Halsey's Havoc

by Brynn Hale

  I set my water on my side table and sit to face him. In my jeans, every imperfection of my body is there for him. Every flaw that the last man decided he couldn’t handle. Of course, we were young and in love. I thought I knew it all as an eighteen-year-old. Sometimes we know a lot less than we can even understand. My body blossomed quickly after high school, and my ex only remembered and cherished the old me. The new me didn’t fit that mold of perfection in his eyes anymore. So I let him go. And he never came back, and deep inside, I thought he might. I learned a lesson that love was too hard. I rolled all those feelings into a ball inside of me and never let them out again.

  Until yesterday. When a secretive man stepped through the door and his pain became mine.

  I’m entangled in him.

  But hopefully, I’m untangling myself in the process.

  6 Macen

  I stare at her door. I can hear her inside. Her chair squeaks a little every time she moves and she sips—or gulps—some liquid quickly. She also mumbles to herself. Her motivations and unease rolling from her in spurts of faint words and indistinct phrases.

  I look at my watch. Ten seconds until I see her, and I can’t wait, but I need to calm myself. Every inch of me tingles with desire to barge through that walnut colored wood door. To pick her out of that squeaky chair and ravish every inch of her on that desk. But I won’t.

  Respect. I give it to my guys. I get it from my guys. She deserves it.

  I need to get my shit right before I ask her to be a part of the shitshow. And if she doesn’t want to be a part after this, she’ll have my respect for knowing her boundaries. And hopefully, I don’t need another therapist to get over that, too.

  My phone slips to zero, nine-hundred and I tap my knuckles on the door. My raps indicating some urgency that I’m feeling inside my chest. It burns. It aches. And it feels new. Not bad. Just unknown.

  “Come…” The pause makes me shiver because I can only imagine her saying it while I’m driving into her body. Slow and deep. Fast and shallow. Over and over.

  “Come in!” her voice peps up on the end of the sentence.

  I try to keep my gaze off of her. I need this to be more professional, all business. Our greetings sound tight and forced with an uncomfortable nature, and her therapist veneer settles over her. As hard as I try, I can’t keep my eyes from trailing to her while she crosses to her chair. She’s the mission. And she’s wearing what I would call “second skin” jeans. And damn, I’d like to be tugging those down her…

  “What are you feeling, Macen?” she asks and my heart races. I’m feeling a lot.

  “First, I want to tell you that I’m sorry for last night. I shouldn’t have done it. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t fair to you to be ambushed like that. I’ll…I’ll reel in whatever I’m feeling when it comes to you and I’ll concentrate on the job at hand.”

  She jolts like she’s being stabbed but says nothing and her eyes stay locked to her pen that’s barely touching her yellow writing pad.

  “Dharma… what are you feeling?”

  Her eyes come up and that blue against her peachy skin reminds me of Cali. A healthy glow on her cheeks, probably from an early morning walk or maybe it’s from something else.

  The thought of seeing me?

  She swallows and sets her pen down. “I’m feeling confused.”

  “Oh. Do you not want me here?” I scoot forward on the couch.

  She huffs lightly with a smirk. “No. I want you here. The problem is that I think I want you, Macen. Period. And that makes being your therapist an ethical dilemma.”

  Our eyes lock. Neither blinking. It’s like I’m staring down the barrel of a M-16 pointed right at my heart.

  “What if I don’t do therapy?” I ask.

  She tips her head and her gaze breaks from mine. “But that’s a bigger issue. I feel a need to help you before anything could ever happen.” She leans forward like I am. “I heard you yesterday. I heard the pain you have inside. I heard that you want to let it out. I felt you want to overcome whatever it is holding you back from being happy and moving on.”

  “Wow, you heard all of that in three hours?”

  She smirks, with a tiny chuckle rising up. “I guess I’m good at what I do.”

  “I’d say so.”

  “And I’m sure you’re good at what you do. But sometimes being good at something makes us vulnerable to a pain or numbness—equally bad—that comes along with it.”

