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by Xavier Neal

  Rolling over so I can see her bright blue eyes filled with large tears, I immediately notice her shaking. With my both my hands extended I motion for her to come to me. She doesn't hesitate as she flings herself into my arms, her tiny ones flung around my neck with a death grip.

  In heavy sobs she cries into my neck, “I told you monsters were real.”

  Protectively I hold her tiny frame closer to me, her soft hair grazing my shoulders. Doing my best to remain calm I ask, “Is that the monster you want me to protect you from?” She nods. “Khloe...how long has he been a monster?” More cries come from her but there's no answer. With closed eyes I kiss the side of her forehead and rub her back softly. “I swear Khloe...I'll protect you. I'll save you...”

  The sharp pain in my chest rolls me over. Wiping away the combination of tears and sweat off my face I drag myself up. I've seen bloodshed. Limbs blown off. Civilians, soldiers, brothers in arms fall around me yet the thing, the only thing that haunts me is a pair of bright blue eyes and soft blond hair.

  My head falls against the wooden headboard at the same time my phone vibrates across my bed side table.

  I grab it to check the text message.

  Jazzabelle: I know what keeps you up at night.

  Ignoring it, I pull my legs up to my bare chest and drape my arms on them. I'm not in the mood. Not for head games. Not now.

  My phone vibrates again. More annoyed than I was before I check the message.

  Jazzabelle: You want answers? I have them.

  Uncomfortable I stare at the message. Another pops up.

  Jazzabelle: A beer at the usual pub.

  Our code phrase instructing to go to the HORN building. Not the most clever, but fitting considering in most of my off time I'm at a bar grabbing a beer. It's the kind of message if someone were to look into it, they wouldn't think twice about it. Which is what the HORN unit is all about. Hiding in plain sight. Being those soldiers you don't even fucking know exist as you sit down to have dinner with them. I've done next to nothing to be proud of in my life, but making this unit, serving with two of the very best fucking men out there, is something that I don't take lightly.

  After quickly changing into a pair of gym shorts and a t-shirt, I hop in the car and make my way to her like she requested. Once I'm past all the security protocols, I meet her in the only room that would make sense for her to be in. Merlin's Cave.

  Sure enough Jazz is leaned over his desk with a folder open studying something inside with a weary face. Her hair is pulled up in a messy bun, but the rest of her is the same look, the only look, we always see her in. A tight pencil skirt, a button up dress shirt, this one pink, and a pair of pointed black heels. She has them in many colors but primarily black.

  “Are you just gonna stare at my shoes all day or did you want some information?”

  Looking up I approach the opposite side of the desk. I lean over so I can peak in her file. “Is that about me?”

  “No.” She shuts it quickly.

  When her eyes meet mine, I see a slight tired glaze to them. The kind that makes me think I'm not the only one with something keeping them up at night. Fuck. What I wouldn't kill to sleep like Grim or Lordy. Peaceful. Stress free.

  “What makes you think something is keeping me up at night?”

  “You're here aren't you?”

  With a short grin I shrug. “I could just like your face Jazzabelle.”

  “I hate that nickname,” she mutters before explaining. “Because I know all three of you. It's my job. I didn't just pick your names out of a fucking hat. I studied you. I studied your backgrounds. I learned every tiny detail I could that you thought you had hidden.”

  “Why?” the bafflement has me standing up straight.

  “I'm a behavioral analyst. I don't just study patterns of your past to predict your future ones, I study the weakness enemies can use against you. The things that might tempt you to change sides. The skeletons in your closet that might be used for leverage. The little whispers in the dark that could distract you on a mission. In order to make a proper report and speculation on what your future decisions may be in a specific situation, I have to know where your head has been and currently is.”

  The explanation is not one that sits well with me. I don't like the idea that I've been studied like some sort of science experiment. Like my life is a trashy tabloid. Or hell, like I'm a pet fish swimming in circles while she decides how many more times I'll do it before I commit aquatic suicide.

