Haven Bound

16. Austin

16

Austin

Leaving Chelsea after we installed her new security system yesterday was almost unbearable, but I know I still have more to do if I want her to truly be safe. Starting with finally focusing on my assignment.

Zack’s intel showed that Dan Witters had been hiding out in the mountain town of Rivercrest for the past few years. There are no current marital records on file for him, no other names listed at his address, and he’s held the same job at a construction company since moving to the area. With his law enforcement background, Zack was able to hack into all of the surrounding security feeds to do a facial recognition scan on Dan and discovered that, over the past few weeks, he had been frequenting a local diner.

Rivercrest Rip’s has been here for years. Ethan and I went a few times when we were younger. The place serves up a pretty good burger and probably the best malted milkshake around. It’s right outside of the main shopping area which is loaded with antique shops and other small businesses, including a retro-style candy store. The entire area is backed by large pine and cedar trees, causing Rip’s to almost feel secluded like one of those old run-down diners you often see in horror movies. Not that I can reference any off the top of my head .

Enough of my life feels like living a damn horror movie, I don’t need to watch them.

Nevertheless, Dan’s habit of visiting Rip’s is why I find myself currently parked on the street in a blacked-out SUV. Before coming back home, I hardly ever used the Legion’s vehicles. I prefer the comfort of my Wrangler, but considering that my quick trip to Haven Beach is turning into an extended stay, I figured it’d be safer to use a vehicle I’m less likely to be recognized in.

From where I’m parked on the street, I can see Dan clearly through the large windows that decorate the front of the diner. He’s been inside the diner for about thirty minutes now, and I’m starting to get a bit impatient. He’s sitting at a booth by himself, reading through what looks like a newspaper. The fact that he’s sitting alone in a diner, not even eating, is suspicious behavior in itself. When you add in the fact that every few minutes he picks up his cell phone, seemingly checking for any messages, my intrigue is piqued. I refuse to tear my eyes away from him.

He’s described as being six-foot-five with the build and strength you’d expect from someone who has spent their life working hard labor jobs. From this distance, there’s not a single doubt in my mind that the description is accurate. His dark gray hair is combed back to reveal a heavily receding hairline and he’s wearing an unbuttoned blue flannel shirt over a white t-shirt. To any other passerby, I’m sure he looks perfectly friendly. Like some widower who frequents the diner because he doesn't know how to cook for himself.

The images that fill my mind of this man raising his voice and hands at Chelsea have my vision tinting red. I don’t need to hear him speak to know that he likely has a bone-chilling voice that would frighten any child.

I first met Chelsea when she was thirteen years old, and even then, she was taller than most of the kids around her age, including my sister. She’s taller than the average woman, standing at , a fact that I fucking love about her.I love everything about her, about her body, and I hate that she’s been so torn down by people in her life who were supposed to love and cherish her. I’d give damn near anything to be able to strip her bare and show her all of the ways she should be fucking worshiped.

Get your shit together, Ace.

Scolding myself is pointless. I know that there’s no way I’ll be able to erase Chelsea from the forefront of my mind. She’s held a permanent place in my heart and mind for years. The urge to see her has me itching to text her, call her, fucking something. At this point, I’m practically a Chelsea junkie just looking for his next hit of dopamine.

As I’m about to pull out my phone to check the bakery’s camera feed, the rumble of a motorcycle has me pausing to watch as a bike pulls into the diner’s parking lot. The guy driving it dismounts. With his back to me, he removes his helmet to reveal blond hair shaved close on the sides and longer on the top. Long enough that he has to run his hand through his hair to brush it back after removing the helmet.

He looks like your typical biker dressed in worn black jeans, a black leather jacket, and black boots. I watch as he scans the parking lot before he pulls out his phone, fingers flying across the screen before he slips it back into his pocket. There’s something familiar about him, but I can’t figure out why or where I would have seen him before .

Nothing about his behavior is suspicious, and yet instinct has my eyes glued to him. He walks into the diner and approaches the booth where Dan Witters is sitting. Dan’s posture is relaxed, a smile stretched across his face as the guy approaches him. He stands, and they exchange an awkward one-armed hug and then both slide back into the booth, facing each other. It’s clear now that Rip’s is just a meeting place for them.

Watching them, I pull out my cell phone, snap a couple of photos, and text them to Zack. I need to know if this guy is involved with Dan and his extracurricular activities or if they’re simply acquaintances from work or something. After about fifteen minutes, both men stand from the diner booth and head out into the parking lot.

I make sure to slowly roll my window down enough to hopefully capture some sound before they’ve made it into the parking lot and set my phone camera to record. Despite the heavily tinted windows, I find myself sinking in my seat to avoid being seen. Daniel Witters doesn’t know who I am, but I swear I’ve seen the other guy before and I don’t need to risk him recognizing me.