  I puff up my cheeks and let out a long breath. “So…we’re over before we start?”

  “I’m going to be your therapist and that’s what’s starting. I’ll forget what’s happened and I’ll treat you like every other client.”

  “Can you really do that?” Cause I’m not sure I can.

  “I have to. I have to help you. It’s a non-negotiable.”

  Everything in life is negotiable, doctor.

  “No. I promise, there’s nothing from my childhood that’s blocking me. Had good parents. My father died after a fall off a ladder and he hit his head about twelve years ago. I got to say goodbye to him. My mother remarried and the guy is probably the guy I would have picked out for her, if I was asked to. My sister is a pediatrician in Washington state with her ophthalmologist wife and my two nieces, both six, born two days apart. I joined the military right out of high school. I have a degree in American History—although that’s kinda useless considering half of it is fucking bullshit. I haven’t dated since high school and I haven’t had sex in six years.”

  Her mouth falls open on that last admission. I really didn’t mean to say it, but the doctor’s got me all worked up. She’s insistent that I’m not facing some pain. I know I’m at a block. But it’s not my childhood or my early adulthood. I swear it’s not.

  “I loved being in the military,” I continue, and she goes back to writing.

  “Okay, then let’s talk about your job now. How do you feel about it?”

  That’s when I feel it. I feel the creeping factor. My heart pounds a little faster. My hands tingle with sweat. My stomach burns like a blaze has started inside.

  And I know if I don’t fight through this it will inflict turmoil on my life forever.

  My leg bounces uncontrollably.

  “Macen, do you need a break?” her voice softens. “We haven’t had lunch and it’s after one. Maybe we should break for today.”

  “No, I need to get this done.”

  “You can’t force the break-through. It comes when you’re ready. Now, pizza?”

  I stand. “No. I’m ready. I know I’m ready.”

  She leans back. “Okay…then tell me about your job.”

  “I’m dead, but my company wants me to be…deader.”

  “I’m sorry. What?”

  “Black Ice. It’s the company I work for. It’s a secret ops, quiet mission, soldier of fortune, mercenary company. But we don’t kill.” I shake my head. “I mean, we don’t kill, if we don’t have to.”

  “And?”

  “Some jobs have gone the wrong way. Sometimes things get out of control. But I don’t aim to kill. I aim to maim and so do the rest of the Red Star Rebel Squad whenever possible.”

  “Okay. And what about the dead and deader parts?”

  I walk across the room to the bookcase. It’s not filled, but I can tell she reads. A lot.

  “When I signed up over five years ago, I went in thinking this would be a way to put my military training as a Force RECON Marine to good use. But once I was in, I realized that it was more like being used for my military training. It wasn’t exciting. It was some of the most dangerous situations I’ve ever faced. And the money, doesn’t feel…right. I’m not defending something, I’m invading most of the time. I’m not saying they’re all good people, but I can see in some of their eyes that they have families. They have lives. They’re just a pawn, too.”

  Her lips purse as I lean back against the built-in bookcase. Those pouty lips drag my gaze down and as she unfurls them, I wonder
how they would feel wrapped around my cock, slowly sliding down until she’s engulfed my—

  “Macen!”

  I close my eyes and shake my head. “Sorry…”

  “What were you thinking about?”

  I open and feel the blood draining from my extremities and into my chest. “Nothing.”

  She stands and sets her pad on her desk. Crossing the room, I watch as those hips pendulate from side to side, my gaze tracking each swing.

  She leans back against the bookcase next to me. “I need food.”

  “Let’s order that pizza.” I pull out my phone.

  “Vegetarian.”

  I look over at her. “Really?”

  “I support your right to eat meat. I just don’t do it.”

  “God, I couldn’t live without steak.”

  “You could. You just choose not to. Neither is the better way. It’s kind of like releasing demons. You could, but you choose not to. And as long as you’re a productive member of society, who isn’t hell-bent on killing others, you’re probably good either way.”

