Devastate (Havoc Series Stand Alone Book 5) (5 page)

              “Oh put your toddler tantrum on hold,” Pa scolds.

              “Pa--”

              “Now Jo,” he warns before another small coughing fit starts. I open my mouth to question his well-being when he waves a hand at me not to bother asking.

              Mary Beth leans forward, tossing her bright blonde hair over her shoulder, manicured nails clinking the table. “And who exactly are you?”

              Defensively I start, “She's--”

              “A good friend who needs a break from the city,” Jazz answers.

              “Figures, he'd bring a friend home to face us,” Jo grumbles as Ma puts the last of the meal on the table. Swinging his own arm so it's wrapped around the back of her chair he snidely says, “Can't do anything on his own.”

              “Left on my own.”

              Pa chortles having another swig. “Good point.”

              “Don't encourage them,” my father snips under his breath.

              “I agree,” Ma fusses sitting down at the opposite end of the table from Pa. “Let's try to have a peaceful meal, shall we?” Our mouths shut and she sits up straight. “Now that that's settled. Let's bless the meal.”

              “You should let Rascal say it since he's missed the last million of 'em,” Johnson teases. “Probably doesn't even remember how to pray.”

              “Good idea Johnson.
You
can say blessing,” Ma instructs.

              “Damn it,” he grumbles.

              “I will get the spoon...”

              “Make sure you keep it close for dessert,” Pa says in a husky voice before wiggling his eyebrows at her.

              “Jody!”

              “Ugh...” Johnson groans.

              “Not needed,” Joshua agrees.

              Mary Beth coos, “I think it's cute.”

              “I think it's weird,” Johnson fights.

              “Can we just bless the goddamn meal?” my father gripes. “Now Johnson...”

              Linking up hands, we bow our heads as Johnson struggles to say something in a serious voice in the form of a prayer over our food. While I know I should be busy thanking God I have warm food to eat and a roof of some kind over my head, I find myself anxiously more desperate to curse him for sending me back here. Putting me in this position.

              After he's done, the meal starts in silence aside from the occasional asking to pass food. Eventually a conversation about the business tries to start but is quickly shut down by Ma, who has a rule about no business talk at the dinner table. Another conversation about the latest laws Johnson has broken starts, getting chuckles from my parents who find his troubled ways adorable. And they wonder why he continues them. Not lifting my eyes for the conversation I continue stabbing at the perfect mashed potatoes on my plate, mashed potatoes I have literally dreamt of having again. With no desire to eat them, but every craving not to lose Ma's approval, I force my mouth to have a nibble.

              “So,” Mary Beth's voice speaks up. “How did you two become
friends
?”

              Jazz looks up from her plate she's devouring. Surprisingly this is the most I've ever seen her eat. “We work together.”

              “You're a Marine?” Johnson nearly chokes. “I'm totally joining.”

              “How'd you know I became a Marine?”

              “Pa told us,” he confesses.

              “Not like you would've,” my father mumbles.

              “Not like you wanted to hear anything I had to say,” I mutter in return.

              “Does anyone in this family believe in speaking in an audible tone?” Pa smacks on a piece of a chicken, Ma scrunching in disapproval of his lack of manners.

              “I do.” Mary Beth raises a hand.

              “That you do...” He rolls his eyes. “Speaking at and never stopping.”

              “A Marine?” Joshua turns the conversation back the direction it was. “Rascal?”               “What? Was it discount day in the military?” Jo pokes fun and the others start laughing. “I mean, it only took him his entire life to get that big right?”

              Jazz shoots me a look out of the corner of her eye. Butt of every joke. Tail end of every insult. Icing on the cake of my reality here.

              “I mainly do desk work,” Jazz over simplifies her job.

              “I do desk work for the company myself,” Mary Beth proudly states, her hand trying to bring attention to her enhanced tits. One more gift from my brother.

              “You do two completely different types of desk work. Her job doesn't require her to be on her knees,” my snide comment causes Pa to choke on his whiskey trying not to laugh.

              “What did you say about my wife?” Jo rises to his feet, slamming his hands on the table.

              Shaking my head I sigh, “Don't Jo. Just...don't.”

              “You don't think I can take you 'cause you're a big ass, tough shit Marine now? Think I can't put you down? Keep talking trash about my wife and see!”

              “Keep having a wife to talk trash about and it's gonna happen,” I reply calmly eyes still not on his.

              I'm not the type to physically come to blows if it can be avoided, but when it comes to Jo he's just like dad. Toss those fists first, figure out why you were wrong later. Except in his case he'll never know why. I swore it'd be the one big brother thing I did that I could be proud of. Take the pain of that secret six feet under. Not that he deserved any kind of sympathy from me. Not that he ever showed me any. Funny how they don't treat me like family, but it doesn't stop me at times. Fuckin' glutton for punishment I guess.

