Chapter 42 #2
Knox drives while I sit in the passenger seat. Haven is looking out the window. Her mouth is tight with unease.
“What’s wrong, Warrick?” I ask.
“I don’t know, just worried about what my peers will say about you carrying me home last night,” she says. “They are going to call me a husband-stealing whore.”
“If anyone calls you that, I’m putting a bullet between their eyes,” I say.
“I don’t need your protection,” she says.
I glance back to look at her, and she meets my gaze head-on.
She’s been rather distant today. I’m not sure how much she remembers from last night. My words, our kiss, how I held her. She slept curled to my chest, but I snuck away in the morning before she could wake up.
I spent longer than I cared to admit, watching her sleep, studying the shift of her lashes, counting every small freckle on her nose.
I think it would frighten her if she knew how obsessed I’ve gotten. I don’t believe I’ve ever wanted anything in this world half as much as I want Haven Warrick.
We have a stare-off using the rearview mirror as our stage. Her brows furrow as she struggles not to blink, and my mouth twitches. She’s so bad at this.
“Forfeit,” I say.
“Never,” she says.
“Are you making love with your eyes?” Knox interrupts.
I almost forgot he was in the car. I opened the front door for her, but she hopped in the back, against my will.
I let Knox drive so I can focus my full attention on her.
“War,” Haven corrects.
She blinks and curses. I smirk, turning back to the front.
“I hate you,” she mumbles.
“Didn’t seem like that, last night,” I say.
“I was drunk. Anything I said was a lie.”
“It’s not what you said,” I say. “It’s what you did.”
I tilt the rearview mirror to see her cheeks turn flush.
Knox adjusts it.
“I’m using that,” he says, exasperated. “To drive.”
I turn it back to watch Haven.
“Use your damn neck,” I respond.
Knox groans.
“Are you two a couple or something?” he asks.
“No,” we say in unison.
“Then what is up with you both today?” Knox asks. “The sexual tension is palpable.”
“Shut up,” Haven grumbles.
“Just drive,” I order.
Knox snickers, pleased to have gotten under our skin.
Once the car parks, I order Knox to leave.
Haven reaches for the door, but I click the lock shut, and she huffs in annoyance.
“What now?” she asks.
“Are we going to speak about last night?” I ask.
“I was drunk, and as far as I recall, you made a fool of us both,” Haven says. “You ruined my birthday.”
I ignore her harsh words. Her coldness does little to freeze my affections. It is too late to curb them, and trying will only prolong the inevitable.
I reach into my pocket and draw out the necklace that was delivered early this morning.
It took a fair bit of calls and threats to ensure this was sent before first light.
The enforcers dropped off a box a few hours ago, and after rifling through the belongings, I came across this.
I knew that this would mean far more to Haven than any expensive jewelry I could buy from a boutique.
“Can you come to the front?” I ask.
“My door is locked,” she says dryly.
“If I unlock it, will you come?”
“Yes,” she says with a sweet smile.
I know without a doubt that she will run the second I give her the chance. I unlock the doors for a split second, leap out of mine, and slide into the back. Haven reaches for her handle, but I grab her wrist and drag her onto my lap.
“What is wrong with you?” she says, flailing.
Her elbow clips me in the jaw, and I grunt.
“Will you stop?” I say, frustrated. “I am trying to give you a gift.”
Haven stills.
“A gift?” she raises a brow. “Why didn’t you say so? I love presents!”
My mouth twitches, but I refuse to smile and let her know that I support her bad behavior.
I draw out the silver chain with a small leaf hanging from the middle. Haven gasps, and her eyes widen.
“Where did you…”
“A storage unit in Division Eight,” I say.
Haven’s fingers reach for it, stroking the little leaf fondly.
“She was wearing it the day she died,” Haven says. “I never thought I would see it again.”
A tear falls down her cheek, and alarm strikes me. This was supposed to please her, not upset her.
“Warrick, don’t cry.” I plead. “I cannot bear to see you upset.”
“This is perfect,” she says. “I don’t know how I will ever repay you.”
“It’s your birthday present,” I say.
“But, I have been mean to you, and you can’t stand me,” Haven says, confused. “Why would you do this for me?”
She doesn’t remember what I said last night.
If she had, then this gesture wouldn’t have shocked her so much.
It was little work to send out a bunch of men on my chopper and have them rummage through the storage unit that held the items of the deceased.
