Read Online Havoc by Angie Merriam - Free Book Online Page B

.”
    Her eyes are doing it again, that thing where
they light up and force my heart to start pounding in my chest like
it's in a jailbreak. The luring, dark-brown layers seem to be
whispering my name, demanding I open up and lose myself to them.
Submit. And I find myself wanting to. It's like a toxic chemical
has entered my body and wreaked havoc on my brain. I have to get
away from her. Just a minute, I just need a minute.
    “Would you like to shower before dinner?”
    “Yes, please.”
    Quickly, I show her my bathroom, get the
water started, the dress settled in, and the pink bag. Once she's
in and set, I jog over with my clothes to the guest bathroom in
desperate need of a shower myself.
    The warm water washes over the top of my head
and down my shoulders, my arms bracing the tile walls. What's
happening to me? First I was feeling, then I was having memories,
and now I'm openly vulnerable. I don't do feelings. They make sure
to flush them out of you in training if you haven't already done so
before you enroll. I don't have memories. They're behind a locked
door with a cemented brick wall. I have facts from my past,
information. I don't have longing emotions for them. I don't wish
to relive them. I damn sure don't relive them inside my mind like a
highlights reel. My body swivels around so the water runs down the
angel-wing tattoos on my back, the ones that have my mother's name
engraved in them. I can't keep letting Haven do this to me. I just
can't. I don't know what's on the other side of that wall anymore,
and I don't need to know. I need to get a grip on reality, this
situation with her. I can't protect her if I'm some babbling moron,
emotionally unstable, a useless post-adolescent thug. She needs me
to be Grim, a Marine, a solider, a protector, not whoever it is
Clint may be if the wall goes down. When the wall goes down. A low
growl leaves me. That wall cannot come down.
    Fifteen minutes later, I’m dressed in a pair
of dark-blue jeans and a white, button-up shirt with a navy blazer
on top. Out of habit, I pull at the collar, feeling a little like a
small child going to an adult dinner. I've done this a million
times before, but I feel nervous. I tug again. What if Haven hates
this shirt? I tug at the sleeves of the jacket. Or this jacket?
    Thinking of her, I slide out of the guest
bathroom and decide to walk by my own—no reason to impose on her
more than necessary. Though, I imagine her soaking wet probably
looks like an adolescent fantasy. My body starts to stiffen. Not
now.
    No sound of running water, meaning she must
be done. I lean closer, hoping to hear her stir, the smallest sign
that she is indeed OK on the other side of the white door. Then
there's a crashing sound followed by the words, “I can't breathe .
. .”
    I toss the door open and fall to her side,
swooping her into my arms like a scared, wounded bird. Tears fill
her eyes as she buries her face on my shoulder, one hand clutching
my coat for leverage, the other on her own stomach.
    “Alpha,” I whisper, my fingers stroking the
side of her head, entangling themselves in knots of water and
tangles. Haven continues to shake and shiver, trapped once more in
some sort of traumatic tornado of emotions she got swept away in. I
cannot handle this sight. But this moment isn't about me. She needs
me to be strong so she can be weak. I pull her in close, applying
pressure against her white, towel-coated body, almost like placing
her in a protective cage that nothing short of the hand of God
could break through. I just need her to remember she's safe here
with me. Protected. Just one spark of memory of that safety, and I
know she'll be all right. I know she still trusts me.
    I don't move, say a word, or reposition
myself until I finally feel a bit of relief release itself from her
body. She raises her head so that her eyes fall into mine. With a
shaky hand, she reaches out to touch me as if verifying I'm real,
if this is real.
    Her hand, now clean and