Havoc by Shannon McKenna

22

The officiant was going on and on. Mace shifted uneasily on his feet where he stood at the altar, flanking Anton. Eric and Nate were on Anton’s other side.

He met Cait’s eyes again from where she sat in the front, her eyes shining at him.

They were at the old wooden church, one of the oldest buildings in Shaw’s Crossing. It had been constructed by the grandfather of Demi’s grandfather, Obadiah Shaw, back in the 1870s. It was a beautiful, austere building with Gothic touches, and the stained glass windows had been restored so that colored light streamed in.

Fiona looked hot as hell in a snug, ice blue brocade sheath wedding dress. She had flatly refused to wear white. Demi and Elisa stood on either side of her, looking likewise stunning. Fi’s hair flowed loose, her curls blown out into loose, voluptuous ringlets, and Anton was gazing down at her like he couldn’t even believe this was really happening.

Which made Mace nervous. The higher you flew, the farther you fell. Anything that good had to have a hidden price. Some cruel trick, lurking in the shadows. Gotcha.

He’d internalized the Prophet’s curse. Whether Kimball existed in the objective world or not, they were all warped by him, by now. Eric, Anton and Nate all knew that the minute their guard slipped, Kimball could hurt them mortally by hurting the ladies. And now that Demi was pregnant, just multiply that risk. Multiply it by fucking infinity.

And look at him. He’d gone and fallen head over ass in love with a woman even more destined to be Kimball’s target than Demi, Fi or Elisa were.

The irony was stunning.

Cait looked gorgeous. She’d opted for the crimson dress, and he was glad, though of course, every single one of them was his favorite when it was on her body. The diamond pendant flashed like a star. Her red lips curved in that seductive smile.

Eric was nudging him. Fuck. The rings.

Mace fumbled in his pocket for the little folded cloth pillow that they had been given, the rings tied on with ribbons. He managed to get Anton’s ring to Fi, and Fi’s ring to Anton, without dropping either, and forced himself to focus on the rest of the ceremony.

The kiss was long and fiery. The whole church whooped and cheered.

All of the townspeople who had ever befriended them were there, Chief Bristol and his family, Glenna and her daughter, all the local police and staff who weren’t on duty, and a slew of people that Demi had cultivated. There were also a number of highly colorful, heavily tattooed and pierced types from Anton’s DJ world, some of which would do the music for tonight’s party. It was going to be an interesting event.

They followed Anton and Fi out of the church. He, Nate and Eric stood by, their hands hovering near their concealed handguns, scanning the sky for killer shooter drones. Kimball could decimate the entire guest list in less than a minute with the weaponry he’d displayed during Nate and Elisa’s adventure.

But so far, the skies were clear, just clouds draped over the mountaintops like filmy scarves. The wind rustled the lake. The birdseed and rose petal toss went off without incident. Eric was on the phone to Mitch, who was organizing an army of security.

“…in place,” Eric said. “Yeah, less than a half an hour. Anton’s nightclub crowd will probably want to start drinking sooner rather than later. The wedding party needs to do photos, and we’ll head on inside.”

“Don’t get all judgy and uptight,” Mace told him. “You sound like Jeremiah.”

“He’s just nervous,” Demi got up on her tiptoes, and pulled her husband down for a kiss. “The wedding was beautiful.”

“If by beautiful, you mean we’re all still breathing,” Eric said.

“I think you can relax,” Cait said. “I doubt that he’ll make a move on us until after he gets what he wants, and that won’t happen today. There are too many eyes on us. Let him skulk in the shadows while we enjoy yourselves.”

“From your mouth to God’s ears,” Eric said. “Is it time?”

“Yeah, let’s get to the Lakeside Lodge while there’s still natural light for the photos.”

Wedding photos at the Lakeside Lodge docks took a predictably long time, since the photographer insisted on every possible combination. He’d also evidently decided that Cait belonged in all the pictures, or else he just liked the way she looked with the other gorgeous women. Cait held her own in the beauty department with a fiery vengeance, and the photographer went nuts, and snapped hundreds of shots of the women, in every configuration imaginable.

In the end, the guy had to be dragged away, still begging for one last shot.

Mace and Cait followed the other three couples into the Lakeside Lodge, to a thunderous roar of applause. Music blasted, and the party kicked off.

The food was great, the booze was good, the music was awesome. After a little while, he realized that it was happening again. Enjoyment, against all odds. Fun.

Mace had been to hear Anton’s sets before, and he’d always fully enjoyed the spectacle of a dance floor filled with scantily-clad girls with their bouncing cleavage on full display. But he’d never been pulled under the spell of good dance music with a woman he was infatuated with. She even coaxed him out onto the dance floor.

It was an epic party. Long, cathartic, and intense. After the fruit course, having fed each other strawberries dipped in chocolate, he pulled Cait away from the crowd, toward the upstairs suite that had been designated for the bride to change and refresh herself.

