Devastate (Havoc Series Stand Alone Book 5) (11 page)

Day 28 in Georgia

              Hours after dinner, dessert, and unwinding time, Grim tucks Haven into their room, while Glove, Jazz and I gather in the room we've been sharing.

              As soon Glove walks in, he takes a large whiff. “Why does it smell like sex and peaches in here?” Jazz folds her arms across her chest and pins him with an unamused stare. “Why does everything smell like peaches? Am I gonna go home smelling like one?”

              “You're in peach land dumbass.” I chuckle flopping on the edge of our bed. “And yeah. You are.”

              “Lord of Peaches,” Glove returns to mocking. “I'm gonna get you a crown and stick peaches on the pointy parts of it.”

              “Let it go,” Grim growls shutting the door quietly behind him.

              Surprised, I mention, “That was quick.”

              “Yeah, well, we don't really have a lot of time for me to properly explain to my wife why the speech your grandfather gave was not only right, but what I've been trying to say. Now's not really a good time to pow-wow my fucking life issues.”

              “Why's now not a good time?” I raise my eyebrows. “What the hell are y'all doin' here? Better yet, why the hell didn't we know you were coming?”

              “Our help was requested from another team as back up. One of the other teams is set to deal with The Face indirectly. Considering he is our main priority and the problem is it would raise suspicions if we weren't included on a mission involving something to do with him.” Grim explains folding his arms across his chest. “There was a tip reported he's selling three girls in exchange for a new drug that's in it's testing stages.”

              Curious I question, “What kinda drug?”

              “It's goal, from prolonged use, is to enhance your body chemistry resulting in better resistance to bullets.”

              “It makes you bullet proof? What the fuck? This isn't a fucking Marvel movie.”

              “No it's not,” Grim states coldly. “It's fucking real and if he gets it, and that shit actually works, what do you think all of his men are going to be required to start shooting up?”

              “Time out,” Jazz breaks up the conversation. “That doesn't make any sense.”

              “The drug?” Glove questions.

              “No. That makes perfect sense. We're always toying with the human system seeing how to make it stronger, faster, able to endure more than the basic amount of stress we put on it.” She directs her next sentence at Grim. “The Face doesn't make trades for drugs. He trades his girls for money. Period. That money then funds terrorist actions-”

              “I'd say acquiring a drug that could possibly make you bullet proof is up his alley then,” Grim argues.

              “You're not listening.” Jazz stomps her boot covered foot.

              “Not as effective as a high heel,” Glove mumbles.

              “The Face deals in human trafficking. You don't just wake up one night and decide to play in a different ball park. You either ease into that shit or have had your hands in it all along, which he hasn't. This situation is wrong. All wrong. There's so much wrong here there's nothing about it that could possibly be right. Why wasn't I asked to analyze this beforehand?”

              “Maybe because the last report you were asked to finish never got turned in.”

              Jazz's lips shut and curiously I stand. “What do you mean it never got turned in? Jazz sent in that report a couple weeks ago.”

              “Did she?” Grim cringes. “Because according to The Director she needed more time.” My eyes briefly cut to her. “According to The Director, Jazz said her report couldn't be complete at the time he requested. He told her she could have another week to make further assessments.”

              “You told me your profile for Tyger was finished,” I coldly sigh.

              “Director, also wants to know why the two of you haven't returned home yet. We've also been sent to bring you back,” Grim continues. “The threat level for Tyger has been taken down enough to where it's a safe return. Jazz's apartment has been set up for surveillance and monitored. Same for you and Glove's place.”

              Cupping his mouth towards me like it's a secret, Glove says, “I have had a lot of sex on camera...”

              My face rumples in disgust at the thought of that being caught on video.

              Grim starts again, “We've been tracking Tyger closely for the last couple of weeks, those on his team, and anyone he has contact with. We've even established how he's told where to meet The Face.”

              “So what the fuck are we still doing here if we can go home Jazz?” I explode.

              “Voice,” she hisses.

              A vibration sound fills the room and Glove quickly pulls a phone out of his pocket. Quietly he whispers, “Time to move.”

              “Now?” I toss a hand in the air. “I'm not fucking--”

              “Your team has you covered,” Grim assures me. “We've got your weapons and a change of uniform. However, we need to move now. It's a three hour drive. Coming here was not only to pick you up, but to appear as everything is still fine. Tyger has no idea we're being sent in to the help the other team and The Director wanted to keep it that way. Didn't want any sort of tip off happening. So, looks like we're visiting you in your Georgia prison, which is hard to dispute as anything else with Haven here. All caught up?”

              “Yup.” I nod and turn to Glove. “You have my shit?”

              “When'd your clothes get so heavy?” The attempt to lighten the mood only momentarily works. 

              “The Director is expecting your video call now,” Grim says forcefully to Jazz. “And he wants a damn good explanation.”

              “That fucking makes two of us,” I gripe from beside Glove.

              Jazz wets her lips but says nothing.

              Grim takes a step towards her. “If you put this team at risk for your own selfish fucking reasons so help me God--”

              “You'll what?” She challenges back.

              Something inside of me snaps. Whether or not what she did was right, no one threatens my girl. No one. Protectively I command, “Step back Grim.”

              His eyes sharply move to me in question.

              “Now.”

              Surprised by my demand his head tilts at me. As I take a step at him, Glove quickly grabs my arm. “Whoa. Whoa. Whoa, there cowboy. This isn't a shoot-out. And we're all on the same team, remember?”

