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  Halsey’s Havoc

  Red Star Rebel Squad Book 3

  Brynn Hale

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  Contents

  HALSEY’S HAVOC- Red Star Rebel Squad Book 3

  1. Halsey A.K.A. Macen Renault

  2. Macen

  3. Dharma

  4. Macen

  5. Dharma

  6. Macen

  7. Dharma

  8. Macen

  9. Dharma

  10. Macen

  Epilogue

  Also by Brynn Hale

  About the Author

  HALSEY’S HAVOC- Red Star Rebel Squad Book 3

  He’s hurting but he took an oath to never tell anyone why. She heals broken people, but Halsey’s a deep kind of broken that even scares her. Could Dharma be the cure for what’s ailing him or will they break each other until the pieces can’t be put back together?

  Halsey

  What do you do when someone wants you dead, but they already killed you?

  I gave everything to this job, my family, my sanity, my heart, my life…but now they want the ultimate sacrifice and I’m not sure I won’t give in.

  I make an appointment to see a shrink to get my head right. I hate them, but this Dr. Howard comes recommended by my pal Patton.

  If this guy tries to make me feel, I swear, I’ll be out of there in ten seconds.

  But this guy isn’t a guy and wow, do I feel something. More than ever.

  I don’t think I can do what she’s asking me to, but I’m going to do what I always do, buckle down and get the mission done.

  Dharma

  I can see emotions in his eyes, but it isn’t fear. It’s worse than fear.

  I’ve worked with soldiers my entire career and it never gets easier to hear their stories, but I can’t help Halsey unless he opens up to me.

  He finally breaks, but I break with him. His pain is my pain and I feel him.

  I shouldn’t have dinner with him, and drinks are a no-no, but this is a feeling that even scares me.

  If Halsey wants into my life, he’s going to have to make some big changes…and that’s going to take everything inside of him coming out.

  I won’t take anything less than the real him. Let’s see if he can soldier up.

  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.

  1 Halsey A.K.A. Macen Renault

  The large wooden door stands between me and help. Help being the psychiatrist who says he can fix me. Guess he thinks he’s a miracle worker because I don’t think it’s going to take less.

  I grab the large metal handle and I stop. I’ve never failed in my life. Not once. I’ve never gone into a mission knowing I wasn’t prepared. I’ve never taken a chance with my life that I wasn’t sure I was on the right side of winning.

  Until right now.

  Right now, I feel raw and like I’m headed into a disaster of epic proportions.

  I stare at the title on the door. Dr. Howard. I wonder if that’s his first name or last name. And then I wonder how did I get here? Seeing a psychiatrist. This isn’t me. I don’t share my problems. And I’m sure he’ll tell me that’s a problem, too.

  My buddy Patton seems to think that the good doctor is qualified to take me on and gave me the referral. Insisting that I either get help or he’s going to make our coworker, Bronson, perform an exorcism on my attitude, since Bronson’s the squad’s spiritual guru. But that isn’t happening. Bronson and I are gasoline and…gasoline. One match—and one argument—away from a mass explosion.

  And that describes my current situation. I might be on the edge of taking myself and others down. And I won’t do that.

  My job as a soldier for hire—soldier of fortune if you want to get romantic with the title—mercenary if you want to be blunt includes rescuing and…killing people. Not indiscriminately. That’s not who the Red Star Rebel Squad is. Only five out of one-hundred-and-twenty missions did I ever have to pull a gun and only two of those did I ever use it. I’ve been shot at half of those missions, but it’s not who has the gun, it’s who is getting out of the way of the bullets. And we get in, get what we need, and get out before the bullets have a chance to fly.

  I pull on the door and it feels like it’s resisting. Maybe it’s locked. I could only be so lucky.

  But it yields to my bulky arm and I walk inside.

  The receptionist hands me a form to fill out. I fill in my name “Halsey”, nothing else. And sign at the bottom. She looks at the form like I’ve done something wrong, but then I pull out a wad of hundreds and put two grand down on the counter.

  “That’s for whatever happens today.”

  She looks at the money like she’s afraid to take it.

  “It’s just money. I don’t have insurance and I pay in cash. Whatever’s left, if anything, just put it on my tab to pay for later or hell, go have a bender. Don’t care once it’s in your hand.”

  She slowly takes the money. “Please have a seat, Mr. Halsey.”

  I stay standing, examining the selection of magazines in a holder on the wall. Vogue. Cosmopolitan. People. Does this guy ever get a dude in here?

  My eyes wander to the window and the bright sunshine almost pisses me off. Why does the weather have to be so nice?

  I start to walk toward the door. This mission was a failure from the beginning.