They appear to be in some kind of heated conversation though I can’t clearly hear what’s being said. The blond biker seems to be getting more and more agitated as their conversation continues. He steps close to Dan, but with Dan’s towering height, the man likely isn’t as threatening as he’s attempting to be. All it takes is a shove against his shoulder and he’s stumbling back a few steps.

He doesn’t approach Dan again, but I can see his mouth move, and it makes me wish that I had rolled the window down farther to be able to hear more of their conversation. I’ve been on enough stakeouts to be relatively effective at reading lips, though it’s definitely not an art form that I’ve perfected. However, I’m pretty sure the guy just growled something along the lines of " don’t touch her" and "she’s mine" as he climbed back onto his motorcycle.

As if watching those words fall from his lips shifts some missing puzzle piece into place, I suddenly realize why he looks so familiar. He’s Chelsea’s piece of shit ex, Jason. The same fuck whose life I wanted to end outside of Club Obsidian for touching her the way that he did. I warned him to stay away from her. A warning he has clearly chosen to ignore if he thinks that she’s his.

Once Jason has disappeared from view, Dan pulls out his cell phone and looks to be having yet another heated conversation with someone. I stop the recording on my phone and shoot the video off to Zack, waiting for Dan to climb into his old blue pickup truck and drive away before I start up the SUV and make my way back toward Haven Beach.

It takes about an hour and a half to get back to town, and all I want to do is check in with Chelsea to make sure she’s okay, but I need to go back to Ethan’s first so that I can change and talk to Zack. He’s working on-site tonight which means I’ll have to stop by the Elysian to see him. Stopping at the hotel means I need to shower and put on my “I own this place” uniform.

I don’t have any objections to putting on dress slacks, a long-sleeved button-down shirt, and a tie. In fact, my sister and I were raised knowing that someday, as we got older, we’d be expected to maintain a certain image around the hotel business. When our father, Will Anders, is ready to step down I suppose we’ll even take over operations ourselves.

For now, Hailey enjoys working as the Event Coordinator, and I deal with… whatever my title actually is. To be honest, I’ve been away for so long that I haven’t really done much as far as the hotel goes, but my father has assured me that my position is waiting for me whenever I’m ready. I just don't know if I can simultaneously handle guns, torture knives, and hotel operations.

“How’d it go?” Ethan asks from his place on the couch when I walk through the front door, his attention focused on the sketchpad in his lap, an assortment of high-quality markers laid out beside him. He’s known all about my real job since I first found out after graduation. I couldn’t stand the idea that I was expected to leave and start training without anybody knowing the reason that I left. It was bad enough that I couldn’t tell Chelsea, but I couldn’t imagine leaving Ethan in the dark too.

My father wasn’t exactly pleased with me when I let him know that I told Ethan the reason why I was leaving town, but Ethan’s been like a brother to me since we met. It brought me a sense of comfort to know that he was here in Haven Beach, and would be keeping an eye on my sister and Chelsea while I was gone. Seeing their comfort around each other at Club Obsidian made me realize exactly how much I’ve missed while being away, but I never had a problem accepting the assignments that took me away from home.

Now that I’m back, I’m starting to wish I never left.

I drop down into the corner of the sectional couch and release a sigh. “He got into a pretty heated conversation with some guy, but they seemed to know each other. Pretty sure it was the same guy from the other night at the club.” I haven’t told Ethan yet who my target is, but he knows that I’m back in town because of this assignment. I could easily be renting out my own place while I’m home, but he insisted that I crash with him. Being roommates throughout college was always the plan, but that was before I learned about what was expected of me.

“Jason? Man, fuck that guy. I never liked him. Why does it matter if he was there, though?” Ethan asks, his focus locked onto the brightly colored piece of art he’s creating. “Don’t you usually just—" He swipes a hand still holding one of his markers quickly across his throat, and I can’t help but chuckle at the gesture.

He’s not wrong. I’ve never hesitated with an assignment before, but I know that once I kill Dan Witters, my time in Haven Beach will be up. I’ll be given a new target that will more than likely take me far away again, and I’m not ready to say goodbye. Not to Ethan, not to my sister Hailey, and not to Chelsea.

I lean forward, bracing my forearms on my thighs as I nod. “Usually, yeah. But this one is… different.” He finally looks up from his sketchpad to take in the stress that I’m sure is painted across my face.

“What makes it different? Just take the fucker out and call it done.”

Well, here goes nothing.

I release a heavy sigh and say, “He’s Chelsea’s stepfather.”