  “Now, would you like me to continue to describe to you what pays for my designer shoes, or would you like me to fill in some of those blanks you've got about your past?”

  Nodding slowly I motion for her to continue.

  “Merlin,” she calls out.

  The wiry young computer genius crawls from his favorite place under his desk. He frowns at the sight of me. Turning, he gives her a look of disapproval. Well, this is an improvement, but not big enough.

  “He'll grab you a Mountain Dew as payment.” Merlin raises his eyebrows but doesn't look sold.

  “And a bag of those peanuts with the shells,” I add.

  “How do you know I like those?”

  “Part of my job is observation. Red bag? Yellow writing?”

  Merlin nods slowly before pointing his remote at me. “Two bags.”

  “Done.”

  Jazz motions, gives him the signal to proceed and suddenly on the screen appears a gorgeous blond woman. She's thin and tan. Tall. Remarkable. The only thing that looks remotely familiar about her are the pair of eyes I stare at every morning in the mirror. “You were born at St. Katherine's hospital. 8:17 a.m. to one Melinda Love. Age 19. College student.”

  I cut my eyes briefly to Jazz. “Father?”

  “None listed. However,” her sigh indicates the next bit of information is not something I want to hear. “While no father is listed, your mother did report a rape on campus around 9 months before you were born.”

  The sharp pang in my chest has my body threatening to double over. “A-Ar-Are you telling me I'm the child of a rape?”

  “Most likely.”

  Shutting my eyes briefly I try to hide the anger from her indifference. After a long breath I inquire, “And the man? The rapist? Was he caught?”

  Jazz shakes her head. “Not for her rape. This man.” She has Merlin click another button. “Ronald Crow was a campus security guard. According to the report your mother was slightly intoxicated walking back to her dorm room. He offered to walk her the rest of the way, which is when the rape occurred. The report was taken, but charges never filed.”

  “Why not?”

  “Times were different.”

  “What the fuck does that mean?”

  “That means it's like it is on T.V. Glove. It means shit was missed or overlooked. Misfiled. Evidence not where it was claimed to have been. Basically, it means shit was swept under the rug to keep to his hands clean.”

  “A cover up.”

  “Yes.”

  “Where is he now?

  Slowly she looks over at me. “Why? So you can hunt him down and kill him for what he did to your mother? For bringing you into existence?”

  “Yes.”

  “No.” She shakes her head. “I will be the first to admit that is what makes the three of you the best in this unit, your overwhelming instinct to protect, but I'm not going to allow you track down this man and murder him. That's not what a Marine does. That's not what a Jacket does. There's a different between protecting what's close to you and pure vengeance.” Her clarification has me grinding my teeth. “Besides, you can't kill a dead man.” A tsunami wave of relief engulfs. Justice has already been served. “He was arrested for burglary and assault landing him in prison where he was stabbed to death. Apparently no one liked him.”

  Her attempt at humor has me running my hands through my hair in hopes of calming down the last of the havoc bubbling inside. “And Melinda...is she...is she okay?”

  Merlin click
s a button and an aged version of the woman I saw before is posed in the arms of a tall man with dark features alongside two little girls who can't be more than 10. They are a beautiful combination of the two. “Lives on the outskirts of the city in the suburbs. School teacher. Married a contractor. Two little girls, Lilly and Lucy.”

  Something curls around my lungs and twists until I feel the air I was holding is completely gone. I have no right to be this hurt. She didn't want me. I can't fault her that. I can't fault them for that. I can't hold a grudge against her for not wanting the child she was forced to have by a man who said he would protect and serve people not rape and harm.

  On a deep exhale, I try to regain my footing. “You said you knew what kept me up at night.”

  “I do.”

  “Then show me.”

  Jazz tilts her head at Merlin to click again and the sight that haunts me appears on the screen more alive than she's been in years. Her perfect blonde hair shaping her face. Her bright innocent smile. The gorgeous blue eyes full of enough hope to make a person reconsider the world isn't the dark, cold place you know it is.

