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  Havoc Series Stand Alone

  By Xavier Neal

  © Xavier Neal 2015

  Published by Entertwine Publishing

  Cover Model: Anthony Côté

  Photographer: Paul Henry Serres

  All Rights Reserved

  Amazon Edition, License Notes

  Thank you for downloading this e-book. This book remains the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be redistributed to others for commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to download their own copy from their favorite authorized retailer. Thank you for your support.

  All character, places, and descriptions come from the imagination of the author. All are fictional and any resemblance to real life persons or places is purely coincidental

  Dedication

  To the Universe: I will keep stepping forward even if I can't see the path. Thank you.

  Unknown Time Until Next Mission

  “You really have to leave?” she whispers out into the night from her bunk on top of mine.

  “I do Khloe.”

  “But I don't want you to go,” her small nine year old voice whimpers. “Who will protect me?”

  A soft smiles comes on my face as I fold my hands behind my head. “From what?”

  “The monsters.”

  “Khlo' there are no monsters. Monsters aren't real.”

  “There are always monsters...and they always find me Michael.” Her porcelain perfect face appears over the edge of the bunk. The way her hair is shaping her face she reminds me of the baby dolls she plays with. “Please don't let them find me.”

  When her tiny hand reaches down for mine, I lift it up to let our fingers brush.

  “Promise me Michael. Promise me you'll save me from the monsters.”

  “I promise I'll save you. Always.”

  Shooting up with sweat caked on my neck and chest, I try to steady my breathing. One face. One name. One broken promise imprinted forever in my brain. I scrub my face with one hand. I hate when the fucking dreams and memories come back to me.

  “Glove baby,” a feminine voice coos at me.

  Pleased at the sound of my name off any females tongue I glance down at the blonde Playboy Bunny reject stretched out beside me, legs wide open. Hand where my cock should be. At least she's making it even easier for me.

  “You want my dick baby, then you better fucking say it.”

  Excited by the word choice she raises her eyebrows. Bites her bottom lips. Moans under her breath. I watch with a crooked smirk as her fake tits rise and fall rapidly. “Glove. Fuck me.”

  Magic words. “Suck me.”

  To no surprise she excitedly hops up and tosses her stained red lips around my dick deep throating it to her fullest ability. It always feels the same to have my dick in a warm mouth. Empty. I can feel the motions, the applied pressure, but no true pleasing sensations. Not what you're supposed to experience during oral sex. But I stopped caring years ago. Reaching for the purple package beside my bed, I tear it open, and yank her by the hair off of me. I roll the condom on. She begs in whimpers and pleading pouts. Once it's secure I let her roughly plant herself on top of me. Desperate to satiate. Desperate to prove she's the best fuck I'm going to ever have. They always think that. They always try. And none of them have ever been any better than the others. The girl bucks her hips hard. Clenches her walls. Pleasure creeps up my cock and I shut my eyes getting lost in the mindless high you only achieve during sex. One hand tightens on her ass to keep my cock nestled deep in the wet warmth that's feeding my body contentment. Giving me shots of bliss to black out the horrors that haunt me too often during the nights. She's screaming in satisfaction, my fingers now bring her up the cliff of an orgasm, shoving her over the edge with a sharp hard push before she has time to realize she's even made it there. My name tumbles out of her as my come leaks in her at the same time leaving me high on the numbness that's thrumming through my system.

  There's a sudden pounding on my bedroom door. In surprise she quickly covers her tits and looks down at me sharply. “I thought you said your roommate wasn't home.”

  “He's not.” With a lift I remove her from my lap and dispose of the condom in my side trashcan.

  In a short stride I cross my room and crack open my bedroom door to see Jazz, a member of my elite military unit, giving me a less than impressed look. She's slender but unlike myself, not built whatsoever. Long straight brown hair that's wound up tight in a bun on her head. Clear indication she's in work mode. Jazz adjusts her black framed box glasses. “Are you naked?”

