Sweet Recovery (Ex Ops Series Book 4) (11 page)

In my mind, the woman was in denial about half-truths and the possibilities of what-ifs. The only color she possessed was in the cloak that was draped over her body and white dress, covering her shoulders and lying like a waterfall of blood down her back to the forest floor. Her hood was pulled up on her head to help protect her from the cold night.

As I colored in the majority of the cloak in the dark red, leaving spaces to highlight and define in a brighter red, I wished that hood and cloak could protect her from more than the cold, like the wolf.

The sad truth was that I knew nothing could protect her from the big, bad wolf. Not that cloak, not some magical power, and definitely not love. Anyone who looked at this piece would easily see what I was trying to convey.

The world in front of us was evil and dangerous, ready to gobble us up and spit us out at any moment. In truth, we were all just doing what we had to in order to survive.

After spending the next half-hour coloring the rest of her cape with a fiery hue, I finally finished with touches of fine black marker lines then sat back and studied what I had produced.

Black and red.

Power and determination.

Loss and danger.

Fear and love.

Death and life.

My entire world felt as if it had been reduced to the colors of black and red.

Lucas

What was worse than days and nights of flashbacks and nightmares of the men to your left and right being shot down or blown away?

Cable television.

For the last two weeks, I had been in my apartment, the curtains drawn to block the sunshine, all the lights turned off, and nothing to brighten up my living room other than the illumination from the flat panel’s projection. Sleep had been almost nonexistent, and by this point, I was running solely on the fumes of my leftover pizza and the numerous whiskey bottles littering my coffee table.

I didn’t know how many days I had been holed up in my little one-bedroom apartment. What I did know was that my cable sucked. Big time. There were too many infomercials with skinny chicks doing horrible exercise videos and fat men selling new cooking inventions. Not to mention, if one more rerun of the
Brady Bunch
came on, I was going to show Jan what a real temper tantrum was and throw my TV out the fucking window.

The only good thing I had discovered while secluding myself was that there was a liquor store that did deliveries if the order was big enough. Consequently, I had ordered ten bottles of Jack and asked the guy who had been taking my order if that was enough.

“Sure, man. Would you like to go ahead and order a new liver, too?”

It took everything I had in me not to punch that little shit when he delivered my booze.

Now I was lying on my couch, still in my boxers, periodically watching some godawful soap opera that felt like a bad remake of my life. It was the same old story, no matter what couple was on: man and woman happy together, but two episodes later, either the man or the woman had done something to break the other person’s heart, like sleep with the bridesmaid.

Man, did I know how that felt.

Not the sleeping with the bridesmaid part—right now, that would be a fucking win. No, all I could focus on was the heartbreak, because I knew exactly what that felt like now.

The girl of my dreams had fucked me over really good. First, by using my body, and then, by dropping the bomb that she had a fiancé and walking out as revenge.

These bitches were sobbing on TV about their pain and anger, and how they would never love anyone ever again. And that was just the men! Don’t get me started on those crazy-ass broads on these shows. They made the chicks on that show called
Snapped
look like angels.

Angels…
Fuck!
Why did I have to think that word?

Reaching over, I was so drunk I almost fell off my couch, but that didn’t stop me from grabbing the bottle of whiskey and guzzling it like a frat boy.

Just when I told myself I wasn’t going to think about Ginny this day—hell, the hour, even—she slid back into my thoughts.

Everything I saw, touched or thought led back to her somehow.

I heard a woman laugh on the TV, and it became Ginny’s laugh back in that club. I saw a couple kissing, and all I thought about was the way she tasted on my lips. I watched some soap opera broad stabbing her husband in the back with a butcher knife, and I felt the burn of watching her walk out that door all over again.

Why did everything have to remind me of the woman who had broken me more than any war ever could?

Trying to get my mind off blonde hair and blue eyes, I watched the brunette on the soap opera apologize to the man she had just stabbed. She was so sorry; she didn’t mean to do it.

I snorted.
Right, bitch.

