by Xavier Neal
“We're meeting with Michele at The Shop. You could tag along.”
“I don't wanna be in the way.”
“You keep saying that.”
The memory has me shaking my head. No. Fuck no. I tried. I tried. I did. I gave her everything she wanted. I gave her everything I thought she needed! I was there for her! I did everything for her! I—I--I wasn't the one who fucked up and kissed someone else. The picture of Michele's lips on Haven's floods back into my mind. Her mouth parting for his. Anger surges through my blood and I feel my body constrict. Mandy's fucking wrong. I fought for her. And she fought for someone else.
“Clint--”
“Don't.”
“Yeah that's not gonna work for me,” Mandy keeps talking. “I don't do real well with being told what to do. Daddy issues. Anyway, I know she made a mistake. A huge mistake. But maybe you made some mistakes too. And maybe instead of avoiding each other like you are...you should try to talk about it? Try to work through it because guess what Marine? It's all over your face that you ache when that girl is not beside you.” I swallow the knot that's trying to claw its way up my throat. “I remember the first time I met you. The way your entire world centered on that girl. It was so obvious. And the only thing that has changed between now and then, is that she's not wrapped around your body like a boa constrictor. Everything else is the exact same damn thing Clint. It might as well be written in neon colors all over you. Nothing on the level that really matters has changed. So why not talk to her? Fix it? You both need it,” Mandy whispers the last line and plants a hand on my chest. “Trust me.”
My jaw clenches tight before her hand slides off of me. My eyes flicker down where she was just touching me before looking back up to see Haven coming around the corner. Mandy briefly says something to her, before moving out of view. At that moment Haven starts heading straight for me, the look of hope still floating around in her eyes. I miss that. I miss seeing that before she would fall asleep. I miss seeing that when she woke up. I miss having that. There's never been a poison more perfect.
She approaches me, the soft smile on her face fading as she notices my cold expression. Quickly she asks, “What's wrong?” Not answering I just continue to stare, contemplation ringing alive inside of me. Can I forgive her? Can I just let all that fucking go?
“Did I tell you how beautiful you look in that dress?” the question helps place the smile back on her face. God. I really do need to always see that smile. Fuck. Me.
Haven shyly grins wider and makes an attempt to cover herself. Her insecurities back. Knowing that makes my jaw throb again. Is that my fault too? Is all this my fault? Did I push her at him? Did I do something wrong? Goddamn it. “Thanks...”
Clearing my throat I motion towards the bar, “You want a drink?”
She denies with a shake of the head.
“Hungry?” I offer in hopes she will take an me up on some excuse for us to be alone, Mandy's meddling having the effect I'm sure she wanted. I can't fucking run from this forever. And I honestly don't want too. I need something fucking stable. Just one thing.
Haven nods slightly and I feel relief rip through my body. We can do this. I can do this. “Wanna try one of my new cheddar bacon rolls? Fresh out of the oven?”
“Yeah,” I answer and motion a hand. “Lead the way.”
I follow behind her, eyes glancing around the room at my father who is sitting with Doug and Mindy, all three sets of eyes trying not to stare at me, hope in them as well. Glove seems to be engulfed in whatever Mandy is chattering on about as Lordy stuffs his face with something creamy. Turning the corner I notice the buffet of appetizers waiting to be picked from and the memory of filling a plate for Haven on her first day with me hits me hard in chest. The annoying dull ache demands my attention again. I try to shove past it as she offers me the dish containing the roll.
“Mindy thinks I put too much butter in them, but I think the more butter the better,” she giggles and the energy from it burst through my system. Soothes me. Calms my soul that's trying to tear itself to shreds. Calms the questions that were rolling around. I reach for the plate, my hand brushing against hers, a small but noticeable gasp escaping. My dick starts to stir to the familiar sound. It used to be his cue. Instead of removing my hand from hers I let my thumb stroke it gently. I take a step closer, the smell of her light perfume mixed with the heavenly sent of dough filling my senses.
In a very low whisper I manage to say, “I miss touching you.”
Her grip gets slightly shaky as she nods, her voice thick with tears, “I miss it too.”
For a moment the two of us stay just like this. Barely touching. Barely breathing. Barely being able to exist without the other. This feels like I'm only a couple steps from home. I know this is where I belong.
A movement over her shoulder catches my attention. Our eyes make contact. I put the courage or forgiveness that was building inside of me back where it belongs. Buried. Apparently now is not the time for it.
