The General's Little Angel (Breaking Chains© Book 2) Read online

  I feigned indifference. “I don’t know. The boys kept buying them for me.”

  “He said six. How the hell did you even walk out of there? Oh wait, you didn’t. Les drove you back to the barracks because the bartender called him to pick you up. I’m just grateful that he’s trustworthy. Had it been anyone else, God only knows what could have happened.”

  I rolled my eyes. “You’re ridiculous, Ray.”

  Walking around to stand in front of me, he placed both hands on the chair and jerked it to make me look up at him. “I don’t let go of my troops easily. If someone screws up, they are corrected. If they don’t learn their lesson one way, I find another. I hesitated when I was presented with a female assistant, but your academic achievements were something I wanted to nurture. This position can help get you into OCS.”

  “I don’t want to be an officer.”

  He ignored my pouting. “I have a responsibility to you, and I don’t intend to disregard it. It’s also my policy to do what I can to encourage my troops to excel in what they do best. Like it or not, being a female on a primarily male base puts you in a high-risk category, so count on me to breathe down your neck if that’s what it takes to keep you safe.”

  My bravado was gone, and I glanced down. “I’m sorry. I won’t do it again. I promise.”

  “That’s what you said the last time. I hold promises very close to the heart, Breanna. Very close. We are going to ensure that your promise remains intact. Can you even begin to fathom how disappointed I am with your behavior? I expected so much more from you. You’re too smart to behave like this.”

  To hear those words come from his mouth was even harder than the first lecture. In fact, they crushed my heart. The only thing about by childhood I had shared was a brief description of my disinterested and money-focused parents (who viewed children as lawn ornaments), and my obsession with academics and work. While he was acutely aware of the neglect that I had faced growing up, he knew nothing about the abuse. I had not shared that I was a ‘failed abortion’ baby who had destroyed my parents’ hopes and dreams by refusing to give up on life before leaving the womb, or that this fact was reiterated on every uncelebrated birthday. Acknowledging that I had failed the only person who had earned my respect and genuine affection brought the years of repressed pain to the surface.

  My tears instantly went from zero to sixty. A flash of concern washed over his face, and he kneeled to pull me against his chest which forced me to the edge of the chair. The tighter I was held, the harder I cried. It was as though eighteen years of being told how much I was hated and despised for simply existing poured out on his shoulders and there was nothing that could close the flood gates. Embarrassment and humiliation coupled with the fear of rejection and abandonment crowded my thoughts.

  “Cry,” he cooed, lifting me in his arms and switching places so that I sat on his lap. After pulling out the bobby pins that kept my hair in a bun, he ran his hand down the shoulder length auburn waves. “I know you’re hurting. You’re safe here, and I’m not going to let anything happen to you. You can trust me.”

  I’d never been held before. Never rocked. Never stroked. The intimacy was confusing and made me want to run and hide, but he refused to release me no matter how hard I struggled. The sense of safety and protection scared the hell out of me because I knew it was temporary and that as soon as the moment passed, he would leave me alone—just like all the others. I had to stop this interaction before I completely lost control.

  “Let go of me. Please,” I begged, trying to push away.

  “No.” His answer was as firm and solid as the chest I leaned against. “Kids go out and get drunk for one of three reasons. It’s either to fit in with what others are doing, to get rid of their inhibitions because they are insecure, or to numb their pain. I don’t see you as the type of girl that goes with the flow, nor do you seem to be inhibited—at least when it comes to expressing your opinions. That leaves pain. Talk to me.”

  “I can’t.” My sobbing turned my words into broken syllables. I never cried, especially in front of anyone. I learned early in life that crying meant you were vulnerable, and vulnerable people were open to betrayal and irreparable damage. Anxiety stole my breath, robbing me of air as a panic attack took control.

  “Breathe, sweetheart. That’s a good girl. In and out,” he coached, rocking me. “Let me help you. I’m a really good listener if you give me a chance.”