Suddenly, there were loud, heavy banging sounds from my front door. I ignored them. It was probably my neighbor trying to complain about my loud-ass TV again. The bitch could forget it. I was watching Manda stab Jack, and if I was lucky, Jack would turn around and stab her ass right back. Someone needed some justice around here, and it sure as shit didn’t look like I would be getting any.

Another round of banging started just as Jack began to say something to Manda, and it pissed my drunk-ass off.

“Go away!” I shouted at the door.

Silence ensued, and I thanked God that whoever it was had finally left me alone. Now I could watch Manda’s dumbass be handcuffed and carted off to jail.

Fuck! Handcuffs, and Ginny flashed in my mind, making me miss the fact that someone had walked into my apartment.

“Are you for real, man? You’re watching soap operas?”

I didn’t need to look over to know who was there; I recognized the voice. My teammate Chase Anderson had decided to grace me with his pretty boy presence, and I wished he would march his ass right back out my door, which was why I told him, “You can go out the same way you came in.”

“Dude, did you shit yourself?”

I tried to focus on Chase’s blurry face. “I don’t think so. Why?”

“Because you sure as fuck smell like you did! When was the last time you took a shower?”

Looking down at my boxers, I half-ass inspected them for brown stains, yet thankfully didn’t see any. Mission accomplished. Now I could go back to sleep.

Lying back down on the couch, I closed my eyes and felt numbing blackness start to overtake me again … only to be blindsided by a slap to the side of my head.

Popping my eyes open in surprise, I snapped, “What the hell, Anderson?”

“I asked you a question, fuckwad. When was the last time you took a shower?”

Oh, yeah, he had asked me that. The problem was, I didn’t know.

“What day is it?”

“Monday,” Chase answered with a small twitch in his eye.

If it was Monday, then I really had no idea. I had been home for at least a week … or longer.

“Monday the what?” I tried again. He started to open his mouth, but I threw my hand up and cut him off. “Wait! What month is it?”

Chase’s jaw dropped open in surprise, and his eyes bugged out. “That’s fuckin’ nasty, bro.”

The next thing I knew, I was being pulled up from the couch.

“I’m not your bro, asshole.” Irritated at being bothered when I was finally about to get some sleep, I tried to punch him, but he just batted my fist away.

Dipping down, he put a shoulder in my gut and swung me up into a fireman’s carry, seemingly ignoring my insult. My stomach churned while I watched the carpet move as he walked down the hallway. If he didn’t put me down soon, I was going to barf all over him, just like Ginny had barfed all over me.

Damn. There I went thinking about her again. And it was all the fault of the jackass who was holding me.

Angry at the reminder of the woman who had ripped my heart out and stomped on it, I gave Chase a kidney shot. He grunted at the impact but didn’t drop me.

“Stop trying to tickle me, you smelly fucker. You’re not pretty enough to make me swing that way.”

I was a goddamn Green Beret. Being stuck over somebody’s shoulders like a sack of potatoes should not be happening to me of all people. Yet, here I hung, because my drunk-ass wasn’t strong enough or coordinated enough to get Chase to put me down. I had no one to blame but myself for that, which only pissed me off more. Therefore, I took another cheap shot and punched him in the kidneys again.

This time, he stumbled to the side, grunting in pain and slamming my head into the wall.

“You keep that shit up, Lucas, and I will knock you the fuck out.”

“Then put me down, asshole!” I shouted back.

“Nope, not until I make sure you’re awake and no longer polluting my air quality.”

He took a quick left and flipped on a bright light. It didn’t take me long to realize I was in my bathroom. One, because I could see my tile floor. Two, because seconds later, I landed not so gently in my own damn bathtub. And three, because the smirking jackass turned the shower on so that warm water hit me in the face.

As I sputtered in rage, the words tumbled out before I even had a chance to think about what I was saying.

“You don’t understand! I can’t eat, can’t sleep. All I see is her, and she all but ripped my heart from my chest and stomped on it.” Punching my chest, I screamed, “I can’t do this. I can’t fucking live like this!”

My head fell back against the tub with a
thunk
. I didn’t even feel the pain. I already hurt with every inch of my being, so what was one more injury?

