Chaos (Havoc Series Book Two) (2 page)

After a gentle knock, one I'm surprised she
even heard, Mindy appears in the doorway, “I swear you—” Her voice
cuts off at the sight of Haven's disposition. With a rough swallow,
she looks at me. Asking me if this is my fault. Looking for a
reason for the innocent girl who was so full of life yesterday is
once again in a fragile state. I shake my head once. Mindy gathers
Haven in her arms and whispers, “Oh honey...”

And with that, Haven breaks down all over
again. Tears. Floods of tears.

I don't want to leave her. I don't want to
leave her like this. I don't want to walk away knowing she still
needs me. But Sir gave an order. One that I know better than to
make an attempt to disobey. My eyes meet Mindy's face that has the
beginning workings of the day clearly on it but not complete. That
shit women put on their eyelashes is there. She offers Haven one
stroke on the back before reaching her hand for my cheek. For the
first time I can remember, she doesn't smell of designer perfume
and lavish lifestyles. She smells of oranges. Simplicity. I close
my eyes tightly for a moment demanding my brain to register all
that will be missed behind the bars I'll shortly be calling my new
home.

Her hand slides down my cheek, and I open my
eyes seeing a very clear command. Go. Leave. Now. Without another
word, I turn on my heels and head back across the street, the sound
of my old life, the few hopes I had gathered, the mixed up mess of
a person I was becoming shutting with her front door.

As I cross the lawn, I immediately notice his
body missing. No. No. Death had to claim him. It had no choice! I
never miss! I hit ever artery necessary to make that a clean
kill!

Rushing into the house, I run right into Sir
who has changed out of his uniform and has a bag slung over his
shoulder.

Pointing towards the front lawn I shriek,
“Sir--”

“Go upstairs. Pack a bag.”

“Sir--”

“We're going camping.”

Frustrated and desperate I try again. “But
Sir--”

“That's an order, Marine.”

With a sharp growl, I hustle up the stairs
and toss open my closet door. Camping? Thankfully, my brain is
still in objective mode and only prepared to process direct orders
such as the one given. I grab my duffel bag from the back, toss
inside a couple pairs of sweats and jeans, a few long sleeve shirts
along with t-shirts, grab a jacket, and some socks. As quickly as I
came up the stairs, I shuffle back down them and out the front
door.

Walking towards Sir's black truck that's
parked beside my car, I notice him and Felix hauling some bulky
items our way. I can't make them out. Even the shapes are
unfamiliar to me. Frustration sets in. Paranoia. What am I not
being told? Why the fuck are we going camping? Why the fuck do I
have to leave Haven?

“Get in the trunk, Clint,” Sir says to me
without making eye contact. Felix says nothing to me either as he
tosses the items into the bed of truck.

My body plops itself in the gray leather
front seat, my head hitting the back of it hard. I shut my eyes.
Tight. When I woke up this morning everything seemed so right.
Perfect. In order. And yet it shifted quickly into chaos. A
disaster. My life on a chopping block. And I'd do it again. I'd do
anything to protect Haven. I told her that. I swore to that. And a
Marine is only as good as his word. Though, now that I think about
it, how much longer will I be a Marine? Being a trained killer is
great when Uncle Sam is tossing out the capital punishment orders
but not when you go rogue.

Mindy was right. This isn't the warm
chocolate filled love moment. This is the other. This is the one
she warned me about. The one that could destroy lives or futures.
The one that would drown the world for another moment to breathe.
The one that would slaughter anything that tried to come between it
and surviving. Pure havoc.

Sir gets in, buckles up, and backs out of the
drive way not saying a word. I'm expecting to see rage. Fury.
Disbelief. Any emotion to let me gauge his level of displeasure
with me. Not that it matters. I would do it again in a
heartbeat.

The car ride is silent as we exit the city
heading towards the country. Silence. It's not sweet. It's not
bitter. It's like me right now. It's just there. Normally after a
successful mission there's a buzz. There's an energy. An
excitement. Yet, I'm numb. Maybe it's the fact I don't know where
his body went. I can't imagine he limped away like that to safety.
And what about his car? Evidence he was at my house. I fucking hate
it's still there. Taunting Haven. Maybe I'm numb because I wish
Haven was in my arms. Or maybe, just maybe, it's because the cost
of her freedom is mine.