              “Excuse me!” Mary Beth shrieks.

              “Can't even look me in the face and say it!” Jo yells across the table. “Too much of a goddamn pussy!”

              Ma fusses, “Enough boys!”

              “Let 'em have it out.” Pa waves a hand.

              “No Jody!”

              “Yes.”

              “There's nothing to have out.” I look up and give Jo the eye contact he's demanding. “We're not gonna throw blows.”

              “You don't want me to embarrass you in front of your girl, huh?”

              Jazz chokes on her water as she hides a snicker. I try not to smile.

              “No. I don't wanna embarrass you in front of
yours
,” I correct. Compared to threats I've taken on and other HORN members I've sparred against, I could not only slit my brothers throat 7 ways before he blinked, I could have his has ass unconscious without raising my heart level.

              “Whoooo!” Pa says entertained. “Welcome home Rascal!”

              The constant mentioning of this being home and these being my brothers actually makes me crave being back where I belong to an unbearable level. Placing my fork down, I rise to my feet and surrender my hands. “Not gonna fight, Jo.”

              “Running away? It's what you do best,” he sneers.

              “I have to make a fucking phone call.”

              “I am getting the spoon!” Ma yells and starts to stand.

              On way by, I place a hand on her shoulder to stop her. “Sorry Ma. My apologies for my mouth.”

              “You're a good boy, Rascal.” She pats my hand. “If only your brothers would learn too.”

              Without another word, I head back for our bedroom, and grab the cell Merlin has rigged to route it's way through a different states if it gets tracked. Flopping on the edge of the bed, I hold the phone with one hand and cover my face with the other as it rings.

              “How's that BBQ stain on your white t-shirt?” Glove's voice laughs into the phone. “Tell me, is Jazz killing you in that mini skirt?”

              “Tim McGraw reference? That's the best you can do?” I start to smirk. “I've been gone over a week.”

              “I know!” Glove exclaims. “I had a whole damn list I had been saving to use on you, but Mandy threw it away.”

              “Before or after she called you a child?”

              “After...before? I don't remember,” he sighs. “But they were good. Golden! SNL worthy. Good SNL. Not quite classic, more Samberg era.”

              “They were not!” Mandy's voice chimes in from the background.

              I smile wider.
This
is my brother. That's my sister in law. Well. Close enough. These are people who respect me. Love me. People who don't live to hate me.

              “They so were!” He yells back at her. “Tell her Grim! I'm funny!”

              “Lordy, come home before I kill him!” Grim chimes in too.

              Sincere laughter leaves me, the mirth from them sucking the stress from the gathering downstairs out of me like a leech.

              “Yeah, I can't outnumber Grim on my own. And he's still hitting me,” he whines like a little brother should. “In the other shoulder! Now instead of pain in one arm, I've got it in both.”

              “Speaking of, you holdin' up okay?”

              Glove took a bullet our last mission, a scratch, but one that did enough damage to put him out of combat mode for a couple weeks.

              “Healing. I do have the best nurse in the business,” the playful tone in his voice is sexually referenced. At the same time I chuckle, he complains again. “Ou! Damn it Grim! Now you have my girl hitting me!”

              On a heavy sigh I shake my head. “Things with you two got fixed, huh?”

              “Yup. And we've had make up sex all around the apartment.”

              “Bro...”

              “I'll disinfect it before you get back.”

              “Bro...”

              “I will!”

              “No you won't.”

              “True. But she will.”

              “Don't you dare fuck in my room.”

              “Not your room. Of course not,” Glove states. “Now against your door is another case.”

              “Glove!”

              “It just happened,” he laughs again causing me to roll my eyes. When he finally stops, he asks, “Y'all good?”

              My mind quickly flashes to the dinner downstairs. Good? Ha. Saying that's the opposite would be an understatement. “We're alive.”

              “That's what we wanna hear,” he replies.

              Silence falls dead on the line. We both know what needs to be said, but won't, just in case unwanted listeners are lurking. Tyger hasn't come after us yet. Doesn't mean he's not working on it.

              “Talk soon,” Glove says in a slightly somber voice.

              “Yeah.”

              After ending the call, I toss the phone to the side and look up to the sound of the footsteps that have trailed their way all over my heart. Jazz takes a couple steps in, shuts the door behind her, and braces her back against it.

              In a very stern voice I say, “We need to nail Tyger. And soon. I need to get home. Clear?”

              Lifting my head, I see Jazz nod.