My eyes were on the ceiling, but I saw Chase bend forward and flick the knob on the water. Between one second and the next, the warm, soothing water gave way to a frigid cold stream, and I yelled in surprise.

I tried to get up, but Chase held me down by the shoulders, and my hands were too slippery to get a good grip on him to push him away.

My teammate’s face dropped down in front of mine, and he roared, “You feel that, motherfucker? You feel that fresh bitch slap of reality? That’s your wakeup call!” He gave me a harsh push and stood up.

I was so shocked by his outburst that I didn’t move, merely stared at the man who was fuming down at me.

“You’re not the only one who’s ever been hurt, Lucas, and you sure as fuck won’t be the last. So get yourself together, wash your nasty ass, and rejoin the real world. We’ve got a mission coming up, and the team needs you, something you would have known had you shown up for the meeting Jaxon had today. If you think you feel bad now, think about what will happen if someone on our team dies because you weren’t on your A-game. That should make your dumbass feel even worse.” With that final parting shot, he threw my bar of soap at me then stormed out of the bathroom.

I heard my front door slam a minute later. I didn’t bother to move, though. Instead, I lay there, letting the cold water make me numb.

Numb was good, because as much as I hated him right now, Chase was right. I couldn’t afford to let myself go to shit like this. I might not like to depend on others anymore, but I damn sure made sure others could depend on me. There was no way in hell I could stand the thought of losing one of the men I worked with again.

Grabbing the soap, I gingerly sat up in the tub and started washing my upper body. I would get myself clean and then sober. When that was done, I would go apologize to my commander for missing a mission briefing and ask for the details.

I had shit to do in life, even if I didn’t know why I was really living it anymore. Just like Chase had said, I was not the only person who had ever lost someone.

Guessed it was time for me to stop wallowing in my hole of self-pity and do my job.

Pulling off my boxers, I washed the rest of my body, silently thankful Chase had left so he wouldn’t see me like this.

No man wanted another man to see him cry.

Chapter

9

Ginny

One Month Later…

Solid, silver utensils and gold-inlaid fine-bone china dinnerware sat before me, filled with what was probably one of the best meals someone could find in Chicago. I couldn’t make myself eat the food, though. My nerves were too unsettled as I sat silently at a dinner I had been summoned to by my father so I could get to know my fiancé better.

Three crystal wine glasses sat next to my place setting: one still filled with water, one that used to be filled with red wine, and the third glass in my hand was half-empty of white wine. My lack of appetite hadn’t stopped me from picking up a wine glass as soon as I’d sat down.

Staring at the delicately embroidered linen and satin napkin in a rich red and gold pattern on my lap seemed like the safest place in the room to look. Although, the sight of the cloth didn’t make me feel any better. If anything, it was also a harsh reminder of my pretty gilded cage.

I had overheard the maids talking one day about how one napkin cost more than they made in two weeks. To think that, for years, my mother had struggled just to make ends meet, while my father spent hundreds of dollars on napkins people wiped their dirty hands and mouths on. Napkins that were likely the exact same shade of the blood spilled whenever it suited him. It was enough to make my stomach turn.

The funny thing was, I would go back to a thread bare existence in a heartbeat, leaving all of the privileges of wealth behind if it meant I never had to lay eyes on the kingpin of Chicago again. However, that wasn’t an option. Therefore, I sat at the dining room table, tracing the twenty-four karat gold-plated brass embellishments with my fingertips, concentrating on the swirls and flourishes of the design and praying for this night to end.

Everywhere I looked, there was beauty, elegance … and lies.

Richard Wellington and his entire world were the perfect examples of something that was shiny and beautiful on the inside, but once you cut it open, you saw it was rotten to the core. I didn’t want to be at this table with these people, dressed in this silk sheath dress I hated or even in this room. I wanted to be back in my suite, dressed in comfy clothes and working on my latest piece.

Ever since I had come back from Miami, I had been spending more time with my art. It seemed to be the only safe place I had anymore since, everywhere I turned, someone was planning my doom: my fiancé and father in “business” meetings, my mother and the wedding planner shoving pattern samples and floral arrangements in my face.