Burn for Me (Chaotic Love)

5. Five

Five

8-23-2024

I want answers.

-Jasmine

The sun is just rising, creating a view that I'm sure is beautiful. Too bad I can't take a moment to enjoy the birds flying above the rolling waves, searching for their breakfast, or the smooth, damp sand experiencing its first marks of the day from the prints my boots leave behind. A particular Reaper has plagued my thoughts and taken them for his own, making it impossible to focus on anything other than the places his hands touched and the small shocks that went through my nervous system whenever his words washed against my skin.

He has completely torn down every carefully constructed wall I've tried to build around my facade… as well as disrupted my sleep schedule. As a result, I decided to go for a jog early in the morning to burn off some of this unwelcome feeling long before the morning call.

“And then Moe walked in mid-fuck, throwing Caspian into a heart attack.” Sharkie sighs and lifts her wrist to check her watch. Sam isn't the only one interrupting my attempts at logical thinking; my unexpected companion is doing the same since clearly she can't get laid without interruption.

“As much as I love the little shit, he’s starting to drive me insane.”

At least she’s getting laid at all.

The tension from yesterday still knots my muscles, making it hard for my lungs to fill with air, so I take a moment to pause. My heart pounds in my chest from overexertion as I drop my hands to my knees and hunch my back while Sharkie jogs around me, talking about everything I’m not interested in hearing.

I don’t need to know how it feels to turn the impossible into the possible or understand how to defeat the odds– I don’t deserve the hope. But I’m turning over a new leaf, so I need to try. My vague humming seems to encourage her to keep talking.

“I mean, I just got the man. Aren't I supposed to be in some hot honeymoon faze or something?”

Alright, I tried, and now I'm done. Just the word honeymoon is enough to kill any attempt I had left.

“You're not even married,” I grumble through my labored breathing. She laughs, and the tips of her boots come into view, dipping into the sand in a steady rhythm that kicks the irritating grains onto my own. I lift my head to narrow my gaze.

“You're right, I'm not, and I'm still getting dick but you are… ” She trails off with a raised brow, insinuating she wins this conversation.

“ Fake. Marriage.” I say slowly, pronouncing the words so she’ll get them through her thick skull.

“I don't know. I could've sworn I was stepping into a sauna when I walked in yesterday.”

I scoff and roll my eyes at how she stops moving to fan her hand dramatically. I won't admit how that makes me feel, so I stand and stretch my arms.

“I guess we're good at our job then.”

Her lips pull into a tight line as if she's refraining from speaking. I've learned she likes silence when she tries to process things, but I don't.

I want answers.

She looks out to the water, stretching her body in the same motion as I do. The light shimmers off the thin layer of sweat on her brow, and her blue eyes shine against the sunbeams. If you look close enough, you'd swear they were picked straight from the ocean, but unlike their typical light blue appearance, they are dark like the deepest depths–concealing any thoughts she’s having.

“I guess you are. This mission shouldn’t be too hard then.” She finally relents with a crooked smile.

That’s not what I wanted to hear but what I needed. Everything will go to hell if I'm caught in America anyway, so there's no sense in trying to make something out of nothing.

“Last one to base has to–”

“I have a better idea.” I grin as I cut her off, and her features become a scowl.

You only live once, and if my life is going to end anytime soon, I want to make it worthwhile. Her irritable look turns into one of intrigue.

“Let's go to town before training. The last one to the parking lot has to drive.”

I take off at a dead sprint after my words because there is no way in hell that I'm driving in this country.

“Watch out for that car!” Sharkie screeches.

Of course, her psychotic self won out because she acts like losing means it's the end of the world. I jerk the steering wheel into the parlor's parking lot, successfully avoiding yet another close call. Even though I almost hit three passing vehicles and a pedestrian decided to cross at the wrong moment, I did a decent job. It’s not like it would matter if something happened anyway since it's not my vehicle.

Sadly, Sharkie refused the idea of hotwiring Tide's car, but since I used to take Sam's SUV to town when I visited the post office, I knew exactly where he kept the spare key.

“Behind the fender is a small black box. Code: 101222.”

The thought of irritating him with a spontaneous hijacking of his vehicle was much more appealing than convincing Sharkie to seduce Tide into giving her the key to his car. I huff out a breath, and my sweat-coated palms struggle to unstick from the steering wheel.

“We made it in one piece, though.” I croon.

“Hardly.” She growls.

I jump out of the car and rush to the doors, unwilling to crumble under her steely stare.

Will I regret this? Possibly . Do I care? Not a chance.

The bell dings, and the rugged man behind the desk lifts his bald head, revealing the tattoos that snake along his neck. As usual, the unnamed woman scrolling through their computer doesn't glance in my direction, but I smile brightly anyway, and he returns the gesture with a lazy grin.

"Ah, where are the boys? I didn't know they had an appointment today." His husky voice rumbles beneath the music playing in the background. I know about this tattoo shop because Tide and Sam are regulars. I've always made their 'appointments' but have never been bold enough to make one for myself— until now.