  “Tissue,” I sniveled.

  Ray released his protective hold to grab a box of tissues from his desk drawer and handed them to me. The loss of body contact gave me a chance to gain some composure and make some space between us. I quickly walked towards the windows with my face shamefully buried in the tissues and waited for the next assault to my heart—the ensuing words that would turn me into a puddle of misery. Instead, he said nothing, allowing me the dignity to turn my back and blow my nose.

  “Are you happy?” he finally asked. His voice was gentle and inviting as he leaned casually against the edge of the desk and rested his hands on either side of his hips. “Tell me the truth. There’s nothing to be afraid of. The truth won’t ever harm you.”

  “That’s a fucking lie.” I snapped as I turned to look at him. “In my life, the truth brings nothing but pain and isolation.”

  He remained calm and acted as though he didn’t hear what I had just said. “Answer me, Baby. Are you happy? I see you smile and charm your way with everyone we meet but are those smiles genuine?”

  Baby? My body began to shake in response to the simple term of endearment, and I softened. “No. I’m miserable and lonely. I have no one. Because of my position, the enlisted avoid me and the younger officers are cautious around me. Everyone is afraid of you and, because of that, keeps me at arms distance. My smiles are nothing but a mask to keep people from asking questions that I don’t want to answer.”

  He chuckled. “Guilt by association with the Big Bad Commanding General, huh?”

  “It’s not funny. You have a rep, Ray. Even the Sergeant Major knows not to cross your path.”

  “If standing my ground for things that I believe are right means that people are afraid, then so be it. Like I said, the truth will never harm you. Those who hate it might cause you pain, but in time, that pain becomes the source of your strength. Never forget that. Are you afraid of me?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  I had never considered the reason that I didn’t fear him like the other Marines did. I was his shadow, and he rarely went anywhere without me at his right hand. He treated me respectfully, had been the perfect gentleman, and made certain to see to my needs before his own. He treated Les, our driver, the same way, but I also knew that the young man kept his distance from Ray when possible.

  “I don’t know. Maybe because I’m around you all the time and know how you are inside. I also know about all the things you do for others that you keep secret.”

  “It’s very important that you never forget what you just told me.”

  “Yes, sir,” I whispered.

  “Also, there’s nothing shameful about asking for help. I ask for your help all the time and couldn’t function if I didn’t have you keeping my life in order.”

  “That’s different. It’s my job. As for asking for help, that will never happen. Please drop this, Ray. I’ve survived without family or friends and will continue to do so.”

  He didn’t catch the hint. “It’s not good to be alone.”

  “Being alone is better than being betrayed.”

  He snapped his fingers and pointed to the spot on the floor in front of him. “Front and center, Marine.” When I finally dragged myself to stand before him, he placed his hands on my shoulders and looked straight into my eyes. “Do you trust me?”

  “Of course.”

  “Good, because things are about to change in your life. To start, you and I are going to find ways to fill your time other than drinking and any other self-destructive behavior. Tha
t part of your life is over.”

  “But I like going to the club.” I didn’t even attempt to disguise the whine in my voice.

  “This isn’t a discussion, debate, or a negotiation. The only reason that you’re allowed into the club is that the prior commander of this base lowered the drinking age to eighteen. This commander is telling you that you will have no more alcohol unless I am present.”

  “What? That’s not fair!”

  “I’m more concerned with your safety and health than your opinion about fairness. I’m also concerned about the attitude malfunction. You’ve gotten a little too comfortable, and we need to pull the reins back a bit. I want to hear some respect from you from now on.”

  “Sir! Yes, Sir!” I mocked a salute that would make a drill sergeant explode with fury. My embarrassment and humiliation had suddenly shifted to intense anger. Rage rumbled from within my gut, and the need to scream with frustration escalated.

  Ray cocked an eyebrow. “Where did this come from? If you’re testing me, I suggest that you give it your all and hold nothing back. Just be prepared for the consequences.”