Pulling away from her I state, “I have to go.”
Taken off guard she puts the plate down. “What? Why?”
I don't answer. Adjusting my body back to attention I walk towards Jazz who is leaned against the front door, her attire business casual. When our eyes lock again she doesn't even attempt to hide a smile. I always knew part of her enjoyed making us miserable.
“Ready?” she asks, hand on the door knob. I nod. “Good. The other two are on their way to the SUV.”
“Still can't drive ourselves?”
“After tonight,” she answers and walks through the doorway first.
“Clint!” Haven's voice pierces my ears. My heart reacts with a sharp pain. My pulse increases. My jaw throbs. I don't want to walk away. But I have to. I let my feet do what the rest of my body is trying to stop me from doing. I move forward. My fists clench tighter. “Clint wait!”
I keep my vision focused on Jazz's SUV straight ahead. I can't turn around. I can't look her in the eyes. I can't. Not yet. Not right now.
“Fine,” she sighs exasperated. “I guess it's clear that you didn't miss me as much as I thought.” The words stop me in my tracks. I can feel rage start winding through my veins starting at my fists desperate to let loose. No fucking way. I just have to keep walking. Get a grip Grim! Walk away. The moment my foot attempts another step she says, “I guess I was crazy to think that I really would be the only one for you.”
Without my approval, my body turns and marches back towards Haven. Immediately there is a rush of fear across her face that I haven't seen since I found her beaten in my yard over a year ago. She retreats backwards slowly until her back hits the front door.
In a low growl I say, “Do. Not. Ever. Say that to me again.” I watch her body begin to tremble under my vision. I know I should stop. I know I should give her space. But I can't. I just fucking can't. Not after that comment. “I didn't let anyone else take your place. I didn't shut you out. And I didn't fucking kiss the first person who showed me a little extra attention.”
The last line causes tears to creep into her eyes. Shit. My head hangs for a second. That was out of line. I shouldn't have said that. Frustration creeps up the back of my neck like a vice grip.
“Haven I--”
“No.” her voice that's clogged with tears cuts me off. “You're right. You made your point.” Saying nothing else, she turns and enters back into Mindy's home.
On instinct I reach for the door knob to go after when Jazz calls to me, “No Grim. We're leaving.” My hand twitches prepared to disobey an order. “Now.” She emphasizes. I begin to move away from the door staring at it and then my hand. I've never disobeyed an order. It's never been a reaction to fight against it. What the fuck is happening to me? I turn and quickly jog to the SUV getting in the front seat.
Jazz drives us out of the neighborhood, my hands opening and closing in an attempt to deal with the chaos pulsating inside of me.
“Since you're celibate now, does that mean your
virginity grew back?” Glove jokes loudly undoing his tie.
Before I can react Jazz declares, “Unclench your fists Grim. You can't punch him in the face.” I roll my eyes and look down at my hands that are white knuckled. I wiggle my fingers and divert my attention out the window. The passing of the city lights and other cars does its best to draw my attention away from the fact the man I once was doesn't exist anymore. I'm no longer a Marine. I'm no longer Haven's hero. I'm no longer my mother's treasured son. I'm no longer my father's biggest pain in the ass. I'm no longer all the things that made me, me. So who the fuck am I?
At the facility I'm thankful for the hours we're supposed to fill out with training. The release I get from punching the bag, the release I get from running at full speed on the treadmill, the release I get from endless push-ups and crunches, centers something deep inside of me at my core. While I'm spending hours on physical training, Glove and Lordy were sent to the weapons room.
Dragging myself up to my feet, I am relieved that some of the burn from earlier in the evening is gone.
“Ah. The newbie,” the voice says from behind me.
His face looks almost identical to Michele's. Too pretty for it's own good. Too flawless to be up to anything honorable. Not a scratch. Not a scar. Not a mark or proof that he's even done anything other than be a pain in the ass. He's built bigger than Michele, but other than that, they could be fucking twins. I hate this fucker as much as I hated Michele on sight.
“Don't call me that.” I use my towel to wipe sweat off my brow.
“I'll call you whatever the fuck I want,” he reiterates stepping towards me. “Newbie.”
My fist tightens prepared to swing, prepared to knock this arrogant son of a bitch out of my face, when Jazz says from above, “You can't hit him Grim.”
She's wrong. I can. And I can do it well.