  “Shouldn't I be?” I playfully smirk.

  She rolls her eyes and uses the tip of her pointed black high heel to push my door wide open, exposing not only my freshly fucked body, but the freshly fucked female who is clutching my sheet in fear. Or maybe embarrassment.

  “Who the fuck are you?” the blonde whose name I can't remember shrieks. That says more about me than it does about her. To be fair however, this is my M.O. “Are you...are you his girlfriend?”

  “Yes!” Jazz croaks fanning her face to give the illusion she's trying not to cry. “Yes I am! I can't...I can't....I can't believe he cheated on me!”

  My jaw slips open in slight disbelief at her action. Slight amusement.

  “I didn't know,” the blonde insists quickly. I glance over my shoulder to see her shimmying her way into a silver sequin disaster that's supposed to be a dress. It's tacky. Then again. I like them tacky. They're easier. “I really didn't. When we were at the bar last night, he said he was single!”

  “Of course he did,” Jazz continues to fake a hurt voice. “Lying bastard! Cheating Scum! Sketchy asshole!”

  “I'm so sorry,” the blonde apologizes again, her silver heels dangling from her fingertips. “I would have never--”

  “I know!” Jazz covers her face with her hands.

  “And to think.” The chick shakes her head at me. “That was the best sex I ever had.”

  After leaving me on a disgusted grunt she storms off around the corner and out of the front door making sure to slam it behind her. Folding my arms across my muscular chest I raise my eyebrows at Jazz.

  Immediately she stops her fake tears and snaps her head up. “That's really sad if it's true.”

  “Wanna test it and see?” Jazz rolls her eyes, immune to my comments. “What are you doing here anyway? Besides putting the B in Cock Block.”

  A small glare comes out of her before she shoves her hands on her skirt covered hips. “I guess the lubricant has softened more than her pussy. Your best friend lands in twenty five minutes.”

  “Shit,” I grumble scurrying away to grab my boxers. “Can I shower first?”

  “While I would appreciate it if you didn't smell like depression and cheap perfume, no.” Jazz turns on her heels and heads towards the door. “You have two minutes and 48 seconds. 47. 46...”

  As quickly as I can I pull on a pair of boxer briefs, gym shorts, a white t-shirt, socks and shoes. Typically in my normal attire I look like a perfectly groomed Frat fuckhead, the words out of my mouth not helping the illusion, but the judgmental looks that that's what I am always get worse when I wear my workout gear. I get tired of the “I bet he eats with a silver spoon' looks. Especially since before being in the military I barely ate.

  After grabbing my phone and wallet, I hustle out of the room to see Jazz holding my front door open staring at her designer wrist watch.

  “14 seconds to spare. Wow,” she falsely sounds impressed.

  My eyebrows wiggle at her. “Did you bring me breakfast?”

  With an annoyed look my direction she shuts the door behind us. Following Jazz to the SUV she uses to escort us around in when instructed, I'm surprised w
hen I notice the passenger seat empty. Taking advantage I climb in. “Where's Grim?”

  “He'll meet us there,” is all she says. In one fluid motion she pushes on a pair of sunglasses, starts the SUV, and drives us towards the airport.

  Jazz never wastes time with idle talk. At least not that I know of. Drives me crazy. I like the pointless talk. The constant noise. Bickering. Anything. It's the silence that gnaws at me, freeing the memories I can't shake. The constant noise reminds me of being in the foster homes that were safer. Quiet ones were the ones to worry about. To fear.

  I run my fingers through my blonde hair to wipe away the chance of my mind wandering that direction. Pushing the volume up on the radio playing early 90s pop, I secretly smile to myself. This is much better than silence. Even if I won't admit it out loud.

  “Is this Alanis Morissette?” I prepare to tease. “Going through a bitter break up?”

  “Why do you know this is Alanis Morissette?”