              I know we're supposed to lay low and let the boys back home deal with him, work out how the fuck to nail that bastard before he can find Jazz, but getting the hell out of here is just as important to me now. I came here a Special Forces member, confident and sane. I'd like to leave in the same condition. Right now, at this rate, it won't be possible.

Day 9 in Georgia

              Rolling over to a cold empty spot, I force my eyes open to see Jazz sitting at a desk in the corner with papers spread out, files open, and a pen moving rapidly. While she's still in the clothing she slept in, shorts and a tank top, her hair, that hair I find myself craving to run my hands through, is spun neatly on the top of her head. She has to keep a secret weapon in there. I just know it.

              “Do you just wake up working? I call to her.

              “Yes.”

              “Did you sleep more than four hours?”

              “No.”

              “What are you working on right now?”

              “Updating the files about your family,” she replies.

              Annoyed by just the mention of them I sit all the way up. “You don't do that digitally?”

              “The thing about digital files is they can be hacked. The digital foot print is hardly ever erased like you believe it is. Merlin proves that every chance he gets. So yes, I have digital files of all of you, basics, but everything else is hand written and organized where I have an eye on it all the time. Handwritten can be burned to ashes if necessary. Besides, I feel I retain information better when I write it down,” she explains before finally turning around. Her eyes bulge at the sight of me shirtless in my boxers like they do every morning. Just the look has my cock stirring. “I'm going to ask you something.”

              Moving before my dick is at full attention, I start riffling through my suitcase that's lying open. “Shoot.”

              “Does anyone besides Mary Beth call you by your name?”

              I grab a pair of sweatpants. “Not usually.”

              “Why not?”

              With a shrug, I start pulling them on. “I don't know. They just never have. I didn't know my name wasn't actually Rascal until I was almost four.”

              “Okay, but you're Jody Eugene Lord, named after your grandfather.”

              “More or less. Technically, Pa is Jody Christopher Lord because he was second born.”

              “He was a twin.”

              “The second twin.” Clearing my throat I sigh, “God rest his brother's soul. He died at two days old.”

              “I know.” Jazz nods as I pull on a white t-shirt. “It's in the file.”

              “Of course it is,” I groan. It takes everything in me not to ask mockingly if it has my dick size. “They have everything.”

              “Almost,” she smugly replies. “But back to the Rascal thing. Your parents--”

              “Please don't call them that.” I reach for my socks and running shoes. “They barely qualify.”

              “Fine. What did they call you when you were in trouble?”

              “When they spoke to me?” My question seems to blow her back a bit. “Have you not caught onto that yet? My so called parents barely acknowledge my existence. I didn't grow up in that house, which isn't something that's probably in your records given that the property is one address. I grew up here. My three brothers slept in their own rooms. Ate dinner at home. Had the blessings and goodnight love from the people who made them. Me? My room's on the left wing here. I ate dinner where we ate last night. And my goodnight came from my grandparents who treated me like their own son should've. I can count the memories I have in the other house on one hand. So...no they didn't call me by name when I was in trouble. They weren't around for it. Ma didn't like to call me Jody because that's Pa’s name. And Pa didn't like calling me Jody because he wanted me to stand out from my brothers.”

              “Your parents abandoned you to your grandparents? How is that not in your file?”

              “Guess they don't know everything,” I sneer. She folds her arms across her chest. “It wasn't something advertised. Outside of the family and maids, it's not something people knew.”

              “What about your friends growing up?”

              “What friends?” Jazz’s mouth slacks slightly. “I had a couple...when they found out they knew better than to say anything.”

              “Did they give you a reason?”

              “No.” With my shoes tightly tied like the knot in my throat I grumble, “Enjoy putting that in your fucking file.”

              I exit the room and take off for my morning run that I've been substituting for the time I'd usually spend at the gym or HORN training center. The cool early morning air slaps my face as my feet hit the ground, reminding me of when I started running freshman year. Memories of the hope that girls would notice me for me instead of my last name start to take hold. The fact most never had any genuine interest in me. A lesson I learned the hard way. A lesson I wish Jo would've learned. A lesson, had he learned, he would've never married it. Continuing the familiar route I increase the speed until my mind can't keep up with the vigor I'm demanding and the spiral of self-loathing ceases. With sunrise finally on the horizon, I head back towards the house, arriving to Pa in his rocking chair on the back porch with Barkley beside him.

              “Feel better?” Pa asks eyes still on the horizon.

              “Not really.” I walk up the steps until I sit on the edge of the one closest to him.              “What do I always say about sun rises?”

              “They're God's way of telling you, you have a second chance to live.”

              “So what are you doin', Rascal?” Pa questions. “Because whatever it is, it's not livin'.”

              “Pa--”

              “No,” he cuts me off. “When you left, I was glad.”