“I know that look,” she leans over the railing pushing her hair behind her ear. “Let me rephrase that. Don't hit him Grim.”
“Aww mama bear had to save baby bear,” Tyger mocks her before taking a drink of his water. “Pathetic JZ. Wouldn't take me, but couldn't find a man to defend himself without your help?”
Unsure what the hell he's talking about, I fold my arms across my chest and look up at her curious of her response. “I didn't take you Tyger because I knew I could do better. And I did.”
“Prove it,” another voice invades the conversation.
My eyes dart over to the man coming to take a place beside Jazz. He's bald. White. His build large. His height 6'4. Intimidating. Well, to other people I assume.
He leans his body over the edge of the railing like Jazz and says, “Let 'em go at it.” After a beat he smiles like an asshole and says, “Unless you don't think your man can handle it.”
I glare in response. I've seen small rivalry in units before. Irritation with one another, the desire to be the best of the best, strong enough to create bad choices. However I've never seen members of the same team act like this. This isn't brotherhood. This is survival of the fittest.
“I'm warning you for Tyger's sake. Do. Not. Take. Grim. On.” she advises and glances at me. “Not today...” She's right. Today I'm not focused like I should be. This state of mind is dangerous and even if working out did just help, it didn't help enough.
“I think today is perfect. Let's bet JZ,” the man urges. “Loser buys the other team dinner.”
Jazz looks down at me eyes glazed with sympathy. She wants to say no again. That's clear. But it doesn't seem like she's actually going to say it. I hear the sound of the gym door opening and my eyes glance over to see Glove and Lordy stroll in. Tyger takes that moment to throw a punch in my gut. Striking while the enemy is distracted. A well-known tactic. But a dick move.
The sound of feet moving quickly echo off the walls when Jazz yells, “Let them fight. That's an order.”
Tyger goes to swing again assuming I'm still distracted. Instead I block and counter. The two of us begin throwing punches and kicks, both giving full on everything we've got. To his advantage he's got speed and is light on his feet. Funny thing about rage needing an outlet. When it finds it, it rushes out in complete force. Every time I land a punch on his body, it packs more heat than the last and while he can withstand the first few, as time goes on, they obviously begin to wear on him. They make it harder for him to get back up. Harder to stay on his feet. When I drop him to the ground, arm engaging him in a choke hold, I feel true alleviation for the first time since I've been home as the redness increases. Suffocation clear. Every emotion about Michele rushes through me forcing me to squeeze tighter, the voices calling my name in the background so faint it feels like they aren't even speaking to me. I want him to pay. He needs to pay for taking my girl away. For creating this nightmare I'm fucking stuck in. It's his fault. It's all his fucking fault I--
“Jacket!” The title and voice snaps me out of the spiral. Immediately I release Tyger who instantly gasps for a breath.
I stand to my feet and turn to see the face to the voice. We're similar in build and height. He has a buzzed head, clean shaven face, and a jagged scar on his jawbone line. His hands are gripping the railing tight, a displeased look on his face. I do my best to hide the anxiety inside that that's going to be me some day. Director of an elite unit. In charge of some of the best men and women in the world. And alone. Completely. Because that's the only way you get to that kind of position.
Once he's satisfied he has my attention he turns to Jazz, “You know better.”
“Yes sir,” she dips her head in remorse.
“Word to the wise Miller. Do not bet if you can't guarantee yourself the win,” the director sharply says to the other man. “Get Tyger to medical. Make sure his vitals are fine and then you both are on day suspension.”
Miller attempts to argue, “Director--”
“Not a word.” He cuts him off. Miller nods. “Go.”
Tyger stumbles past me and I bury the smile I want to show. Placing my hands behind my back I stand at attention the best I can. I know there will most likely be bruises and pain from this fight, but at the moment they don't matter. The only thing of importance here is proving to The Director that he didn't make a mistake letting me in this unit.
I clear my throat to speak, “Director--”
“Not a word Jacket.” My mouth shuts. “I do not blame you. I blame your team intelligence officer. I blame her for knowing the rules and going against them. I blame her for knowing what your mental status was for the day and using that as her winning point. I blame her for putting her own pride above what was best for her team.” While he is looking at me, it is clear his speech is for Jazz who is fiddling with her thumbs clearly uncomfortable with the lecture. “You three in Merlin's chamber. We will meet you there.”
“Yes sir,” Glove, Lordy, and I respond in unison.