  “What are you going to do? Fire me? Demote me? Send me down to admin to work with that slimy Staff Sergeant Blackwell whose sole mission is to coerce women into his pants? I don’t care, okay? You’ll be like everyone else in my life and toss me out like a pile of trash when you’re done using me for your own purpose anyway, so I really don’t give a royal shit.”

  “That’s quite enough lip, Missy.” His manner stayed calm and collected. “See that corner? Go put your nose in it and stay there until you are ready to talk about this behavior.”

  “Are you fucking kidding me?”

  “You know me better. We’ve gone through this before, and I obviously didn’t make myself clear. The corner. Now. Don’t make me repeat myself.”

  I stared at him in disbelief as he pointed to the corner, his face clearly communicating that he was not going to tolerate any more nonsense. After a three-minute stare-down, he won. I stomped to the designated spot and banged my forehead against the wall. He had no idea how this unusual type of dominance affected me, or that a part of me wished I had the courage to share another humiliating secret.

  As for my behavior, it honestly disgusted me. Not only was it so far from my natural character, but the defiance towards Ray conflicted with the intense desire to crawl back into his lap and be embraced like a beloved little girl. However, standing in the corner like a naughty child amplified my negative emotions and indignities. Staring at the blank, pale green paint raised a sense of isolation and rejection and triggered my defenses. Flashbacks of the methods my family used to rid me from their presence swarmed in my mind, dominated by the memories of the words they used to break me down and destroy me. They had fostered the fears they had planted in my mind—those of being deserted and unloved—and had laughed when I reacted to their provocations. Resentment and indescribable fury gurgled within me and without thinking, I slammed my fist into the drywall.

  Ray was at my side in an instant, his eyes shifting between my face and bleeding knuckles. “Let’s get you to the corpsman.”

  “No! I need this.” I screamed, pulling away and raising my fist to the wall again.

  He grabbed my arm and pulled me towards him. “Stop it! You might have broken something. Let’s go.”

  “I’m not going anywhere, and you can’t make me.” To my ears, the words sounded distant, foreign, and almost childlike.

  “You’re going to do as you’re told. You can walk, or I will carry you. Either way, this injury is going to be looked at and treated.”

  “Please don’t. Please. I’m begging you. They can’t know what I do to myself.”

  Holding my face in his hands, blue eyes laced with fear, he forced me to look at him. “What do you do to yourself? Bree? Answer me. Do you hurt yourself?”

  My whisper sounded louder than anything I had ever shouted. It echoed through every corner of the room and lingered in the air around us. It had been a secret, a shameful and terrible secret that would open me to judgment, ridicule, and condemnation by anyone who knew the truth, especially those whose intents were to harm. But I couldn’t lie nor was I able to hide from him. He had me trapped in the cage of genuine love and compassion even though I had no idea how to receive either.

  “I stab myself. It helps to deafen the words said against me and escape the inner pain by feeling outer pain. It allows me to breathe when my voice is stolen. No one can know. No one would ever understand. You don’t know how many cruel people are in this world who pretend to be kind to others, but then use something like this to ridicule, manipulate, and add more pain.”

  His eyes grew wet as he drew me against his shoulder and rested his chin on the top of my head. “Your secret is safe with me, honey. You have my word, and a man’s worth is only as good as his word. But I need something from you in return. I need your promise to let me help you heal.”

  “I’m too broken. There’s no hope for me. It’s slow suicide. I need to finish what my parents and others have started.” I turned my head to avoid meeting his eyes. “I hate myself and all the burdens my life has put on others.”

  “It’s not slow suicide; it’s just a poor coping mechanism. I also don’t believe that anyone is so broken that they can’t be mended with a little love, patience, and discipline. You need more than just a friend.” His arms folded tightly around my shoulders as I began to sob again. “You need a daddy.”

  And that’s how it began ….

