by A J Storm
Creeper bristled. “What’s that mean?”
“You know what that means, Mr. Blankenship. Lyle sounds like a sissy name to me. What name do you use in this relationship?”
“My friends and family call me Creeper,” he said, waiting for the laughter to die down. “Creeper Jackson. Lyle, take the baby to the car,” Chaos ordered, but Lyle was way ahead of him, already moving toward it.
“Now why does the name Jackson sound familiar to me?” Viper asked.
“Maybe because we’ve been in on a few drug busts of your members,” he answered as red laser pinpoints flashed on Viper and his men. Shots rang out from both sides.
Chaos pulled his gun, realizing he was facing Viper’s gun—a sitting duck in front of an angry hunter. He nailed Creeper, but not before he got a round off himself before being knocked to the ground. As he went down, he looked to their car, grateful it was already gone. At least that part of his plan worked.
Gunfire kept exploding around him as his snipers stepped out of the darkness, gaining ground and taking the fight directly to Viper’s men. Before Creeper lost consciousness, he watched as Viper ran to one of their cars and drove off like a crazy man. He saw him run over one of his own men who’d been shot.
“Fuck,” Chaos thought as his eyes grew dark and closed.
19
Hours later, a few of Viper’s men had been arrested or hauled off to the morgue. Viper had escaped, and Creeper was placed in an ambulance and sent to Seton Hospital. Mac didn’t stay to help organize the mess for the police or Creeper’s snipers. As soon as he found where they were taking his cousin, he was racing in his truck to pick up Chaos.
Chaos had waited at his penthouse for details about how the meeting went, but Mac sure as hell wasn’t telling him over the phone. What Mac didn’t know was Chaos’ friends on the police force had already called him, and he was on his way out of the elevator in the garage as Mac drove up and stepped out, still in his camouflage, his face painted.
“How is he, Mac?” Chaos demanded.
“I don’t know, man. They had him stable when they loaded him in the back and drove off. It didn’t hit his heart, but they think a lung was hit. I was coming to get you to take you to the hospital,” Mac answered.
“Where did they take him?” he asked, his anxiety hitting the ceiling.
“Dude, I’m driving—you’re not. I know what’s coming,” Mac insisted.
Thankfully, no argument came from Chaos. He knew Mac was right on both counts—driving and anxiety. He punched in Willow’s number on his phone, telling her where he was going and why. He wanted someone outside of the family to be able to fill Maggie in with the details in the morning.
When he hung up, he looked over to Mac. “Nice makeup, dude.”
Driving off into the night, Viper needed to ditch the car. He was sure they’d taken down the information they’d need to track it. His cell phone was on his body, so he called one of his trusted office personnel and ordered them to pick him up at one of the less populated lakes around Austin. He also ordered them to bring his laptop off his desk.
Thirty minutes after he made the call, he parked the car, left the keys inside, and walked away to wait on the employee to arrive. Within another ten, the car pulled up, and Viper got inside. She was ordered to tell anyone who asked, the last time she saw her boss was when he had left work that day. The girl was smart enough not to argue with her boss. She’d brought his laptop as instructed and dropped him off at a hotel on the south side of Austin.
However, Viper was smarter. He didn’t book a room at the hotel. One of his guys picked him up and took him back to a house where several members stayed. They weren’t openly active members but were Viper’s inner sanctum—trusted and faithful. Creeper had shot off a round as he went to the ground, and the bullet had caught Viper in the shoulder—not enough to hinder any movement but enough to sting like a bitch. One of his guys doctored him up and left him in the living room, sitting in front of his laptop.
Now, Mr. Jackson, let’s find out why the hell your family is fucking with my business.
When Chaos and Mac arrived at the hospital, they were informed Creeper had been taken up to surgery. A nurse told them where the surgical waiting room was and pointed the way to the elevators.