The sound of the wheels hitting the asphalt
has a certain comforting lull to it. Between that and the engine
roar, I can almost forget that I'm in the car with Sir who is most
likely deciding how many different ways he can murder me for
murdering someone else. Or maybe how many crimes he feels like
charging me with.

About an hour and half later, Sir is pulling
off the main road and onto a dirt path with an obvious destination
in mind. He pulls off into a clearing, kills the engine, and stares
out the front windshield. My eyes scan the surrounding areas quite
unfamiliar with where we are. The trees are blocking out most of
the light. The green from them fading into an obvious brown. An
obvious change of seasons. Sir and I haven't been camping together
since I was six. And even then we lived in a different part of the
state.

“Let's go,” he clears his throat exiting the
vehicle.

Doing as instructed, I follow suit, grabbing
my bag from the back, the tents, and the cooler. In the process, I
notice a gas can, a long bag that reminds me of what we store our
Christmas Trees in, and a bag full of supplies I can't quite make
out.

“This way,” Sir demands hiking towards the
right.

I track behind him traveling through the
trees until we reach an area cleared and more ideal for camping.
So. We really are going camping. I kill someone and Sir's solution
is to take me camping. Maybe this is him in shock.

“Set up.” The instruction is precise and
without room for question.

I set up the two tents, both black, both
large enough for the two of us to sleep in comfortably alone. While
I'm working away with that simple task, Sir busies himself with
creating a space for a fire. Once we're both done, he reaches into
the bag he brought and offers me a fishing rod. Confused but still
not willing to question, I take the rod and follow him down another
path to an area that's obviously perfect for the action.

He sits on the edge of the dock and waits
until I repeat his motions. After doing so, he baits his hook,
without words shows me how to bait mine, and tosses the line into
the water.

I do so as well, trying to recall the last
time he took me fishing. Before I put my childhood memories behind
a stone wall, I managed to store quite a few but they tended to be
the ones without him. For the first time, I actually feel guilty
about it. I haven't kept many memories of him period. His absence
in my life should make it easier to recall his presence, shouldn't
it? My hands adjust the pole as my brain struggles harder to recall
something between the two of us before Haven came into our lives.
The images are choppy like a YouTube video that just won't
load.

“Do you remember your favorite book from when
you were a kid?” Sir asks, the question breaking through the
scrambled memories that won't sort themselves.

Clearing my throat, I shake my head, “No
Sir.”

His head nods once, “You used to love this
book called
The Prince and The Snake
.” The title starts
swirling around my brain, and I feel it sounds familiar. Curious as
to why Sir wants to talk about childhood stories, I listen
intently. I may wish for him to just go ahead and loose it on me
about the choice I made, but stalling the ass chewing of a life
time isn't a bad call. “Remember it?”

I shake my head slowly. “Not really.”

To my surprise, his face twitches threatening
a smile. “God, you used to have your mother read that thing to you
almost every night. At least when I was home. It was about a prince
whose princess got taken by an evil wizard who turned himself into
a snake to keep her captive. The prince rushes to save her, attacks
the thing, but realizes the only way to defeat it is--”

“To cut the head off the snake,” the answer
flows from my brain to my mouth without a second to filter. I guess
I do remember.

“Exactly.” Sir's eyes meet mine and for the
briefest moment I don't feel those blue stones I'm used to seeing
gray are judging me. Exactly. Exactly? Exactly...Oh. I cut the head
off the snake. Old Man Banks. I guess it's the only way I knew that
asshole would never come for her again. The root of the problem.
With a stab, with a less fatal wound, he could survive. Imprisoned,
he could post bail, break out, hunt Haven down and attempt to take
her away again. Attempt to kill her so no one else would have her.
He even said she'd always be his. I solved the problem the only way
I could fathom. The only way my brain knew how.

He turns to face the water again and so do I,
a small weight lifted off my shoulders. This trip isn't about
chewing me out. It's not about an ass kicking he thinks I deserve.
It's about me knowing he's here for me. He gets it. A situation to
build trust between us. Trust that seems like an odd timing
considering that my life is over now.