Sharkie pushes through the door, still muttering curses about me, so I wave my hand over my shoulder, hoping to quiet her down.

"My friend and I are wanting one," I say, stepping closer to lean my arms against the desk. He mirrors my motion and looks me over, but I don't shy away.

"I can make time now," he murmurs, and my grin shifts into an innocent smile. This is another one of those moments where I have no intention of pursuing someone, but it feels nice to avoid the sting of rejection.

He stands, and I take Sharkie's hand, pulling her into the back room with me. Her tense form doesn’t go unnoticed; it’s as if she’s prepared for any worst-case scenario, but I know we’re safe here.

“This better be quick. Training is in an hour,” Sharkie grumbles, only confirming my previous thoughts— she’s on guard.

“I know you’re a perfect soldier, but have some fun!”

I climb onto the leather seat and wince at her expression. Her lip is caught between her teeth, and she looks anywhere but in my direction, almost panicked. Sharkie is slowly learning her trigger words. She's not like Sam, who conceals everything with a stony expression—Sharkie's emotions are always written on her face.

“I’m so sorry; I didn’t mean to say that,” I mutter quietly.

“I know you didn’t. It’s okay.” She lets out a long, drawn-out breath. "You might want to loosen your bun; I think it’s pulling out your brain cells.”

She laughs and steps beside me but won’t look in my direction, choosing to admire the artwork lining the chipped brick walls instead. I can’t blame her; I knew this would happen.

“Go ahead and get settled, ladies,” Kage says as he walks past, heading for a small opening at the back of the room. I turn to lie on my stomach and inch my cargo pants down my hips.

“Are you getting one?” I ask Sharkie just as Kage returns with a roll of paper towels.

She might already have a few, but I've never seen them. She’s not like the other women on base who wear tank tops while working out or wander the halls in pajamas looking for a midnight snack. I’ve caught glimpses of the scars that peek out beneath her collar before, so I have a good idea why.

Sharkie shakes her head and steps closer to my side as Kage sits in a swivel chair and leans over a toolbox, pulling out various assortments of needles, ink, and his tattoo machine. The movement she makes reminds me a lot of Sam. Even though she’s trying to be protective, I find it comforting.

“What are we getting today?” Kage asks. I glance at the wall behind him, filled with display sheets showcasing beautiful abstract works of art. Some look hand-designed, while others seem printed for display, but I’m searching for a specific piece.

“So, tell me the story.” Kage laughs as I lazily point in that direction.

I respond with a giggle, drifting into the memory of every word Sam spoke yesterday. I shouldn’t think of him at the moment, especially with another man’s hand wiping something on my butt cheek, but the feelings stirred yesterday have a mind of their own.

It makes me wish it were his hand instead, with his lips close to my ear and the strong thump of his heart beating against my chest.

I clear my throat, “It’s because I'm sweet and innocent, of course!”

A felt tip is light on my skin as he stencils his work, and he responds with a humor-filled voice, “I'm having a hard time believing that.”

Sharkie laughs, prompting me to silently agree, though I won’t admit it's my way of defying a certain man. I take a sharp breath and duck my head into my arms as the needle vibrates against my skin. Eventually, my flesh goes numb, and I close my eyes to enjoy the brief moment of comfort–of normality.

“There you go!” Kage says, wiping a cool paper towel over the area. The moment ends too quickly, and I hesitate to hop off the table.

As I stand in front of the mirror, Sharkie looks disapproving but can’t hide the crinkle of laughter in her eyes. I tilt my hips to examine his work—it’s perfect; each line is straight and smooth in deep red cursive letters.

Angel .

“I love it,” I murmur with a mischievous grin. “How much do I owe you?”

“On the house. The men come in here enough to keep me in business, so consider it a thank you to them.”

“Thanks, Kage!" I yell as Sharkie hooks her arm through mine, quickly pulling us out of the shop.

“We better not be late.” Sharkie huffs as she tugs me toward the door.

I glance at the dashboard as I slide into the driver’s seat and shift to get comfortable, “Uh-oh.”

“Uh-oh? That’s what you have to say? Uh-oh?!” Sharkie rushes to buckle her seatbelt, and I throw the car into reverse, speeding toward the base. The tattoo took longer than expected, and now we’re racing against the clock. Tide will blame me for being late, and Sam will be upset because he’s off schedule—not to mention the whole vehicle situation. But I don’t regret it. For the first time in a while, I felt normal—not like my old self or this new version I’ve created over the years, but like the person I am when it’s just Sam and me sitting together in silence.

So lost in my thoughts, I slam on the brakes as soon as we enter the base’s gates. Sam and Tide stand with their arms crossed, completely calm, despite the fact that I almost ran them over.

“Shit…” Sharkie mutters, and I stay silent in return, my stare narrowed on Sam, almost challenging him to try me.

Taking my sweet time, I unbuckle with my head held high and strut out of the car.

“Where have you–” I toss the keys at Sam's chest, cutting off his words.

“You better hurry up, or you'll be late for training.” I purr as I walk past him with a smile.