  Instantly I whisper, “Khloe...”

  “Khloe Abernathy. She was nine when you left for boot camp.” Fighting the urge to smile I nod. “According to her report the Smith's were her last foster family.”

  “Adopted?”

  “Disappeared,” Jazz's correction has my body trembling again. The horror of the broken promise now echoing in my brain like a church bell on Sunday. “It was listed that a complaint had been made on the family in her regards--”

  “By me! He was sneaking into her room! He was a pedophile!”

  “I don't doubt it.” She raises a hand to calm me. “But after you left and the investigation was started, Khloe went missing.”

  “Missing? What do you mean she went missing? How does a nine year old just go missing?”

  “Jerry reported he believed she ran away to look for you,” the emphasis jabs me again. Her dependence so heavily on me to save her was just as heavy as my desire to. And I failed. I failed to be there when she needed me. I bailed. I fucking left. Left her in that monster's house. I tried! I tried to get her out before he could do any more harm to her. I fucking tried. I think. Maybe I could've done more. I should've done more.

  Trying to focus my brain I question, “But you don't think she ran away?”

  Jazz shakes her head. “No. There are certain ways children behave who run away at that age. She didn't have any of the signs. Besides that when you're 9 and you're running away you take something, anything that brings you comfort. She took nothing.”

  “You...you think he...he...do you think he--”

  “No. I don't think he killed her,” Jazz assures me, “but I do think he had a hand in her disappearance.” My mouth opens to make a demand when she shakes her head again. “Let it go. He died of a heart attack about a year ago.”

  “And there's nothing on Khloe?”

  “No.”

  Anger surges through my veins at the mistake I made of leaving her having an even bigger consequence than I was prepared for. On the unsteady ground I command, “Find her.”

  She cuts me a sharp look. “Excuse me?”

  Turning to face I demand again. “Find. Her.”

  “I--”

  “I don't give a fuck Jazz. This is also what you do. You find people who can't be found. So find her.” Her eyes lower to a glare and I say, “I need this Jazz. You know that.”

  “I do,” she sighs. “And that's why I've been looking.” My jaw starts to shake. “But nothing.”

  “Don't give up please,” I whisper out.

  “I won't.”

  Giving her a strong nod, I give the photo of Khloe that's ingrained into my brain a glance one more time. My attention darts back to Merlin and I point. “I'll grab those for you now.”

  Merlin offers me a sympathetic smile but nods in thanks.

  I walk out of the tech room with tears of frustration stinging the back of my throat. I should be happy that the men who deserved to die are dead. That they can't destroy any more innocent lives, yet I feel more fucking hollow about it than ever before.

  Once I return Merlin his rewards and endure a long drawn out work out by myself then with the boys, I duck out and make my way home, hoping that a long hot shower and a cold beer will be make it easier to deal with the misery suffocating me.

  Opening the front door I'm surprised to see Mandy unloading groceries into the fridge. She's slightly bent over, her pair of white shorts like a see through invitation for eyes to search for the black thong I know she's rocking. My dick starts rise, the high of sex being the only one that's ever calmed all the demons that eat at me.

  “Do you know you don't live here?”

  “Do you know that beer is not a stable food source,” she comments shoving something else in the fridge before turning around. “You're a Marine. There's no way they condone that much drinking.”

  “I don't really drink that much mom,” I mock her, kicking off my shoes. “Though, I need one now.”

  “Why?” She leans against the wall outside the kitchen. “Did she give you the clap?”

  “Who?”

  “I don't know.” She shrugs. “Whoever's house you clearly just snuck out of.”

  My eyes glance down at my gym shorts and sweaty t-shirt. Prepared to tell her exactly where I was and how it was anything but pleasant, I stop and cock a grin. “Jealous?”

  “No,” she scoffs clearly lying. “I can have you any time I want you.”

  “You're right. And the only thing I'll ask is fingers, mouth or dick baby.”