It took them four hours to find the belongings of Astrid Mallory.
It was the least I could do after I crashed her birthday. I should have read her file. I should have memorized the date so I could plan an impressive, memorable night. Something far better than what Grayson threw together.
“Because I want to,” I say.
I refuse to lose her to Grayson Sullivan or any lesser man because I am unable to get my head on straight.
Haven hands the necklace to me.
“Will you put it on for me?”
She turns around, raising her thick, dark hair. My heart quickens just being this close to her. It’s like all my organs forget how to work when I’m in her proximity. I wrap the necklace around her throat, fingers grazing her nape.
“It’s perfect,” Haven says. She turns to face me when the clasp is sealed. “It is the best gift ever.”
My chest warms when she flings her arms around me and holds me close. The sensation that overtakes my body is stronger than any military victory. It is pure, unadulterated bliss.
My arms tighten around her shoulder.
I don’t think I’ll ever forget the force of her smile just before she threw herself at me.
I reckon I’ll carry the memory of it till the day I die.
Haven pulls away. I’m not sure who reaches for the other first, but before I know it, my hands are tangled in her hair, mouth crashing into hers with open desperation.
A small gasp of surprise escapes her, which is swallowed by my lips.
My fingers dig into her thigh, drawing her closer.
Her palm lies flat on my chest, right above my heart.
She must feel how it gallops like a racehorse when she is nearby.
Her hand slides upward, falling softly on my jaw. My mouth drifts to her throat, fingers sliding beneath the fabric of her shirt and tracing the lines of her ribs.
“So beautiful,” I whisper. “My beautiful wife.”
Haven stills. Fear flutters across her eyes as she takes in our compromising position.
“Vale,” she says. “We shouldn’t ha—”
“We will be married in two weeks,” I say. “I know I said we shouldn’t do this, but once the ceremony ends, we won’t have any reason to resist. Are you not tired of fighting it?”
Haven blinks in confusion.
“But you said this was a mistake,” she says. “Duty over love, remember?”
“Maybe I was wrong,” I admit.
Haven squeezes her eyes shut, clambering off my lap. I can tell she’s drawing away from me. She’s putting up her shields and hiding away in a place I can’t reach.
A knock sounds on the window, making us both jolt.
Knox waves.
“Don’t mind me,” he says loudly. “I have absolutely nothing better to do than wait for you both to climax.”
“Get lost,” I bark.
Haven reaches for the doorknob and races out, before I can stop her.
She drapes an arm over Knox’s shoulder.
“Perfect timing,” she says. “Let’s go meet this prisoner.”
The corridor narrows as we descend towards the containment cells. The air is colder down here. It smells like bleach and stale blood.
Haven sticks close by my side. I can feel her arm graze mine while Knox walks to my left. She’s been avoiding my gaze. I had to forcibly step between her and Knox, so she would have no choice but to acknowledge my existence.
I don’t understand why she is so frightened by the thought of giving this a chance.
It is the logical solution for two people who will be legally married in a few days.
At first, I wanted to have a marriage similar to that of my father and mother.
One bound by obligation. My parents never bore any affection for each other.
Their relationship was clinical and fake.
The only time they were remotely interested in the other was during press campaigns when my father did his tours around the divisions.
Then they would hold hands, and if my mother was feeling particularly theatric she would kiss his cheek.
I remember when I was young, I enjoyed all the public appearances, because it was the only time we felt like a family.
My father would pat my head, and my mother would hold my hand, as if she could not bear to tear her eyes away from me for a second.
They would show the world the love we so desperately lacked.
I thought that was normal. But I see now that it was nothing more than a facade. My father always said, ‘Duty over love’. But those words no longer carry the weight they once did.
I want something real.
“This place is giving me the creeps,” Haven murmurs.
“Same,” Knox says. “Can we hold your hand, Ender?”
Haven giggles.
I roll my eyes. They are so dumb.
The hallway is long and unending. Blanch egg-shell walls face us on either side. White panels sunk into the ceiling throw a pallid light across the space. Haven looks around as if an animal will leap out of one of the numbered doors and attack us.
I bend down to whisper in her ear.
“You can hold my hand, Warrick.”
She glances down at my palm before shaking her head.
“I’ll pass.”
A camera blinks above us. Watching our every move.
“Why are there so many doors?” Haven asks.
“That is classified information.”