  Chapter 1

  I looked over at Ray from the examination table. I had a hairline fracture to my little finger and needed a couple of stitches, but the pain in my hand was shadowed by the longing in my heart. His last words had left an indelible mark inside of my soul and left me floundering with confusion.

  He said I needed a daddy. I never had a responsible parental figure—certainly not in the way I imagined a ‘daddy’ to behave. My biological father was physically and emotionally abusive, misogynistic, a functioning alcoholic, and a closet pedophile with a severe Napoleon complex. My mother spread her legs for any man that would pay attention to her, including any boyfriend I would bring home, and was also one of the most narcissistic people I have ever known.

  My parents weren’t hedonists—they were Caligulaists (a Breeism)—people who achieved pleasure without concern or regard to how it affected others. And those were their virtues. I won’t even go into the dysfunctions of the rest of the relatives. Only my grandfather was kind, loving, and supportive, but he passed away when I was ten. My parents wouldn’t allow me to go to the funeral to say goodbye because I was ‘too fat’ and would embarrass them.

  “How does this feel?” the corpsman asked, wrapping my hand. “I’d hate to see what the guy you hit looks like.”

  “I’m okay,” I said, glancing at Ray.

  “I’ll call maintenance and get that carpet fixed before anyone else gets hurt,” he responded, winking at me.

  “Good idea, Sir,” the corpsman agreed. “This will heal pretty quickly, but a busted arm won’t. From what I hear, the General wouldn’t make a meeting on time if not for you, so please watch your step.”

  “It’s true,” Ray admitted. “I probably wouldn’t be dressed properly either. Now, if she can find a way to add another day to the week, she’d be perfect. If you’re done with her, I’ll get her back to the barracks.”

  “She’s going to be hurting for a while, so we got a script called in for some pain meds. They are heavy duty, so no alcohol or operating any vehicles while you’re under the influence. Have you ever taken codeine before?” The corpsman asked as he helped me off the table and handed me a tablet with a glass of water.

  “No. Will it take the throbbing away from my hand?”

  “Yes, but it might knock you on your ass. You shouldn’t take these without supervision, at least until you know how you react to them. You might want to just hang out in the barracks over the weekend and take it
easy. By Monday, you’ll be feeling a lot better.”

  “I’ll keep an eye on her. Could you please have the prescription delivered to my place?”

  The corpsman nodded. “Yes, Sir. Get some food in her and remember, no booze.”

  Ray placed my green camouflage utility cover (hat) on my head and held the door open for me to exit the building. The sun was setting, and the ocean breeze blew past our faces as we started to walk down the hill towards the women’s barracks. Halfway there, he suddenly did an about-face.

  “Come on,” he ordered, heading towards the O-club.

  “I can’t go in there. I made a fool of myself last night, remember?” My emotions were chaotic, running from hot to cold in a second’s notice. From being defiant and demanding, I now struggled with meekness and humiliation. I didn’t want to face anyone, especially in front of Ray.

  “Trust me, darling. I’ve done my share of stupid things when I was your age. One day I might even tell you about them,” he responded, patting my shoulder. “We both need to eat dinner and discuss our new schedule.”

  “I don’t have my notebook. Besides, I can’t write.” I held up my bandaged hand.

  “You don’t need either. At ease,” he said as the young Marine saluted before opening the door. Ray was greeted by several officers as we walked to ‘The General’s Booth,’ at the far section of the room.

  “Good evening,” the waitress greeted us as she placed two glasses of water on the table. “The usual? Hamburger and fries?”

  “Yes, please. What would you like?” he asked me.

  “Just a house salad, please. Thousand island on the side, no cheese,” I mumbled, not looking up.

  Ray grunted. “Like hell. Bring her one of my burgers. Do you want anything to drink?”

  “Sloe gin fizz.”

  “She will have a sloe gin fizz, without the gin. How’s your hand feel? Are the medications working yet?” he asked after the waitress walked away, chuckling under her breath.