Once inside, he checked every room of the suite, to be sure it was empty. Then the bathroom. No one. Yes.

“Mace, what are you—”

He kissed her. Maybe it was the wedding, the alcohol, the music, but his control was gone. The hunger inside him was huge. She gave it back, just as hot, just as urgent.

He pinned her against the door, pulling down the bodice of her dress, and kissing around the scalloped black lace of the bra beneath. He loved the way it propped up her warm, round tits, presenting them to his hungry lips as he dragged up her skirt and stroked the warmth of her thigh with his hand, the heat of her mound.

He lifted her skirt. “Hold that,” he told her. “I need both hands for this.”

She held the soft, slippery fabric against her belly, catching her breath as he pressed long, searching, tender kisses against the black lace fabric covering her mound. He tugged her panties down, and lifted her, opening her folds so that her taut pink clit popped out, eager for the love and attention which he promptly lavished upon it.

With that, she forgot all about holding the skirt. It lapped down on either side of his head, and he was blissfully lost in red tinted darkness, a mysterious red cavern, his face buried in her hot female flesh, licking and lapping like he was starving. Then sliding two fingers slowly up to probe that sweet, juicy spot, until she whimpered and squirmed around his delving hand, his caressing tongue, and sobbed out her pleasure, coming, long and intensely. Her pleasure pulsing wildly against his face.

When her legs were steady, he got up, and opened his suit pants, hoisting her up onto the table. Opening her thighs, and draping them over his elbows.

Their eyes locked as he eased his cock inside her slick depths.

Cait clutched his upper arms, both of them, enjoying the sexy spectacle, as he slowly thrust his cock and glided out, slick and shiny with her hot balm. Each stroke hotter, wetter, sweeter. It made him ache, how fucking good it was with her.

The table legs rattled. She stared up into his eyes as the wave of intense excitement swelled to impossible dimensions—and broke, launching them into blinding infinity.

Cait sank back afterwards, limp. Eyes closed, panting.

He pulled his cock out. “That dress makes me nuts. Hope I wasn’t too rough.”

She dropped her head lazily from side to side. “Inspired,” she said. “Loved it.”

He helped her up off the table. Cait bent to retrieve her panties. “Excuse me, but I’ll just pop into the bathroom for a second. Make myself fit for polite company again.”

He raked her with a hungry gaze, taking in the tousled hair, the dilated eyes, the flushed tits, the gleaming red lips. “Good luck with that. You are indecently hot.”

She was laughing as the bathroom door closed.

When they came downstairs, Elisa was the first to spot them. “Oh, hey! There you are! Cait, it’s time to toss the bouquet. Fi won’t do it until you’re there.”

Cait allowed herself to be dragged away, laughing, into the crowd on the side of the room where the women were setting up the bouquet toss in ritual.

“Looks like you’re next, eh?” a laconic voice asked. “Congratulations in order?”

He turned to find Chief Bristol behind him. “It’s not official yet,” Mace replied. “But I have high hopes.”

“She fits in fine with those other highly unusual ladies you boys found for yourselves,” Chief Bristol said. “You’re some very lucky young men.”

“Yes, we are,” Mace said. “And yes, she’s perfect.”

The chief grunted under his breath. “Well, I wouldn’t say that. Nothing’s ever perfect, not if it’s for real. Don’t ask perfection out of anybody. It’s bad luck.”

At that moment, Clint tapped him on the shoulder. “Mace? Can I have a word?”

“Sure. What’s up?”

“I mean, in private.” Clint’s mouth looked grim.

Chief Bristol waved them off. “Go on, conduct your secret business. Me and the wife will just head on home. It’s pumpkin time for us oldsters anyhow. You go on, now.”

Mace wished the chief a good night, and followed Clint down into the conference room that had been designated as a command center for the security team. The table had security monitors that showed every approach of the area, as well as aerial views.

Clint backed him into a smaller adjoining room, and shut the door. The look on his face was making Mace extremely nervous.

“What in the hell, man? Is there an issue? Should we call the others?”

“I wanted to tell you first,” Clint said. “Harris was doing the bug-sweeping at intervals, like we established, and he picked up a transponder inside, not long before the party began. It came in with the guests, and it moved around all the time, so it was definitely located on a person. It took us all night to figure out who it was.”

“One of the guests?” Mace was shocked. “But…shit. Who?”

Clint looked like he was cringing. “It’s on Cait,” he blurted out.

The information wouldn’t penetrate Mace’s brain for a very long time. When it did, the cold gripped his guts like a claw, and squeezed them.

This was not possible. It had to be a mistake. Someone got this wrong.