  “Then why am I here?”

  “Because I don’t think you’re being honest with yourself…or me. There’s something that company gives you that you don’t think you could get on the outside.”

  “I have the opportunity to leave in the next month.”

  “Will you?”

  To even think about it, clenches something deep inside of me. Would I be okay on the outside? Are the Red Star Rebels my protective bubble in life?

  “Vegetarian it is.”

  She looks over my shoulder. “You can order yourself something different.”

  “No…maybe change is a good thing, doctor.” I put in an order for one all veggies they can pile on and one artichoke and tomato, one simple and one complex. Kind of like her and I.

  “Not change…opportunity, Macen.”

  I still haven’t told her my whole name and I wonder if I’m even still that person anymore. Every time she says my name, I feel like I want to tell her.

  “Halsey’s the name that Black Ice gave me. My name’s Macen Renault.”

  She bounces her shoulder off of mine. “Nice to meet you, Macen Renault.” My name exits hot and heavy from her mouth.

  “It’s nice to hear my real name again.”

  “Macen Renault.” She even says it like my French ancestors might have.

  “You speak French?”

  “No. I like Formula 1 racing and Renault is my team.”

  I step away from her. “I can’t believe this.”

  “What?” She looks on confused.

  I throw up my hands. “If I’d known you were a Renault fan—”

  “Hey, they’re a good team!” Her arms cross on her bountiful chest, popping it out, the V of her T-shirt only emphasizing the valley while a big smile crosses her face.

  “Not like Red Bull or Ferrari.”

  She smiles. “I like them, too.”

  “But not Mercedes?” I clarify.

  “Never Mercedes!” she exclaims. “Well, they’re not horrible and I don’t wish them bad. They’re just another team.”

  “Right. Okay. I can deal with you liking Renault.”

  “Why don’t you? I mean, since it’s your last name? And you having the loyalty thing down hard…”

  “I didn’t actually start watching Formula 1 racing until I moved here. I’ve been to the United States Grand Prix in Austin twice. Fantastic track and loved the excitement. But I think it’s because I didn’t start watching until I was Halsey. I lost my name and my history.”

  She crosses the room, stopping about an arm’s length away. “And you like history.”

  “I do.” I still with how close she is. “But I like the future even better.”

  She licks her lips, making them kissably shiny. “Good to hear.”

  “Dharma, you have to stop doing that.”

  “Doing what?” she asks on a whisper as she leans in closer. She’s a tall woman and if I just drop my head…

  “You make me crazy when you lick your lips. I can remember how they feel. How they mold to mine. And how they taste like honey and vanilla.”

  She sighs and leans back with a smirk. “And every time you stand up and walk away, I have to see your perfect ass. I feel like I’m going to attack you. So fair is fair, Mr. Renault.”

  I laugh. “Perfect?”

  “Fucking perfect,” she grumbles and walks to her desk. “I’m going to get a little work done until the pizza gets here. Make yourself comfortable.”

  My stomach clenches. This woman is more. More than I ever imagined I’d get the chance at. More beautiful. More brilliant. More heart…and more mine with every second I’m with her.

  We stay on opposite sides of the room until the pizza arrives twenty minutes later. Keeping conversation to weather and current events only.

  I dig in. Having skipped dinner last night, I’m ravenous. And I didn’t get out of bed until I was almost going to be late, sleeping for almost six hours—a miracle in itself. I showered, shaved, and was on the road all in ten minutes.

  “This is good.” I motion with my piece.

  She sets her half-eaten piece down and wipes her mouth as we share the couch. “You okay with us having a working lunch?”

  “Shoot.”

  “Tell me more about dying.”

  My food creates a ball in my stomach. “Like I said, I signed on the line…and then they said they wanted to tell our families that we’re dead so if it happened it wouldn’t be…”

  “Wouldn’t be what?”

