felt so small. So insignificant. Free. I had no control of anything.

  In this spot, I could be anything I wanted.

  The memory of Havoc’s sexy smirk tugged at my subconscious again, stinging my eyes and creating a lump in my throat. I’d trusted him. We’d connected.

  It was all a lie.

  On this cliff, I was also alone. Nobody could hurt me while I was alone.

  Taking a deep breath, I pushed thoughts of Havoc and what could have been away and refocused, finding peace and safety once again. This temporary freedom was what my psychology degree had earned me. Following the techniques I’d learned, I imagined ripping each pesky emotion from my body and casting them into the dark forms below. The fish swam out to sea, taking my pain, anger, and hurt beyond the horizon. I had so much to give… so many feelings. By the time the last fish disappeared, carrying away the sting of Havoc’s betrayal, I felt numb.

  I’d survive.

  I sucked in a few more deep breaths through my nose and stood. I’d made a mistake and let someone in. No big deal. It happened. Now, it was time to rectify the situation. Desperate to remove all traces of Havoc and my misjudgment, I extinguished the saltwater candle and lit other scents, scattering them around my house. Then, I stripped the sheets from my bed and spritzed the sofa where he’d sat.

  “I’ll make you scream my name so many times you’ll forget his.”

  The memory blindsided me, stealing the breath from my lungs. Closing my eyes, I fed it to the fish and then proceeded to give my apartment the same treatment I’d given the bookstore.

  While I was steam mopping my kitchen, Havoc called. My entire body froze as I stared at the phone, wondering if I should answer. The feelings I’d sent away started returning. Memories of the heat of his body as he tucked me under his arm on the ferry burned away the top layer of my resolve. He’d been so sweet, so perfect, was it all fake? The possibility sent cracks of pain through my entire existence.

  I’d let Havoc in.

  I’d told him shit I’d never told anyone. I’d let him see what was beneath the surface. I’d stripped away my lies and manipulations and stood naked in front of him. If he turned out to be just another mind fuck, courtesy of Wesley, it would break me. And not even the Nā Pali Coastline would put me back together again.

  Our time together had been sizzling hot and incredibly fun, but I was far too flammable to play with fire.

  I let the call go to voicemail.

  Knowing I needed to block his number to avoid temptation, I opened up the commands on my recent call and hovered over the “block number” option.

  “Come on, Jules, this should be easy,” I muttered to myself. The pep talk didn’t work. Despite all my reservations, all my returning fear, distrust, and insecurities, I wasn’t ready to let Havoc go.

  What if he’s innocent?

  Frustrated, I plopped my phone back on the counter and went to go take another little white pill.

  Havoc

  JULIA WAS GHOSTING my phone calls. I let it slide for a few days, giving her time to come to grips with all the shit that had gone down during the wedding and after. But now, it was Wednesday evening and my patience had come to a screeching halt.

  My day started with the same nightmare I’d had hundreds of times. I was back in Syria, staring into the hollow, accusatory eyes of a kid holding his mom. Only this time, his mom was a redhead with bright green eyes. Recognizing Julia, I raced to her side and ripped off my shirt, pressing it to her bullet wound to staunch the flow of blood. Julia grabbed my hand and whispered something. I couldn’t hear her, so I got closer. Then the kid—that little fucker—shot me.

  Wide awake at three-thirty a.m. because I couldn’t get back to sleep after that shit, I tried to call Julia. She didn’t answer, of course, and I’d narrowly resisted the urge to drive over there and beat on her door until she either let me in or called the cops. But I did resist. Then, when I got to work, some broad called and asked for a tow. Got the address and vehicle information and she promised to meet me there for the hookup. When I arrived on site, the broad wasn’t there. As I waited for her to show, a man came out of the building and asked why I was casing his car. Like I was getting ready to steal the damn thing.

  Turns out the spiteful bitch was trying to have her ex-boyfriend’s car towed because of a nasty breakup.

  Made me wonder if I’d dodged a bullet with Julia. Maybe shit was better this way. But why did I feel so fucked up over it?

  After work, I headed to the station, parked my bike, and pulled out my phone to find a text from Julia. Excited, I opened it.

  ‘Leave me alone.’

  That was it.

  How the hell did she go from ‘I had fun last night’ to ‘Leave me alone’? What the fuck had I done?

  Nothing. How could I do anything when she wouldn’t even text or call me back?

  It felt like she was playing me.

  She’d promised no games, but nothing else made sense. I knew she was fucked up, but we’d made progress during and after the wedding and now… now I was beating my head against an invisible wall. Nothing was there. If she’d just answer one of my goddamn calls, I knew I could talk some sense into her. I needed to see her, but couldn’t bring myself to go there uninvited. Not while one big question kept assaulting my brain.

  Had she gone back to the asshole?

  The possibility made me want to punch something. Preferably a rich little pencil-dicked asshat named Wesley. Frustrated, I slammed my phone into my pocket and climbed off my bike. I needed advice, and there was only one person I trusted to give it to me.

  The common area of the station had its usual Wednesday night crowd. Some of the old guys were shooting pool and throwing darts while a dozen or so of the brothers huddled around the televisions, watching the game. Lacy (a cute little red-headed club whore) was going down on Zombie in the hallway right before the kitchen. Shaking my head, I stepped around them and went to the refrigerator to grab a couple of beers. />
  Don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t judging Zombie or Lacy. I’d spent my fair share of time with the club whores and had been on the receiving end of Lacy’s talented mouth a few times, so I had no room to judge anyone. As Sage had pointed out, there was therapy in sex and when you were dealing with a bunch of half-cocked ex-soldiers, the physical and emotional release was necessary. But lately, the club whores didn’t quite do it for me. I was looking for something… more. Not like I wanted to settle down or some shit like that, but I at least wanted a connection. Someone I could relate to and have as my own.

  Someone I didn’t have to share.

  Julia and I had understood each other, and the exclusive friends with benefits relationship she’d offered would have been perfect for us both. I enjoyed spending time with her and she was a mind-blowing fuck. We could have hung out and worked off tension without the drama and expectations placed on a dating relationship. It would have given us both a chance to test the waters and see if we could have handled something more between us. Then she had to go and put me on ignore.

  Why? Had she given up the fight and returned to her own life? Or had she returned to take another shot at Wesley, and now she was sitting in a jail cell while I was losing my ever-lovin’ mind over her?

  Link’s office door was open, which meant that he and Emily weren’t in there getting it on (like they usually were when Link worked late. Those two were worse than a couple of fucking rabbits). I paused at the door and waited for him to invite me in. He stopped typing on his laptop and looked up at me questioningly.

  “Hey brother. You look like a fuckin’ storm cloud darkenin’ my doorway. What’s goin’ on?” he asked.

  Link had been my best friend since the Army. When I met him, we were both fresh off the Q-course and thought we were hot shit. There are several misconceptions about Army Special Forces. Most common is that we’re all like Rambo, flexing our bulging biceps as we single-handedly infiltrate and attack the enemy in savage bloodbaths while throwing out shitty one-liners. Nothing could be further from the truth. Although our A-Team did see its fair share of dangerous missions, the majority of our time was spent educating and training allies. We were all intelligent and well-trained with wiry, fit bodies that enabled us to run for days with little to no calories (AKA badass slender nerds). And most importantly, we don’t do that solo bullshit; we work as a team.