“That’s insane,” Mace said. “I’ve been with her every moment. Twenty-four-seven. For days. The only person who planted a trace on her was me, when I met her last week. She can’t…she just can’t…”

“Look, man.” Clint looked utterly miserable. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t want it to be true, either. I checked my readings over and over because I want so badly to be wrong. But the signal is coming from her, and it’s the only one we’re picking up. Someone planted a trace on her. Could she possibly…not know about it?”

“What would be the point of planting a trace on her? Everyone knew where she was going to be today. She was wearing lipstick red. She could be seen from miles away.”

Clint lifted his hands helplessly. “To show someone where you are, maybe?”

He shook his head, and just kept on shaking it. “Do the others know?”

“No, you’re the first. I thought you should decide what to do.”

“Thanks, man,” Mace said distractedly.

“You, ah…want some time?”

“Yeah, I need to check on some stuff before I confront her,” Mace said.

“Okay. I’ll, ah…leave you to it.” Clint backed away, closing the door behind him.

Mace sat there, his mind blank. Not functioning. He couldn’t think, when all the possible thoughts were so fucking ugly.

Of all explanations for this, the only believable ones were…awful.

That Cait was fucking with him. Quite literally. He still had her scent on his cock.

Mace pulled out his phone, and called up the phone monitor app. He ran over her incoming messages. Facebook, WhatsApp, Instagram and the rest. Nothing stood out.

And then, his research app finally turned it up. Maybe it had been lying dormant before. Maybe he hadn’t noticed it with his brain so awash with sex hormones.

A messaging platform. SoftWhispers. A dark-web site, designed for ultra-secret messaging. Drug dealers, arms traffickers, human smugglers, cheating spouses.

The team had left a computer in here, so he ran Eric’s password crack program on it. There were others on the team who might’ve been able to do this more quickly and efficiently than he could. Certainly Eric would be faster, more practiced. But he didn’t want anyone watching his face when he found…well. Whatever he found.

It took less than five minutes to decrypt. Evidently a shitty password.

There was a message thread. Some of the messages had been sent less than six hours before. A conversation, between CLM-1001 and HIRE-088. The last message, which had just arrived, was from HIRE088.

Stay on MT 24-7. Let me know when they go back up to the cavern.

So far, no response to that. Of course not. She hadn’t had time. She’d been too busy fielding his dick.

He scrolled to read older messages, sent this morning, last night. From CLM-1001.

Back in SC, from Seattle. AT and FG wedding Thursday. Security high.

He scrolled back to the day he introduced her to his family, from CLM-1001.

Landed the big fish last night.

HIRE088’s response was crude. Keep landing it. Keep filming it. Bear in mind, your contract specifies high quality video. And that you use every orifice.

From HIRE088: Btw, I liked the Seattle hot tub video. Keep it coming ha ha.

Pain shot into his jaw. He was grinding his teeth.

Some grim, humorless part of him had always known this was too good to be true. He could hear Jeremiah’s lecture about self-control and punishment winding up in his head. But that part of him hadn’t been smart enough or strong enough to hold the rest of him back. Bouncing tits, big hazel eyes, soft, luscious lips, they took him right down.

Fucking bonehead clown that he was.

He suddenly remembered Josh’s hack job last week, and swiftly signed into her Arrow Fast-Cash account, checking recent deposits.

Two hundred and twenty-five thousand dollars had been deposited two days before. While he and Cait had been in Seattle. Fucking fuck.

He had to face up to this. He marched through the building, looking for Cait.

His choices were clear. One, he could turn the tables on her, let her continue thinking she was inside the inner circle, and use her to feed false info back to Kimball. That would be the smartest thing. It would also be pure fucking torture.

Two, he told his brothers, and let them squeeze her about Kimball’s whereabouts and plans while he watched. Also torture. Ugly for everyone. What a wedding present for the happy couple. Nothing like a hostile interrogation to put them in the mood for love.

Three, he could just cut her loose without asking anyone’s permission. Tell her to disappear. Never show her face again. That would be sloppy, irresponsible. Stupid.

But option one was out. He couldn’t fake being her lover. He wasn’t a cold, sneaky, multi-layered kind of guy. Anton maybe could pull off a trick like that, but not him.

He couldn’t stomach option two. He didn’t want to inflict it on his brothers either.

That left three. In any case, whatever damage Cait might have done to them was done already. Probably Kimball knew about the tunnel access, the explosives that he’d planted. The story of the journal, the tracking device, the pinging trace, the letter in Glenna’s campervan…it was a ruse to lure them into place, and get them into the cavern all at once, to take them out in a single blow. And it had gone so smoothly.

No point in telling Bristol. The law couldn’t help him with this. And it wasn’t necessarily a crime to spy on a guy, or fuck him and then give someone information about him. It was nasty and sleazy, but not illegal. At least, he didn’t think so.

He just wanted her gone. Fuck this feeling. He wanted her burned out of his head. Scorched earth, burned and salted.

But the flames were impossible to forget.