Murphy's Mayhem Read online

  Murphy’s Mayhem

  Red Star Rebel Squad Book 1

  Brynn Hale

  MURPHY’S MAYHEM- Red Star Rebel Squad Book 1

  He's put his life on hold. She's put his memory behind her. But when he comes back from the dead, can their love be resurrected, too?

  Murphy

  Five years ago, I died. At least that's what my family thinks. That's what Luna Malone thinks and maybe it's for the best.

  Murphy isn't my real name- it's a code, a moniker. As part of the Red Star Rebels when I go into a country or situation, I need to remain nameless.

  Now my contract is up and I have to make a decision, sign up for another five years and stay gone or reappear like a ghost and move on with my life.

  But has she moved on without me?

  Luna

  I was fine. I was moving on. And then I think I see him at the bookstore. And then at the coffeehouse. And then...across my bedroom.

  I'm not going crazy. But seeing a ghost isn't normal for me.

  And when I reach out and touch the ghost and he's real, I'm not freaked out--I'm storming mad!

  He's getting all of this southern woman attitude and it's coming in hot.

  He thinks with his training he can handle any situation--let's find out!

  The Red ★ Rebel Squad series are fast-paced, sweet and steamy short stories of ex-military men turned contract for hire and the confident and sassy women who can live without the complications of a relationship but will find they can't live without the love.

  Contents

  1. Murphy, A.K.A. Landon Wright

  2. Luna

  3. Landon

  4. Landon

  5. Landon

  6. Luna

  7. Landon

  8. Luna

  9. Landon

  10. Luna

  Epilogue

  Also by Brynn Hale

  About the Author

  1 Murphy, A.K.A. Landon Wright

  Austin, Texas. My hometown. The place I’m buried. No, I’m not a ghost. Well, not in the technical sense of apparition and from beyond the grave dead. I’m alive, breathing and all.

  I walk down the main street of the last neighborhood I lived in, mirrored sunglasses secured on my face. Some people might recognize me, but they won’t really think it’s me. It’s psychology, which I have a degree in that I’ve never used. They’ll think their mind is playing games on them. They know that Landon Wright is dead. This person just looks like him.

  For the last two days, I’ve been living out of my car, visiting local gyms with free passes to work out and get a shower and shave. It’s not a perfect arrangement, but when you’ve gone almost thirty days without a shower before and more importantly, everyone thinks you’re dead…and you’re not ready to come back from the dead…nothing is perfect.

  Well, almost nothing. My heart beats a little faster.

  Nothing except the girl across the street having lunch with her friend at the Over Easy brunch spot. Luna Dolan. She’s damn close to perfection. Always has been. I’ve known her since my senior year of college when she was a freshman, and I’ve loved her from the day I met her. We dated. We fell in love. And then we fell apart…because of me.

  We happened so fast, love steamrollered over both of us. But I when I joined the Marines and asked her to follow me, to be my wife, she said no. I thought we were meant to be, but she wanted to stay in Austin and finish her degree. At least that’s what she said. I thought she was letting me go to find someone better than me, but she never even tried. And then shit happened. Bad shit.

  I went off to save the world, four tours in the Middle East and one hellish assignment elsewhere that I don’t like to think about. I kept in touch sporadically with an email or phone call here and there. And then almost six years ago, I was recruited by a company. One that does things no one else will. They gathered an off-the-grid, Soldiers of Fortune-style squad of motley characters who created a super-warrior team that would be no-questions-asked and get-shit-done.

  One of the requirements was that I could tell my family I was going into a secret project, but then I had to die in the next year while I was in training. When I truly signed on the dotted line that I was in for five years, the company killed me, at least a part of me. Knowing that I’d to be part of covert operative operations made it seem like they had a logical reasoning to protect those I loved and this way I didn’t just disappear on them.

  I can’t say I’ve loved my time on the Red Star Rebels, but I love my team. We’re a family. I’m definitely thinking that at thirty-nine years old, I’m ready to leave the chaos and constant travel behind me.

  To be alive again.

  And to take a second chance on what should’ve been mine.

  Sitting at the Drip & Foam coffeeshop that we—Luna and I—used to frequent, I sip my black coffee. I learned not to take it with any additions when I had to sieve sun-warmed water over grounds, through a women’s knee-high thin stocking in…it was either Peru or Ecuador. Or maybe it was Dubai. Anyway. It was a clean stocking, but still, my coffee filters were always creative. This tastes a hell of a lot better, but it’s still black.

  Everything is simple now. Life is uncomplicated being dead. There is little fanfare and mostly monotony. It’s not a great way to live, but it does pay very well.

  But my contract is up, and I’m not saying I’m going to change everything back to the way it was before. At least, not until I know that the sunshine-haired beauty is going to be mine. If Luna’s not in for a future, then I’m out again. Out with my team on the next mission. If there’s nothing to get out for, maybe I should just stay dead and keep helping others to stay alive.