              “And you're worried about my fucking priorities,” Grim grouses backing away from her. “I'm not the one who just destroyed this team.”

              Jazz's lips tremble as she tries to stay strong. “Grim--”

              “No Jasmine. That's. On. You.” Without another word he turns, yanks open the door, and heads to Glove's room where I assume the gear is being stored.

              Glove tugs on my arm once to indicate I need to keep moving, but my eyes stay on Jazz's hoping that he's wrong. That she did this for a purpose. She had too. She always does. She always has a reason for everything she does. An equation she's always trying to fucking solve. She wouldn't lie to me without a good reason. Not after promising she wouldn't. On a deep breath I follow Glove out of the room to prepare for a mission that I'll be better briefed on when there's time.

              Locked and loaded, we pull out of the driveway with Grim driving, Glove in the front seat, and me in the back. In silence we leave the property, the late moonlight leaking through the hanging trees. Leaning against the window I stare at the passing sight in hopes that it'll give me an opportunity to get my mind focused on the job I have to do. Nothing more dangerous to a team than members who don't all have their head in the game. That's how people end up dead.

              About forty five minutes into the drive Glove, who's never been great at handling silence very well speaks up. “Hope you're still in shape bro. Would hate for you to get a cramp.”

              He turns around and gives me childish smirk.

              “Fuck off. I'm up running first thing every morning.” Jazz's body rocking on top of me from this morning flashes quickly in my mind. “Almost first thing.”

              “Racing chickens?”

              “Why would he race chickens?” Grim grunts.

              “'Cause we're there to race him.” Glove looks at Grim like he's the moron. I hide a laugh and he turns back to me. “Did you at least beat the rooster?”

              “I didn't race chickens you numb nut.” My body adjusts in the seat.

              “Well you didn't race Jazz. Girl doesn't run.”

              “She can handle a weapon though.” The memory has my chest bursting with pride.

              “Are we talking about actual weapons or the baby making one?” Glove wiggles his eyebrows.

              I swallow the cold reality she can't actually make babies. “Both.”

              “No,” Grim snaps loudly. “We are not talking about this shit.”

              “Why? Because you don't like the idea of me sleeping with one of our bosses?” I bite back. “Only you can mix work and your personal life?”

              Glove grimaces as Grim's face glares at me from the review mirror. “Because I don't like the idea of losing one of my brothers, the only fucking people I trust to have watching my six, over the fact he couldn't do what was better for us as a team than what his own fucking dick craved.”

              “What'd you just fucking say to me?” I sit up straight in the back seat.

              “You fucking heard me,” Grim snarls. “Be fucking thankful I can't pull this fucking car over.”

              “Pull it the fuck over!”

              Glove shouts, “Both of you! Chill!”

              My back hits the seat. I shake my head slowly. Not ready to give this conversation up. Not by a fucking long shot.

              “It's so much fucking bigger than you boning your boss Lordy,” Grim growls. “Our entire team is in jeopardy.”

              “Let it go,” Glove whispers.

              “No,” he fights. “He needs to hear this. Look, I'm glad you got over that photo you carried around for years. I'm glad you found someone worth a damn, believe me, you deserve to have what the two of us do more than we do, but that same thing you found may be the reason this team doesn't exist anymore. Shepard's worried about what secrets have been compromised between the two of you. The integrity of this team. Our abilities to put the mission before anything else. It's always been his worry and the nails in our coffins. Now you fuck our commanding officer? She lied for you two to keep playing house. How's that gonna look? How can anything good fucking come from this?” Feelings of guilt and anxiety alike settle in the pit of my stomach, I divert my eyes down. “Hope it was fucking worth it Lordy. I really fucking do.”

              The car ride returns to silence for the remainder of the drive. Eventually we arrive at the designated location, park in the back lot location, adjust our weapons, and cross to meet up with the HORN team we will be assisting.

              Three men in similar attire are gathered beside an SUV. While the three of us vary in size, slightly in height, but definitely in looks, these three look almost identical. All of them are approximately 6'2 with slender builds. Olive skin. Brown eyes. If I didn't know any better I'd say they were all brothers.

              “Jackets,” one speaks to us stepping forward first. “Hawk.”

              “Grim.” He shakes.

              Repeating the action he states, “Glove.”

              “Lordy,” I introduce myself.

              “To my left is Eagle. To my right Raptor.” Bracing his arms across his chest he explains, “The mission is simple. Clean. Only survivors are to be the victims we are rescuing. Clear?”

              “Clear.” We agree in unison.

              “Grim, I'll need you on the roof for immediate coverage. Glove you're to assist Eagle covering the east exit. Lordy you're to help cover the west with Raptor. When I give the signal shots are to be fired. Make them count.”

              Hawk turns back the way he came, which is when Glove whispers, “And we thought you were grouchy, Grim.”

              On a death glare he demands, “Do your fucking job, Jacket.”

              “Yes sir,” he replies, walking past him to follow Eagle.

              “You too,” Grim commands before tilting his head the direction I need to go.

              I sharply nod and follow Raptor to the spot we were instructed. At the end of the eerily vacant block, we're each stationed on one of the corners, keeping the exit covered. The drop is going down in the building in between where the four of us are stationed on corners. Any and all exits will have to go past one of us. That's assuming they make it past Grim. And that's a big fucking if.