Heading out of the training area with Glove and Lordy on each side of me, I try to get my head on straight. Soldier. Grim. Focused. Dedicated. All the things I have relied on being most of my life.
In a low whisper Glove praises me, “You mopped the floor with him.”
Lordy quietly agrees, “Nice Grim. Real nice.”
I let a smile flicker on my face, but force it to disappear as we enter Merlin's room where the director and Jazz are standing side by side.
Once inside Director Shepard says, “That was impressive Jacket. Tyger needed to be put down a peg.” The compliment is short lived as he turns around to look over his shoulder at me. “Do not make the mistake again. Petty tantrum pissing contests do not belong in this unit. Clear?”
“Yes sir,” I answer and return my body to soldier stance.
He turns his body to face the screen but mumbles, “Relax Jacket. No need for that.”
My shoulders relax but I keep body strong. Still. At fullest attention and respect.
“Merlin,” Director Shepard gruffly voice demands.
He appears from under the desk and clicks a button that reveals
a monitor on the side wall. With it now visible, he turns it on allowing us to see the black and oval logo. Afterward he gives the director a nod that he's ready to follow directions.
Director Shepard adjusts his jeans as if the topic he is about to speak on makes him uncomfortable. “Jackets, this division is unlike anything you are used too. At times you'll question if you're still a soldier or if you work for a crime unit division. Don't. Don't waste the brain power. You get orders. You do as you’re told. You follow them. Am I clear?”
The question receives an appropriate “Yes Sir” from all of us and he nods at Merlin who hits another button revealing a face on the screen.
“This man is known as The Face. He's one of the highest traders in human trafficking in our country. He doesn't grab girls from outside our borders. His operation only functions here in the states. If he's brought a girl from outside of it, he will sell her no problem. He's now our problem due to the fact a large portion of the money he makes is being used to heavily fund terrorist actions here at home. We've traced funds to accounts that are his, despite there not being enough paper evidence to back that up, from various organizations that have plotted to blow up buildings in Washington, to organizations making attempt to poison food supplies around the country. This man is dangerous. And honestly, a pain in my ass.”
The laid back way Shepard talks causes Glove to smirk. Lordy shifts in relief like he can finally breathe. I don't change. I stay alert. Committed. Focused. My eyes zone in on the pale man whose face is hard to make out. He's got white blond hair, has a suit on, and a jagged scar on his left hand that is shaking hands with someone in the photo. He's thin. Doesn't look threatening. Often those are the deadliest kind.
“The Face kills first and asks questions later. Part of the reason we have had such a hard time stopping him is because he cleans his low levels out regularly. Those closest to him are rarely seen much like he is. Does his best to always make sure his own hands are clean. Every time he kills one low leg in the system, he replaces it with three more. It's like trying to a plug a leak. We want to get to him. We want to take down the source, but he has military like protection. The men closest to him ex Special Forces from around the globe.” That remark makes me tense. Ex Special Forces. Ex men who signed up to fight for their fucking countries betraying it for money. For scum. For the very nightmare they were fighting against. “This man,” Shepard continues and Merlin switches to a face that is stained into my brain. One that I erased to give Haven her freedom. “Moved quite a bit of women around for The Face. He was perfect. No one suspected someone like him. Had a small place away from people, easy for pick up and deliveries.” I do my best to remain calm as I stare at the photo of Old Man Banks. I feel a pair of eyes on me, but I don't look. “However recently he was killed. Authorities say house fire, but we have reason to believe otherwise.” My jaw twitches in return and I curl my fists that are behind my back tighter. “Banks didn't work alone however. His son,” Merlin switches to the picture of the one Haven called Left Arm. “Was in on it with him. He died as well. We have to reason to believe now that his other son, with the two of them gone, is now the remaining link to The Face. Yet we can't find him.” Merlin clicks the button and a picture I never wanted to see at work appears. “This young woman was the only one to ever escape from Banks. I want her brought in for questioning,” he declares as the blood rushes to my face, pulsating in the veins of my neck. I can feel my body temperature quickly rise. “I want to know what she knows about The Face's operation. I want to know what we're missing. What overlooked piece of information that can lead us to Martin Banks. What information she's holding onto that she probably has no idea can help us stop a madman. That's the first part of this mission. Find and capture Martin Banks alive.” Merlin changes the picture of a man that looks strikingly familiar to his brothers with glowing green eyes.