  I’ve watched her over the last five days. Like the moon, Luna has a routine. And I know that in three…two…one…

  She walks through the door, her hips swinging like a pendulum, holding my vision trapped. A little more junk in the trunk is fine with me and she’s filled out. And I don’t remember her rack being quite that big, but I’m not going to complain. But if the asshole next to me doesn’t stop staring, he might be complaining when my fist is in his face.

  “Dude…” I mumble to him. “Have some class.”

  “You were staring first.”

  I keep my voice low. “I know her. She used to be my girlfriend. I’m allowed.”

  “Used to be?” he asks, his gaze dropping to her bubble butt ass.

  “And will be again.” I grit between my teeth. “Here’s the deal, if I wanted to, and because I’m trained to, I could kill you with that fuckin’ paper straw in that wannabe vanilla shake infused with garbage. So take…your…eyes…off of my girl’s ass.” My jaw tightens and I feel like I better unclench for fear of breaking a tooth. “Am I understood?”

  He leans away from me. “Fine, but she comes in here next week and you’re not on her arm, I’m going in.”

  I can see past his slicked-back hair and veneered smile to the real frat boy, love-’em-and-leave-’em prick he is.

  I flick my paper open again, holding it up until just my sunglass covered eyes are peaking over the top edge. I’m wearing a ball cap and have a significant beard that she’s never seen on me. Before living days without water, I was clean shaven, but this scraggly mess is a safety blanket right now.

  Part of me wonders if she could see through frat-douche’s ways. I worry about what she’s been through since I’ve been gone. And I wonder if I’m worthy of what she is now. I know she’s single. She’s a lawyer. But past that, I didn’t ask because it was all I needed to know. I have contacts working for the government and I used them. I needed to know. And I’ll be honest, if she was married or seeing someone, I wouldn’t even be here. I’m not that guy. But that she wasn’t encouraged me.

>   She gets her caramel latte and she exits like the wind—silent and creating a gust of need inside of me.

  I pull up my phone as she walks by the window. Her head does a doubletake, but I adjust quickly in my seat, turning my back to her. The University of Texas ballcap could give me away, but here in Austin one out of every three people has one on. Hopefully, it gives me some subterfuge until we’re both ready.

  The guy next to me grunts to get my attention. “Sure didn’t seem like you were trying to get her back.”

  I stand and “accidentally” bump his table, spilling his mocha blended crap onto his white shorts.

  Seriously—who the fuck wears white shorts besides a douche?

  “What the fuck, dude?” He stands and glares.

  “Oh, sorry…my bad.” I walk out and chuckle as he’s trying to dab away the stain. Good luck, dude.

  I open my phone and hit autodial two. There’s only one number one and Luna’s been in that spot for almost twenty years.

  “Murph? What’s up?” My teammate and best friend, Bronson, answers. That’s not his real name either, but I don’t know his real name. It protects all of us. We all know one name, the one that Black Ice, the covert ops company, gave to us. There’s twelve of us and we’re named after famous soldiers or military history. I hang out mostly with Bronson, Patton, Fremont, and Halsey. I was given the name Murphy. Just Murphy. I don’t know if Murphy was a jerk or a good guy and I suppose I should look it up and find out, but right now I have another mission.

  “Not a lot. I’m in Austin.”

  “Why?” The amount of caution in that one word tells me that I’m going to get a sermon and since he is the team’s spiritual guru, he’ll have no problems giving it to me. I’m not religious, but I believe in human spirit and some collective good and humanity in the world. I’ve seen it when one of us sacrificed for another. I’ve experienced it when in a foreign country someone I don’t know has rescued me or given me a part of what they have to offer.

  “Can you get me the address of someone?” I ask.

  “Probably, but you know the rules, bro. Dead is dead.”

  And I also know that we’ve broken about all but that rule in the last six years.

  “Luna Dolan, last address that I can remember is 2744 Longhorn Drive.”

  “Birthdate of June 25th?” he asks.

  I have to think. Wait…that’s in two days. “Yeah, that’s the one.”

  He huffs. “You know I could get into a lot of trou—”

  “Don’t even try that with me. I know the shit that we’ve done that could get us into trouble and none of it has to do with a woman. It all has to do with international law and the Geneva Convention. Sometimes you have to go against the rules, Bronson.”

  “7571—”

  “Hazard Street,” I say with him.

  “Yeah, that’s right. How’d you know that?”

  “Let me guess, apartment 71?”

  “Yeah. That’s a little weird. How’d you know that?”

  It wasn’t weird. It was a sign.

  “Well, if our info wasn’t wiped from the earth, you’d see that’s my last known address.”

  “She moved into your place?”

  “Looks like it.”

  “Whoa…bro. That’s either really sweet or a little creepy.”

  It’s sweet. Just like her.

  “I’m hoping it’s a sign that she can’t let go.”

  “You’re getting out?”

  “I’m going to see if I can get in with her first and then I’ll let you know.”

  “I get it. I left a woman behind, too.”

  “Do you think it was worth it?”

  He sighs. “Good luck, Murph.” His lack of answer is answer. It never is or was.

  “Thanks.”

  I hang up.

  Wonder if the doors still have the same codes?

