Chapter 81 Havoc
Havoc
We move fast.
But not loud.
Not reckless.
Because this isn’t a chase.
It’s a recovery.
And if we do this wrong—
He doesn’t make it.
I signal the team into formation as we spread out beyond the Tavern.
Tree line.
Fence line.
Open ground.
Every inch of this place is now a battlefield.
But my focus?
Isn’t just the enemy.
It’s him.
An old man with failing memory… out there in the dark.
Confused.
Slow.
Vulnerable.
My jaw tightens.
Because that’s the part that doesn’t sit right.
Not just that they took him—
But they took him, and old man who couldn’t take care of himself.
He’s not a threat.
He’s not leverage you can control easily.
Not with dementia.
Which means one of two things:
They didn’t know.
Or they don’t care.
And I don’t know which one pisses me off more.
Aspen stays glued to my side.
Exactly where I told her to be.
But I can feel it in her.
The way her breathing isn’t steady.
The way her hands tremble just slightly when she thinks I won’t notice.
“He gets like this sometimes,” she says suddenly.
Her voice is quiet.
Too quiet.
I glance at her.
“What do you mean?”
Her eyes are fixed ahead, scanning the dark.
“Grandpa,” she says. “When he gets confused… he wanders.”
A pause.
“But he doesn’t come back on his own.”
That lands heavy.
“And if someone grabs him…” she continues, her voice starting to shake, “he won’t understand what’s happening. He won’t fight. He won’t—”
Her words break.
I stop.
Turn to her.
“Aspen.”
Her eyes meet mine—and there it is.
The guilt.
Already eating at her.
“This is my fault,” she whispers. “They came here because of me. Because of us. And now—”
“No.”
Firm.
Sharp.
She flinches slightly.
Good.
Because I need her to hear me.
“This is not on you,” I say, stepping closer. “You didn’t do this. They did.”
“But if something happens to him—”
“It won’t.”
“You don’t know that!” she snaps, emotion breaking through.
Her chest rises and falls too fast now.
“If they hurt him—if they scare him—he won’t understand, Havoc. He’ll think—he’ll think we abandoned him—”
Her voice cracks completely.
And that?
That hits harder than anything else.
Because this isn’t just fear of losing him.
It’s fear of what he’ll feel before it happens.
Confusion.
Terror.
Alone.
Yeah.
No.
Not happening.
I step in.
Close the distance.
Grip her shoulders.
Not rough.
But solid.
Grounding.
“Listen to me,” I say, low and steady.
She shakes her head, tears threatening now.
“No—if something happens to Tank’s grandfather, I’ll never—”
I cut her off.
“He’s not gone,” I say.
Her breath stutters.
“He’s not hurt,” I continue.
“You don’t know that—”
“I do.”
Because I have to.
Because if I don’t believe it, she won’t either.
And I need her standing.
Not breaking.
“They took him for a reason,” I say. “Which means he’s alive.”
Her lips tremble.
“They don’t need him hurt,” I add. “They need him breathing.”
A tear slips down her cheek.
I catch it before it falls.
Thumb brushing it away.
“He’s slow,” she whispers. “He won’t understand what they want… he won’t be able to—”
My jaw tightens.
“I know.”
And that’s exactly why this just became something else entirely.
Because now it’s not just a rescue.
It’s a race.
Against fear.
Against confusion.
Against time.
I lean in slightly.
Forehead almost touching hers.
“They don’t get to hurt him,” I say quietly.
Not loud.
Not dramatic.
But absolute.
Her eyes search mine.
Desperate.
“You don’t know that,” she whispers again.
And this time—
I don’t argue.
I just hold her gaze.
Let her see it.
The truth of what I’m about to say.
“They won’t get the chance.”
Silence.
Heavy.
Real.
Then I straighten.
Turn back to the team.
“Tracks,” I call out. “Anything.”
“Got something!” one of the guys shouts from the far side of the yard.
We move immediately.
Fast.
Focused.
Aspen right beside me.
Always beside me.
The beam of a low light cuts across the ground.
Boot prints.
Fresh.
Dragging marks.
My eyes lock onto them.
There.
That’s him.
Not walking steady.
Not keeping pace.
Being handled.
Moved.
Taken.
Rage builds—slow and controlled.
Good.
I use that.
“They went this way,” I say.
Ace nods.
“Vehicle?”
“Maybe,” I reply. “But not yet. Too close to the house.”
Which means they’re on foot.
Which means—
We’re not far behind.
I glance at Aspen.
She’s staring at the tracks.
Breathing hard.
But she doesn’t break.
Doesn’t fall apart.
She squares her shoulders instead.
Lifts her chin.
And nods.
Like she’s ready.
Like she’s not going anywhere.
Damn right she’s not.
I step forward.
Follow the trail.
Into the dark.
And I make one thing very clear in my own head—
They can take a lot of things from me.
They can try to break a lot of people.
But they don’t get him.
Not the old man who can’t defend himself.
Not Tank’s grandfather, who she loves.
Not on my watch.
Because if they even think about hurting him—
They won’t survive it.
And I won’t feel bad about that.