They both left their names at the front desk in the waiting room, expecting the doctor to report about Creeper to them when the surgery was over. Chaos initially paced the room, but Mac put a stop to it after a few minutes. Mac forced him to stay seated while he talked him to death about the ranch in Oklahoma and Ben.
Next to walk in was Creeper and Chaos’ mom and dad. They hugged both men, and of course, Mom broke down several times crying. They sat beside the men to wait with them for the doctor. An hour and ten minutes went by when the automatic doors opened, allowing Willow to enter.
Chaos jumped to his feet and embraced his dark-haired beauty. “Please, oh God, please rescue me from my cousin. If I hear one more story of how Mac got Ben to two-step around the dance floor with a woman, I will throw up, then tattoo my ass.
Mac recognized Willow from the conference call they shared, and Chaos introduced her to his parents. Mac made a comment about keeping Chaos entertained. Chaos wasn’t in the mood for his humor and took Willow to sit by the surgical doors. That way I can pounce on the doctor when he comes out.
Forty minutes after Willow arrived, the doctor came in, calling both Chaos’ and Mac’s names. His mom and dad stood behind the guys and listened in on the conversation.
Creeper currently was in recovery for the next hour while they monitored his vitals. He would then be moved to the surgical ward on the tenth floor to a private room. At that time, they could sit with him until he was fully awake. The surgery went well. The bullet hit a rib before entering the lung, lodging in the tissue. The bone chip also lodged in the lung and was harder to find and remove. The surgical team was successful, and Creeper should be fine. A nurse would come out and tell them what room they end up taking him to.
Chaos let his parents go into Creeper’s room first. They couldn’t really visit with him since he was sleeping, but just being in the room made them feel better. After they left, Chaos, Willow, and Mac went in. Mac stayed long enough to see the man was breathing on his own, then said his goodbyes to give an update to Creeper’s sniper buddies. He understood they’d been tied up with the police, giving statements.
The patient was in and out of consciousness, mumbling every now and then. Chaos was filling Willow in about the woman and the baby. Lyle still had the baby in his custody at the police station and talked them into letting him take the infant home with him. Several people were staying at Creeper’s place, so he’d have plenty of help.
“You’ve been on one hell of an emotional ride,” Willow remarked.
“Yes, I have. Tonight, Mac kept me from walking a rut in the waiting room floor and seeing my mom, let me feel free to cry.”
She sat and watched his face until she couldn’t keep from asking it. “You went and filled in the mother and baby tattoo, didn’t you?”
With a somber look, he stared and asked, “What if I did? What difference does it make?”
Willow looked at Creeper, ensuring he was still sleeping, then turned back to Chaos.
“You really have no idea what you’re doing, do you?”
“I get a tattoo when I’m anxious, and it helps me. So what, Willow?”
“You’re using a form of cutting, Chaos. You may have someone else breach the skin and color it, but it’s cutting, nonetheless. Pain is involved and so is blood, it just doesn’t show because of the amount of ink injected into the skin. You use the tattoo as a crutch, just like cutting. Chaos, I used to cut in my teens. My mother would set me off, and I’d go to my room, take a razor blade, cut a line on my skin, and let it bleed. It gave me a rush until I could cope with what had been done or said—until the next time. I never cut my wrists because that wasn’t what I was after. I wanted control of the hurt
caused by my mother’s insults.”
“They aren’t anything alike,” Chaos argued.
“Yes, they are. When do you crave a tattoo—when you’re stressed beyond the limit you can take? Tell me you don’t feel that rush while they’re using the tattoo gun. Then you go home and pass out on the bed. Been there, baby—done that,” she accused.
A groan and a croak sounded from across the room. “She’s right, Brother, we’ve been worried over the last year. Listen to her,” Creeper loudly whispered.
Chaos didn’t say a word. He just took Creeper’s hand along with Willow’s and gave both a squeeze. The nurse came in to retake his vitals and measure his urine output. Ouch, Chaos thought.