  With my famous charming smirk, which gets me into trouble as much as it does out, I reply, “Because I've had many women play it over losing me.”

  “You really think you're just that amazing?”

  “Correction. I know I am.”

  “Don't wonder why Grim wants to punch you in the face most of the time.”

  “Grim wants to punch everyone in the face. It's his nature.”

  Grim, or to the rest of the world, Clint Walker, is one of my best friends and fellow HORN Unit member. Him, my roommate Jody Lord, also known as Lordy, and I used to be Marines stationed together until we were drafted for a unique elite unit that doesn't exist on paper. It was one of the few good moments in my life that stands out. Knowing that I'm more than my past wanted to allow, is something that I remember every time I walk through the doors of the facility. It reminds me I'm more than just a fucking unwanted child. More than a foster kid fuck up. More than the bastard who left a little girl with a shattered promise.

  The car stops at the same time Lordy strolls out of the doors with his bag slung over his shoulder, scruff all over his normally clean shaven baby face, and clothes more than worn out. A completely different look than his natural soft one. He's always reminded me of a non-threatening cowboy. The Georgia country accent that leaks out at times doesn't help.

  As soon as he opens the door I toss my head over my shoulder. “Well that's not the Southern Belle I remember.”

  “Fuck you shit head,” is his reaction while slamming the door. “I just spent the last two weeks in an underground prison with someone who literally smiled for joy when he thought they were taking me away to get my head cut off because, and I quote, 'America is every bit as barbaric as they pretend they are not'.” Hearing his description briefly softens Jazz's face. At least I think it did. Hm. Maybe I imagined it.

  “Did you get what we needed?” She asks looking at him in the rear view mirror.

  “Yes ma'am,” he replies on a sigh.

  Turning around in my seat to face him again, I offer him a shit eating grin to help lighten the mood I know he's in. It's the one that if you aren't fortunate, or don't know how to cope with the shit you see on a regular, will kill you. One way or another. “You smell like ass.”

  “So do you. What's your fucking excuse?” he throws back scratching his unusual beard.

  “Jazzabelle wouldn't let me shower,” my pretend pout causes him to chuckle.

  “Do not call me that,” she states, annoyance clear in her voice as she pulls onto the highway. “How many times do I have to tell you that? Do you need a time out?”

  “I was taking one, but you made her leave.”

  Lordy laughs, fist bumps me, and I turn back around offering Jazz another child like smile. I've always been this way. The simple comic relief. Punch line. I'm rarely taken seriously and after I broke my promise to Khloe it only seems right. Penance at its finest.

  His voice calls to me sounding slightly hurt, “Did you go out last night?”

  “Honestly don't remember going out,” I answer. The memory of the night before won't return. Too much alcohol. Too much sex. A combination that should've prevented those memories from sparking back up. “If it wasn't for the pair of gymnastic legs I woke up next to this morning, I wouldn't have any proof I left the apartment.”

  “God she was easy,” Jazz mutters pulling into the secure parking garage offering her badge for security to scan then hands over her phone.

  “I don't like 'em hard,” I reassure her, handing mine over a second before Lordy. “That's my job.”

  “Nice.” Lordy offers me another fist to bump.

  Jazz drives past security, puts the car in park and looks around the seat at him. “He missed you. Can you tell?”

  Lordy offers a wide smile. In a low voice he asks, “Is he the only one?”

  My eyes oscillate between them. Their eyes are locked. Their breathing changed. Uncomfortable, I grip the door handle. The chemistry between them is becoming clear in moments like this. Away from the cameras. Away from the Director. Away from those who wouldn't approve. I'm not sure I do. Risking the sanctity of our team for the possibility of a sexual moment? Many things I can let go. That is not one. Them together wouldn't be right. They need to let it go. If not for the integrity of this team, then for the safety.

  “Grim probably did,” I insert breaking the tension.

  “Where is Grim?”

  “Inside.” Jazz clears her throat. “Where we need to be Jackets.”