I can't recall him bringing up past memories
of me before. Hell, I didn't even know he remembered what I was
like as a kid. Or mom. Much like me her memory has stayed dormant
until recently. Until Haven. The images of him throwing her
favorite vase against the wall, his oversized hands ripping apart a
picture of them, our home movies being cracked in half come
treading back to me. He didn't wanna remember. That's why he
destroyed everything.

The agony from that nightmare starts punching
at my brain with sharp hits. Sharper kicks. It's fighting to
understand what happened then and what's happening now. The chaos
from the past grinding with the chaos of the future. My grip on my
pole tightens. I start to shake in rage; the sound of another
family photo ripped echoing in my ears.

“Sir,” I speak up.

“Yeah?”

“Why...why did you destroy all of her things?
Why did you get rid of them? Why didn't you cry at the funeral!”
the emotions attack him instead of me. At least it's not just me
they're after. Fuck. I hate emotions. It's not enough that they
want to swim around mind fucking my stability; they have to attack
Sir who for the first time I can recall might be trying to help
me.

To my surprise, instead of unleashing a mouth
full of hate, a steady spew of curses coated in hatred, he merely
sighs, “I was angry.”

Confused, I look at his profile. He won't
face me. I don't think he can. I observe the stubble of a beard
trying to come in. His pale skin. The stress lines under his eyes.
Wrinkles across his brown line. Stress. Weariness. Anxiety heavy
weighing down to cause a droop on his once stone face. When did he
get this way?

“I was livid that she left me, Clint. No. She
didn't just pack her shit and leave; that I could handle. Knowing
she was alive. Knowing she was somewhere else well and breathing,
even if it wasn't with me, I could live with. But I couldn't live
without her. I had no idea where to start. Hell, I still don't know
how. I had no idea what to do with you. About you. I was pissed off
she left me alone. Without her.” The words look like they have been
waiting to be hatched for years. Slowly, he turns to face me and I
notice the slightest tear in the corner of his left eye. I've never
seen him cry. Didn't even know it was possible. “I didn't know what
else to do, so I let my anger tear through me. Yes. I destroyed
some of her things. But not all of them. And I didn't get rid of
them. Well, I meant to, but Mindy had other plans. She put your
mother’s things in a storage unit where she told me they would stay
until I was ready to face it. To face her loss.”

“And when was that?”

“Hasn't happened.” Sir turns back and tugs on
his line reeling in a small fish.

Wow. Sir hasn't dealt with mom's death any
more than I have. No wonder it's so hard for him to look at me in
the face. I'm a walking reminder the one person he loved most left
him with nothing. He didn't mourn any more than I did. Both of us
are trapped in her memory in completely different ways. He had a
life with her before me. Years together. I wonder if Haven were to
die would I handle it any different? Would I be any less withdrawn
or cold than him? Is he really as cold as I think he's been or has
he been trying in the only ways he knows how? Talk about a cluster
fuck.

The silence returns. Sounds of light
splashing from the fish deciding whether or not to be lured to
their death is the only thing keeping my thoughts from eating me
alive. Occasionally my eyes drift over to Sir, the man who’s DNA I
have coursing through my veins, realizing with each passing glance
I'm not just my mother's son, I'm also his. And I don't know much
about either of them.

“What was she like, Sir?”

Not looking up, he remarks, “Who?”

“Mom.” His eyes cut over at me a sec before
returning to water. “I mean I was just kid when she died, ya know?
And she was quite a woman before she had me. At least...at least I
like to think so.”

“She was...” his face automatically lifts in
spirits, the memories clearly hovering above him. “She was
something special.”

Bravely, I state, “So tell me what she was
like, Sir.”

“What do you wanna know?”

“How'd you meet?”

His face tightens like the memory is
strangling him on the inside. The reaction should warrant me to
back off. Back down. Leave this uncharted territory and never
return. It's not like I haven't pushed him enough already, giving
nothing in return. But I wanna know. I need to know. If this is the
last moment we have together before I spend the rest of my life
behind bars, I want to take her with me.