When she left, one of Creeper’s best friends, also one of the snipers who was there, came in to check on him. He introduced himself to Chaos and Willow. He told them one sniper had been hit and died at the scene, but Viper lost seven of his men and three had been arrested and booked for baby trafficking. They’re also looking into the murdered woman to see if Viper was involved with her body dump.
Creeper woke up enough to see his friend, but luckily was out when he gave the report from the scene. Waiting until the boy was better would be better. He also promised Chaos he’d try to get the team to come tomorrow in shifts so Creeper could still rest.
They stayed with Creeper until Mac came back with Howler and Sadie to relieve Chaos. When Mac had called Howler, he didn’t wait for the jet or more information. He and Sadie drove themselves.
Chaos and Howler attempted to be manly, but the hug turned into more of a relief fest than patting on the back. Knowing their little brother would live was a blessing. Chaos and Sadie took turns at the hugs, then he introduced Willow to the couple.
“Willow, this is my older brother, Howler, and his wife, Sadie. They own the ranch I told you about in Oklahoma. Howler, Sadie, this is… um, Willow. She’s my… not sure how to explain…” Chaos stumbled over his thoughts.
“Just say client and friend,” she interrupted. “I hired the Jacksons to find my sister, and it led us into a big mess as you can see. Chaos has been a big help.”
Mac remained silent, a shit-eating grin plastered on his face. He knew exactly what they were, but that would wait until after the couple left.
“We’ll leave you three with Creeper and get out of here. He’s easy to watch, they’ve got him medicated. We’ll see you tomorrow, I’m sure. Mom and Dad will come by, and the two of you help yourself to Howler’s room at the penthouse. That’s what it’s there for.” Chaos’ brain was racing through mindless information he needed to share.
Willow pulled his arm and dragged him through the door as he waved at everyone, continuing to talk.
“You need sleep, Chaos. I’ll drive you home to make sure you get there,” she offered.
“Stay with me. Don’t just drop me off—stay. Just hold me while I sleep, please,” he begged.
They loaded into the Mustang, and Willow drove to the penthouse. When they walked in, Chaos knew Mac had been there. His camo suit had been tossed over the couch, and one boot looked like it had been thrown on each side of the fireplace.
“I’m going to shower, then I’ll be out,” he said.
She sat on his bed, scrolling through the television stations with the sound turned off. After fifteen minutes, he walked out with a towel around his waist. Sweat pants were hanging over a chair—the towel dropped.
20
With Chaos standing naked in front of the window, Willow got a peek at the mother and baby tat before he slid his beautiful body into the sweat pants. Moving to her side, he sat on the bed beside her, looking out at the sun beginning its morning on the Austin skyline. Chaos finally broke the silence between them.
“I’ve been thinking a lot about what you shared with me at the hospital. Been thinking, you’re right, and I think it’s time I told you the story behind the tats—especially on my back.”
Her hand brushed over his shoulder. “I’m here for you, and I’m listening.”
His story started back when he was in the Marine Corps. He loved and looked up to his big brother and followed him into the service. He didn’t choose to follow him into sniper training—it wasn’t him. He did, however, have a gift for computers, writing code and mathematical statistics. When his term was up, he bought into a special unit, gathering information on the effects of war on the human body. The secret group had been recommended to Chaos by a few people in his Marine Corps unit, but the group itself wasn’t part of the Corps. At least, that was what he was told when he agreed to work with them. In his early days, he spent time developing a program to predict outcomes and different scenarios of war.
Chaos grew quiet. His eyes focused outside at the sun on the buildings around his. His chest rose and fell with a huge sigh before the story continued.
“Once the program was complete, it needed to be tested. They had me watch hours of film showing bodies blown apart by IEDs, shot with multiple rounds of ammo, burned from the after-effects of multiple bombings. It was all to gather data and plug into my computer program. I began to have visions as if they were implanted into my brain. Hideous monsters hid in my dreams with only one outcome—death.”
What he finally discovered was the program wasn’t used to protect our men. It was going to be used as a weapon of warfare—best way to obliterate the enemy.