  “Halsey?” A voice calls out as the door to the back opens and out walks a tall dose of Texas sunshine.

  And then I really know.

  This mission is… fucked.

  Dharma

  “Mr. Halsey, you ready?”

  He’s already standing and our gazes lock until I’m feeling a little uncomfortable. The man isn’t only handsome, he’s a libido stimulating machine on two muscular legs.

  And that’s not good.

  Ethics. Rules. Morals. They’re the foundation of any psychiatrist’s business. So I throw my pulsing craving in the back seat of my mind and give him a soft smile to make him feel comfortable. In return, I get a scowl.

  Well, this is gonna be fun.

  “Please follow me. Mr. Halsey.”

  My receptionist has indicated his current payment method and as much as I appreciate being paid, it sure feels like he’s insinuating that money talks.

  Not here.

  People talk here. I ask questions. I probe for answers, and then they let the truth flow. Some do better than others.

  I motion him into my office. As he passes his body wash or cologne wafts through the air and I inhale deeply. It has a freshness to it that takes me back to my youth. Salty like walking along an ocean beach, sand in between my toes. Clean like laundry off of a line in the sunshine. And it’s dangerous, like walking a tightrope in the middle of a hurricane
and here in Houston we know the destruction that comes with hurricanes.

  “Please have a seat.”

  He looks at the couch and chuckles. “Really? Freudian much?”

  “It’s just for comfort. You don’t have to lounge on it in hopeless agony like a 1910s fainting patient.”

  His deep chuckle rumbles through my body and perks my nipples until it’s almost unbearable.

  “Okay. Mr. Halsey…is that what I should call you?”

  “Halsey is just fine.” He’s still standing and looking around the room. The tension rolling off of him tightens my shoulders. He’s bound by something so fiercely that he’s going to snap soon.

  “Halsey, I normally don’t work on a cash basis.”

  “Then I guess I’ll leave.”

  I stand and intercept him before he hits the door. “I said normally. I am willing to make exceptions, but I need to know more about you. Currently all I know is that you don’t know how to sign your name because you started writing something else and scratched it out. But I’d like you to sit and help me to help you.”

  “This was a mistake. I…my buddy’s into this feely-touchy shit. It’s not me.”

  “Then why are you here?”

  He stares at my diploma. Stanford University. “You from Cali?”

  I rear back a little. “Yeah, and you?”

  “Sebastopol.”

  “I love Sonoma Valley.”

  “Haven’t been back in almost ten years.”

  “Your parents still alive.”

  He stills. “No…” He turns to me. “I mean, nothing about my family.”

  “Okay. Then tell me what you do for a living.”

  “No…” He shakes his head. “Not that either.”

  “Halsey…”

  “And don’t call me that.”

  I stand and put my notepad down. “Then what should I call you?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “So, am I to assume that Halsey isn’t your name, first or last?”

  “It’s the one that the company gave to me.”

  My back straightens. “Gave? Are you in witness protection?”

  He sighs. “In some ways, yes. But I’m in something a little more sinister. I’m dead.”

  I step back and my stomach plummets. “Like you’re a ghost?”

  “Not physically. I’m alive. I’m breathing. But my family and friends believe I’m dead. There was a ceremony and I’m entombed in Sebastopol.”

  “That has to be hard, still living when people think you’re dead?”

  “It’s not easy.”

  “That’s why you’re here?” I’m just an inch from him, our shoulders almost touching as we both look at a picture of California on the wall.

  He turns and I face him. “Honestly, at this moment, I think there’s another reason I’m here, but I don’t think that will happen until I get this shit taken care of.”

  My heart pounds fast as his eyes drop to my lips. I move quickly. “Then we should get moving. I have three hours open right now.”

  I don’t know why I say it. I was planning to head out early and spend the afternoon and with a bottle of wine, a block of cheese, and the best crusty bread Houston has to offer and maybe a bubble bath before meeting my friends for a little girls’ night out.

  But there’s something broken in him that I have to fix.

  There’s something more to him that I have to figure out.

  And it can’t wait.

  2 Macen

  I’ve given her the overview. Not any of the gritty stories that would make me look like a monster.

  I take a deep breath. “Am I broken beyond repair?”

  She sets down her pad. “No one is beyond repair, Hal—”

  “Macen.” I say my real name and instantly I feel naked. I look down. I’ve got clothes on.

  But the smile it elicits from her warms me like I’m wearing a parka.

  “Macen. That’s a nice name.”

  “Thanks, Dr. Howard.”

  She looks at me. Into me. “Dharma,” she says softly, and my heart bounces in my chest like one of those super rubber balls that flings everywhere.