              Slightly hurt my mouth creaks open.

              “You know why? Because when you left, I knew you were gonna go live. You were gonna get the hell out of this town and be free.”

              “Pa--”

              “But you are not livin' Rascal. What was the point of leavin'?” His lecture continues. “You left a confused, pissed off boy and I knew when you showed back up someday you would be strong, confident man. And you were...until they showed back up.”

              Drawing my legs up to my chest, I don't say anything.

              “Start livin' Rascal before it's too late. Before you look back and your entire life is one giant unwanted memory.”

              “Pa--”

              “Live Rascal. Period.” His face finally turns to look at me. “Stop making excuses. Your parents aren't changin'. Your brothers aren't changin'. Mary Beth isn't gonna disappear no matter how hard we wish on lucky stars.” My eyes lift to his. “Yeah, Rascal I know. I'm old, but I'm sharp. And what she did to you won't stay buried forever, but it shouldn't be added to what's keeping you from swimmin' boy. Let it all go. And live.”

              “Morning.” Jazz appears at the back door in one of my old high school sweat shirts.

              “Morning sugar.” He greets her loudly. In a low volume he says, “Her too. You both need to live. Try it together. You'll love it.”

              With a crooked smirk I divert my attention around him. “Nice sweatshirt.”

              “I got cold. Ma grabbed it for me. I can put it back if you want.”

              “Looks good on you darlin',” I compliment.

              Jazz suddenly looks flustered and speechless.

              Pa snickers under his breath. “That's my Rascal...”

              “Um...Ma says breakfast is ready,” she softly informs us.

              Barkley perks his head up and starts nudging Pa's leg. With a chuckle I stand up. “Glad
that
hasn't changed.”

              “Yeah, yeah, dog, just give me a minute,” he says looking down. “I just...need a minute.”

              Glancing at him I notice him rubbing his chest. “Pa...you okay?”

              “I'm fine Rascal,” he insists. “Just takes an extra minute to get this old body warmed up. Go on...I'll be in shortly.”

              I hesitate but eventually leave his side heading for Jazz. With my body dangerously close to hers, I declare. “We should change...”

              The two of us head back up to our bedroom in silence. Once inside she quickly turns on heels to say, “I'm not sorry I asked questions.”

              “Of course not.”

              “It's what I do. And if you know anything about me, then you know it's what I'm going to do. It's what I'm good at. The only way to have accurate data is to ask enough questions and have enough balls to ask the ones that hurt.”

              “Honestly Jazz? I'm tired of being one more thing you write down on a piece of paper.”

              In a stutter she says, “It's...my job. It's what I have to do.”

              “Stop treating me like a fucking job. You wanna get to know me? Really know me? I'm all yours darlin'.” The sentence seems to snag her breath. “But I want you to get to know me because that's what
you want
. Not because you think you need an accurate reading for your next assessment. Can you just...let work be work while you're here? Keep your work focused on helping The Director and the boys as best as you can from here, locate The Face and re-examine Tyger's motives while you let all your other attention just...land where it falls.”

              With a swallow, Jazz folds her arms across her chest. “I'm not sure I know how to do that.”

              “I know.” I smirk in return. Taking a few steps closer I lean my face down. “But I'm gonna show you how darlin' if you let me...”

              Breathlessly Jazz agrees, “Okay.”

              “Promise me two things though?” She lifts her eyebrows as my hand tilts her chin up. “You'll give me the chance to get to know you too.”

              “I've never--”

              “I know.”

              “It's not going to be easy.”

              “A chance Jazz,” I repeat. “Promise.”

              “My word. I'll try.” When I smile she quickly asks, “What's the other?”

              “Don't lie to me.” Hearing my words her lips press together. “I've had enough of that to last a thousand life times. You've kept shit from me because of work. I've dealt. We didn't have a choice then. You do now. I have to rely solely on you and you have to rely on me. The connection with the team and Shepard is going to be very little, and we both know Tyger is sneakier than we thought. It's just us out here in this battlefield. So, I'm telling you once Jazz. Do. Not. Lie to me.”

              With a small attitude she plops a hand on her hip. “When did you become in charge?”

              Grinning I lean my lips next to ear. “When you whimpered at my touch last night.” The memory of the sound from grazing her leg to grab the sheet is well documented in my brain. That shit ain't goin' nowhere. “Now...promise.”

              In a whisper she says, “Promise.”

              Pleased, I smile wider. Good. I need to know before I open Pandora's Box of secrets, I can trust that she won't use the information to get to one of my blood related brothers and turn them into a puppet. That once she gets a glimpse of more than the Marine she was so excited to turn into a special ops member, that she won't abandon me too.