“Imagine my shock and heartbreak when I discovered I was part of a war machine. I walked out. No amount of money was worth killing innocents over, and yes, Willow, innocents were involved. At first, I was threatened, but I had walked out with enough data and pictures to prove what they were doing. The nightmares started shortly after I figured everything out. Willow, let me be clear, this was not military run. It was a private venture. It was an offshoot of a crazy officer relieved of duty from the Marines who couldn’t get the government interested in his ideas.”
She moved behind him, massaging his shoulders and rubbing his back. It was the first time he allowed her to have contact with his back except when they had sex.
“What does the big one represent?” she asked, running her finger over the two heads in the middle.
“That was my first. I got them when the nightmares began. They wouldn’t stop, and I couldn’t control the shakes, sweats, and anger. The skull inside the roman armor represented the men I worked for—warmongers. Men who sought to win the battle at any cost. Their teeth were bared, eyes dead as zombies. Coming out of a hole in the steel headpiece are the souls of the innocents, screaming for freedom. Surrounding the skull are the long tentacles of a giant octopus, sucking the life from whatever it touches and protecting the zombie in the armor.”
“My, God, Chaos, that is deep. You really thought this out. I had no idea you went through so much.”
“Believe it or not, every needle prick, every drop of ink helped me put that particular nightmare behind me. Unfortunately, the films and pictures left a lasting presence within me every time a death, shooting, or tragedy occurred in my life. Tattoos were the only thing I found which could make it go away till the next time.”
“I’m so sorry, Chaos. Here, lay down,” she offered, waiting for him to stretch out on his bed. She curled up beside him, running her fingers over his chest.
“For the most part, I did okay. I took what I learned and put it to use at the office. It may take a while, but I can find information on anyone, track them, and shoot a rifle, hitting the bullseye almost every time.”
She chuckled and kissed his chest. “I guess that can be a good thing.”
“Willow, where are your scars from cutting? I never felt them on your arms or thighs.”
“I was vain as I got older and had enough money to go to a really good plastic surgeon. They’re completely gone.”
“How did you stop cutting?”
“I won’t lie to you. I went to a therapist and spent hours talking through it all. Medication for a while helped. I won’t say I’m cured because it’s like an
y compulsive addiction. But the craving is not with me any longer. I also learned to handle my mother better with a sense of humor.”
Willow snuggled closer to Chaos, rubbing his chest and listening to his breathing slow as he fell asleep.
Viper spent hours in front of his laptop, digging through the internet for Creeper Jackson. He found information on the thirty-seven-year-old who was a co-owner of the Jackson Investigative Service.
This dude’s a PI? That’s how he found out who I am.
He started copying articles about Creeper as he made a new file labeled ‘Jacksons.’ The article which interested him the most was Creeper’s years spent in the sniper division of the Marine Corp. Then when he was honorably discharged, all information on his service in a sniper unit disappeared.
Yeah, right. I know how these things work.
Jackson Investigative Service was his next heading to browse.
Two more brothers—can’t believe I never paid interest to this organization.
Chaos was the middle brother—Marine, runs the office, computer geek, and occasional undercover work.
Quite the ladies’ man by all these pictures—who’s this? Wait just a minute…. ‘has been seen recently with Willow Maxy, daughter of horse rancher, John Maxy’… Gotcha.
Viper found Howler’s name and information but lost interest when the report listed Oklahoma as his place of residence. He typed John Maxy’s name and brought up the family and ranch information.
“Okay, Nova. You want to play hide and seek, I’ll play. I know just how to make you show yourself.”
Midmorning, Willow woke and got out of bed, careful not to disturb Chaos. She knew from experience how emotional stress sucked all the energy out of a body. Her dad was first on her list to call, telling him all that had happened. She assured him she’d be back to the ranch the next day. His voice sounded concerned for her safety, but she promised him she was fine. He let her go after that.