  We get out and head to the door where she hits a button and a panel slides down to scan her hand and retina. Once clearance is passed, the three of us head down the long hallway for the stairs that will lead us to the actual underground facility. After entering the building we walk past the fully equipped bathroom with multiple shower stalls, the sleeping center for non-ideal situations, and through a wide space which is home to a couple leather couches spread around a coffee table and a TV screen the size of the wall broken into sections of different camera angles that show the outside of the building.

  Jazz continues heading towards our destination, having to have her hand and retina scanned once more to enter the next door. Marching up the steps in silence I try not think about the fact this place has so many goddamn stairs. Every moment in this building feels like it is designed to push your limits.

  Once we enter the technology haven, we gather around the screens where Merlin, the wizard behind a computer, will share his information with us. I'm not exactly his favorite. We started off on the wrong foot. My mouth got away from me and rubbed him the wrong way until I dubbed this place Merlin's Cave. He warmed up a little after that. But not much.

  To no surprise Director Shepard, the man in charge of this entire branch of Horn, is already waiting with a displeased expression. Between his buzz cut, dark hair, and inability to smile, he reminds me of what I imagine Grim would've turned into without his wife. Cold. Hollow. Focused. Strange thing about him is the jagged scar on his jawbone line is the gentlest thing about him. It's advertisement on his face that while he may expect perfection from us, he himself is not.

  Seeing Grim, who may look like the Director in height, build, and expression, I toss him a nod with a smirk. He may lack the warming playfulness of Lordy and I, but in his own way he's not as hardened as he seems. Grim tosses me a nod in return before greeting Lordy the same way.

  “Jackets,” Director Shepard demands our attention. Jazz takes his side like she always does. While she is technically above us, most of the time she treats us as equals or close enough to count.

  “Sir.” We greet him as one. That's the type of unit we are. Always have been. Always will be. It's one of the reason's Jazz chose us for this. We think and speak like one mind. For the most part we're lead by Grim, who until his wife walked into his life was a flawless machine. One I will follow blindly anywhere, especially after he saved my life on the field.

  “While JZ is continuing her efforts and analysis on the situation of The Face directly, you men a
re about to be a part of a rescue mission.” He tilts his head and Merlin clicks a button showing a photo of the terrorist. The man, who taking down, is the objective of our over-all mission. The last time we went after someone in his organization Lordy was almost taken out as well as Grim. He is not an easy man to get to and his team is not one that's easy to infiltrate. Not only is he one of the biggest names in sex trafficking in our country, his actions fund terrorist actions that take place here as well. That's the purpose of HORN. To protect and defend the country from terrorist attacks and actions that may land here. A special ops unit cross bred with almost a cop a feel. Something unlike anything else I've heard of. “The Face is moving merchandise.”

  “Drugs?” Grim questions.

  “Girls,” Director Shepard corrects him. Merlin clicks keys and a map of the shoreline shows up.

  “Shouldn't we refer to them as people?” I speak up.

  “I do not have names or faces yet. I do not have the information necessary to call them anything other than merchandise or pets as The Face has referred to them as. Would you prefer me to call them pets?”

  “No Sir.” We sharply reply.

  “Moving forward. The Face will be selling them in the next few weeks out of the country. He will be relocating them using his private yacht we believe, putting you three on location here.” Director Shepard points to the coast line on the map. “It'll be a clean sweep in and out. Rescue and return. Once they're secure, they will be relocated to a medical treatment facility before being brought in for interrogation.”

  “You're going to interrogate them? The way you did Haven?” Lordy gawks. “Have they not been through enough?”

  “The information they hold can stop others from going through the same shit they went through. The information they provide could potentially put a stop to an operation that not only trafficks underage women but funds terrorists’ actions on our home soil Jacket,” he snaps bitterly. “Do I need to justify my further actions to you or can I do my job?”

  Lordy nods. “Sorry Sir.”