  2 Luna

  That’s the second time. The first was yesterday morning in the bookstore. I just stopped in to buy some new stationery. Writing letters is one of my favorite things, ever. It’s a lost art, in my opinion.

  But when I rounded the endcap of the display, I swore I saw him across the room. But when I blinked, he wasn’t there. It’s been just over five years since we buried him, not that we knew how he was before that. That would have been ten years ago that I last heard from him. I’m sure it’s my mind trying to remember and recall the good. Not that I’d call my memories of Landon Wright good.

  He was the one for me and then he decided that I couldn’t wait for him. Or maybe I didn’t want him to have to wait for me. I don’t know, the end came so fast and so cloudy, that I’ve lived in a fog ever since. And then he died. And I found out on Facebook. It was weird. It wasn’t someone I knew, but it showed up on my timeline. And then a couple days later that person wasn’t my “friend” anymore. I don’t even remember what their name was, something with Halsey or Paisley. Doesn’t matter. It was right there. I called his mother and she said that the government lost his ashes, so they decided to just let him go without a ceremony.

  I had my own going away memorial for him. I burned all but one letter that I wrote to him that came back undeliverable.

  All but the one that came back after he was dead. It sits in my nightstand and I only see it once or twice a year. And then I remember. And yesterday I saw it. So that’s why I thought I was seeing him. I thought I was just projecting. Trying to see him. Missing him in the worst way.

  But then…then I thought I heard his voice in the coffeeshop this morning. That southern roll, deep and almost dusty. But I looked around and of course he wasn’t there. But then when I was walking by outside, my gaze caught on a man in the back inside the coffeeshop. He had the same eyes. The brown that is like the Texas hill country back roads. Brown with enough red mixed in to make them almost mahogany.

  But again, I blinked and all I saw was the back of a U of Texas hat—and there are a million of those down here. Plus, that guy had a beard. Landon thought beards meant a guy was hiding something. I always thought he’d look handsome with one. But what did I know. I didn’t know that he’d never come back or suddenly die either.

  I head off to my job as a junior associate lawyer in an environmental and social issue law firm. Mostly I specialize in wrongful terminations, but I’d like to get into the other side of the firm and represent the community against big corporations that pollute and misuse the earth. But for now, I’m happy with what I do. Happy at work and content at home, but every day is the same.

  The same boring routine—home, workout—thirty minutes running on a treadmill and a yoga routine—eat dinner, glass of water, glass of wine, glass of water, read for an hour, and then off to bed.

  Tonight, I’m falling off to sleep when I think I hear footsteps on the wood floor I had installed last year. I clamp my eyes closed, seeing stars behind them, knowing that it’s only my imagination. Then I swear I hear rustled breathing, but the two glasses of wine—it’s Friday night, it’s allowed—roll me quickly into sleep.

  During the night, I hear something else, and I crack my eyes open slowly.

  And he’s there. But I know he’s not. It’s a dream.

  I reach out and my fingers are met with the warmth of a body.

  How…what the…

  I scramble from the bed on the opposite side. “What the fuck?!”

  I don’t normally cuss, but when someone visits you from the grave, or comes back from the grave, it’s cuss-worthy.

  “Landon?” I ask.

  My eyes meet his and in the glow of the streetlight that filters through my cracked shades he nods.

  “No. You’re dead. Are you a fucking zombie? Ghost? Am I asleep?”

  “Hi, Luna.”

  Those two words sink into me and I have to grab for a wall as my legs falter.

  “What? How? You blew up? You’re dead!”

  He rounds the bottom of the bed. “No, I’m alive. And…I’m here.” He reaches out to touch my fac
e and I slap his hand away.

  “You think that you can just break into my apartment and stand like a fucking creeper at the side of my bed watching me sleep and I’m just going to jump into your arms?”

  “Well…” He smirks.

  “You made me believe that you were gone. You left without telling me. You fucking deserted me. You went M.I.A. on our relationship. You killed me!” That’s not totally the truth, but it’s a start and right now I can barely think so whatever I say it’s covered in emotions that have sat inside of me for over the years including the time he was in the military.

  His smirk fades. “Luna…I’m so—”

  “No, you don’t get to apologize for this. You get to get out!”

  “Luna…come on, please.”

  I go chest to chest with him, but his chest basically hits me in the chin. “No. Go.”

  “Okay.” He turns and he walks slowly across the room. Looking back over his shoulder, he smiles. “You’re more beautiful than ever and I’ll regret forever what I did to you.”

  My stomach rises into my chest and feels like it’s stabbing my heart. He faces me at the door.

  My heart beats fast. Am I really willing to let him walk out again?

  My feet pad quickly across the room and I jump into his arms. My lips press to his. I just need to know he’s really alive. I’m welcoming a piece of heaven back home. And I’m reliving a past I can’t forget. It’s everything I wished for.

  But it’s also painful. He hurt me and I know I hurt him, too. And as much as I miss him and have dreamed and wishes for this day, I can’t just let him back in and pretend like I didn’t die when he died.

  His hands dig into my ass and his mouth twists against mine. His tongue splits mine apart and I’m back to reality.