  I’ve given and now she’s giving back. This is what it feels like. I’ve only given and given everything to my job these last five years and now they want to take everything from me.

  I lean forward and balance my elbows on my knees, rubbing my hands together. “Dharma, that’s a beautiful name.”

  “Well, it definitely makes up for having a man’s name as my last name.”

  I laugh. She’s sassy and sexy and smart. A trifecta for sure. And not to mention her body, it’s sassy, sexy, and brilliant.

  “How old are you, Dharma?”

  Leaning back in her the sapphire blue chair that matches her eyes, she narrows them in on me. “Old enough to know that I can’t get involved with a client.”

  I sit back. “I didn’t say anything about getting involved. I asked your age.”

  “And on that note…back to you. Tell me how you feel about your job. Not about the job itself, but what do you get from it? What are it’s positives and negatives?”

  She’s trying to get the control back, but I’m determined to be strong. Maybe that’s part of the problem. I’ve always ignored my feelings and thoughts in lieu of presenting that backbone that is a soldier. I think…positives and negatives? That’s a hard one, doc.

  “I like the people I work with,” I start out slowly and with something that might be said of any employment.

  “That’s always a good thing. Are they supportive?”

  “They have to be in our line of work. If someone isn’t focused and in a hundred and ten percent all the time, then we’re all fucked.”

  She writes something down. “And what about the negatives?”

  I lay my head back and look up at the ceiling. I can’t look her in the eyes when I say it because I know how I’ll feel after. Shitty. “Everything else is a negative.”

  Her pen drops to her pad and makes a soft thump. I bring my gaze back.

  Dharma tips her head. “Then why do you do it?”

  “Money, expectations from my training, being told I’m good at it, the money.”

  I realized that she’s gotten me to open up about my work. Something I said I wouldn’t.

  Her eyebrows raise slowly. “Does money make you happy?”

  “It used to. I used to believe that my full bank account would lend to me having a rich life.”

  “And does it?”

  “Fuck no. I don’t have time to spend any of it. I don’t have energy to go anywhere. I can’t even decide what to spend it on!” I run a hand through my hair and stand as my skin crawls oddly. “I’m constantly waiting for the next call or text. The next mission. The next person to bring out of hell while feeling like I’m going into it. The next close call that will make the money basically for nothing because it’s offshore. I’m dead in the eyes of the U.S. government, not like I can have an account here. I could fall of the face of the earth and no one would care.”

  I turn back to her and her eyes are soft—I want to fall into them and live there.

  “I would care, Macen.”

  3 Dharma

  I’ve crossed a line and I don’t want to look back. But I have to. I drop my gaze from his hazel eyes, and I miss their intensity. It’s captivating and amazing. The amount of distress inside of this massive man is a juxtaposition to his power and I can’t wrap my head around it.

  What is he really afraid of? It’s definitely something worse than I can imagine.

  I stand up and round my small walnut desk. “That was a very productive session. Can you come back same time next—”

  “Do you have time tomorrow to do another session?”

  “Macen, most people need downtime between sessions to decompress. Releasing those feelings can actually deplete a person and you can only test yourself so much before you’ll crack. You’ll need a—”

  “No
. I need to keep going. I need to power through. That’s what I always do.”

  I normally don’t take clients on Fridays, leaving it open for emergencies and paperwork.

  “I can do a nine o’clock in the morning,” I say, pretending to examine my scheduling book when I know it’s wide open.

  “Nine works. You know of a place to get a happy hour drink around here tonight?” he asks, seemingly with no agenda, but I can hear the invitation—or I want to.

  “Couple of places close. Hole-in-the-wall place over on Benson Street called Rocky’s Roughhouse, great craft beer selection, and then there’s…” Do I want to chance him being at the other place?

  “And?” he asks, his knuckles pressing into my desk and his face less than an arm’s length away.

  “A sports bar on 6th and Dearborn, Homeplate.”

  “I’ve been there before. Maybe I’ll try the other place.”

  I let out a relieved sigh when his back is turned. I shouldn’t have even offered Homeplate up.

  He stops with his hand on the doorknob and looks back. “Thanks, doc.”

  “No thanks needed, Macen. You’re the one who has to do the hard work, I’m just here to guide you through the rough spots.”

  “I’m thinking there’s going to be some really rough spots soon.

  “I’ll still be here.”

  “Have a good night, Dharma.”

  I look up. “You, too.”

  He’s standing still as a statue.

  “Is there something else Macen?”

  He sighs. “Not yet. It’s something for the future…for later.”

  With those words he leaves.

  And I sink down in my chair like I’m a lovesick schoolgirl.