  “I guess a pain for Black Ice. I can only imagine the pain my mother went through and now I wonder if it was really necessary to die.”

  “But you’re not dead, Macen. You’re alive.”

  But my brain seems to accept the death sentence as true. And I wonder why that is.

  “I live like I’m dead. All the Rebels do. And now…” I look at her. Trust. It’s hard to do when you’re always looking for reasons to distrust people’s motives and you have to examine every moment of every situation. I take a deep breath.

  “It’s okay. Take your time.” She tips her head, and that long, shiny, coal black hair tumbles over her shoulder.

  “The last couple of missions have gone south and it’s not because of anything we did. It seems that Black Ice…” I roll my shoulders back as the tension makes them feel like they could snap apart. Her hand rests on mine on the couch. “They don’t like us actually alive anymore.”

  “Are you telling me they want you…dead?” Her voice wavers on the last word like she can barely say it.

  I flip my hand over and entwine our fingers, holding her hand so tight that I have to stop myself from squeezing too hard. I don’t want to break her. I want to cherish her.

  “We’re a liability because not everything we do is…legal or probably moral.” I look into those crystal blue eyes. “They don’t want us to live to tell our story.”

  7 Dharma

  “And how does that make you feel?” I have to ask the question, even if I’m holding his hand like someone who isn’t his therapist. I’ve held other people while they cried. I’ve offered a hand of assurance before. But this is different. I push the wanting sensations crawling through me down. His hand is so warm and I imagine it floating over my skin, tracking every curve slowly, memorizing me.

  His face drops all emotion. “Like I’m not appreciated and my sacrifice wasn’t one in their eyes. They want the ultimate sacrifice.” He releases my hand and stands. “Like I’m disposable. Like I’m an asset and a liability to them. Only a number on a spreadsheet. It makes me feel angry.” His nostrils flare. “And I’m pissed that they think they can play God. And I’m scared. And I feel like I made…” He runs a hand over that dark blonde hair and the buzzed pieces stand upright. “Like I made a big mistake, but I can’t stop making the mistake.”

  I can empathize with him there. I entered into my first marriage with all the hope in the
world. Daisies were dancing. Rainbows were cresting. And sunshine could solve anything. And then I found out that the daisies were poison ivy. The rainbows didn’t come without huge and horrible storms. And there were a lot of cloudy days where that sun was still there, but I couldn’t see it.

  Macen’s sun just isn’t shining anymore. He’s stuck in the darkness. And I’m here to pull him out.

  “What do you want to do?” I ask, standing.

  It takes him a while, but I wait. My patience is unlimited for him.

  He huffs. “I don’t want to work for them anymore. I want to reclaim my life. I want to live.” His hazel eyes grab ahold of me and I’m frozen in his gaze. “I want to spend my days with a woman who takes my breath away and I want to make her the center of my universe.”

  Although I know he’s just talking out loud, I feel the words. I feel their power.

  “And what’s your next step, Macen?”

  He crosses the room. “My next step is to make love to you, Dharma.”

  My knees weaken and I whimper as his hands clasp my face. Embers of craving ignite in my gut. There’s a chance I’m going to regret this, but I can’t stop myself.

  His hands grab my hips and he guides me until my ass hits my desk. “I’ve wanted to take you on this desk since the moment I walked into the room.”

  There are reasons not to, but sometimes the reasons aren’t what a heart hears. And my brain is a jumble of endorphins and hormones, clouded and misty with desire.

  Macen bends his knees and with his hands cupping my ass, he lifts me into the air. I shriek a happy surprise. I grab his head and his lips press to mine with a pressure that makes my head spin. Hard and then soft, then hard again. In my mind this will be a quickie, but he slows the kiss. Something much deeper and more soothing. His slowing cools my urgency and I fall into a trance of the kiss.

  He sits my ass on the desk, pulling me to the edge and pressing his jean covered cock into the softness under my own jeans.

  Macen drops to his knees and looks up. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”

  I cup his chin. “Right back at you.”