  “Ugh,” her grunt is followed by her turning to head back into the kitchen. After the sound of fridge shuts she asks, “So what's bothering you?”

  I flop onto the couch at the same time she rounds the corner, a beer in each hand. When she sits beside me, prepared to swing her legs around in my lap, I stop her. “Can we do it the other way?”

  “With my head in your lap?”

  “Yeah.”

  Mandy hands me my beer, puts her head in my lap and stretches out her legs. With mine propped up on the table I twist the lid and toss it beside my feet. “So, what's eating you Gilbert?”

  Taking a swig of my beer I drop my head backwards. “Not your best work.”

  “Not my biggest try.” After a pause she pushes again. “Spill.”

  “Do you know how many foster families I was in?”

  “4,” she guesses.

  “12.”

  “Goddamn,” her voice croaks before adjusting her head to look up at me. “Seriously?”

  “Yeah.” Silence settles between us. Eventually I sigh, “For the most part I was the oldest at all of them. Never on the adoption front. Not once did anyone consider keeping me longer than necessary.” Mandy doesn't say anything, but I feel her soft fingertips stroking my side. The feeling is soothing. Same as it always is when she touches me. The feeling I get when her hands find me reminds me of the high I get from sex. Makes me forget. Makes me feel lost in something better. “I went from a life of never being wanted to a career of the same thing. I know they didn't want me to be a Marine. I know they wanted me to fail....I know Grim and Lordy didn't want some loud mouth fuck up in their life. I'm not wanted Mandy. It's my MO. I get it. It's just....I guess some days it just gets the better of me more than others.”

  Her hands slide under my shirt and I sink further into the couch. God. That feels phenomenal. The hand around the beer grips it tighter. With all the power inside me I try to keep my dick from showing up and nudging her in the head. In a soft voice I unexpectedly hear, “You have it all wrong Michael. You don't live in a world of people who don't want you...you live in a world of people who need you.”

  With my eyes still closed, afraid if I look at her she'll take it back, I ask, “You saying you need me?”

  In a playful tone she grunts, “Ugh. Child.”

  A smile crawls across my face. “Br
at.”

  Mandy's body shifts closer to me and her fingers continue running up and down my sides, the simple gesture saying everything words never really could.

  48 Days to Wedding

  “If you want me to wear a different shirt you're gonna have to buy it,” I insist as Mandy hands me a knife and a cutting board. “I only own two.”

  “How can you only own two?”

  “Why would I own more? I'm trying to get girls to undress me not bury me in more layers.”

  Mandy rolls her eyes and steps away back to pulling apart the leaves for the salad.

  Putting the board on the counter, I place the cucumber on it and start to chuckle. I place a tomato on each side. “Hey Mandy...”

  “Hm?”

  “What does this remind you of?” I scoot over to show her what I made.

  Immediately she shakes her head at me, “You're such a child.”

  “Mine's bigger.” I wink.

  “Ugh.” She rolls her head back around. “Take the knife and get to work.”

  “I'm not comfortable with circumcising.”

  “Michael!”

  “What! I wouldn't let him chop off my man parts!”

  “Are you telling me you're not--”

  “I'm telling you I wouldn't let him chop off my man parts. What a doctor does at birth is his own business....”

  Frustrated with my playfulness she grumbles and turns back around. “Start cutting Dr. Love.”

  “Doctor Love...now we're talking,” I reply moving the tomatoes out of the way to start cutting the cucumber for the salad. “One dose of me and I'll make sure to put that ass to sleep.”

  “One dose of you and I'll need a shot of penicillin.”

  Placing the knife down I stroll over to her, pull a folded envelope out of my back pocket, and dangle it in her view. “Wrong. I'm clean. Test results came back.”

  “You get tested?”

  “I fuck like a jack rabbit of course I get tested,” the answer makes her scowl. “Besides it's part of routine health checks with the military. They don't typically check for that, but you know. The higher up you get the more they wanna make sure you're as healthy as possible.”