Page 2 of Hide From Me (Chaotic Love #3)

One

Moe

Caspian's House

I've been home for a few hours at most, but I'm already itching to be on the move again .

Of course, no one would understand because, unlike them, I'm not open about what happens in my life. You can blame it on a lifetime filled with secrets and letdowns, but I prefer to think of it as simply being a private man.

“I’m glad you made it,” Caspian beams, playfully nudging my shoulder. He looks more put-together than the last time I was home, with his peppered brown hair slicked back and crow's feet forming at the corners of his green eyes, which soften the frown lines etched into his forehead.

“Congratulations, Cas,” I smile, though it's not entirely noticeable.

“Yeah, it's about time,” Sam grumbles.

"When's the damn wedding? I’m ready to show off my moves,” I joke, following closely behind Caspian as he leads us through the house he built for himself and Cordelia, letting out an over dramatic sigh.

It’s disgustingly nice, with navy blue accents and mahogany furniture visible through the archway at the front door leading into the living room.

The staircase is probably my favorite feature so far; it barely protrudes from the wall, with wooden steps and a curved guardrail that directs attention to the massive emerald chandelier hanging in the hallway, which leads toward the dining room.

I didn’t have much chance to help him build the place like Sam did during my constant trips, but at least the chandelier was my idea.

It was the least I could do to make it feel like he lived here too.

It feels as if the entire purpose of building this house was to cater to her needs , with only hints of his personality scattered throughout.

Is it normal for people to live like that?

To wait on someone hand and foot to ensure they’re comfortable?

I glance back, searching for Sam and his wife, Jasmine, hoping their expressions will reflect my own thoughts, but they’ve disappeared.

I should've known Sam would do this to me.

It’s no secret what I’m wanting to discuss.

I’ve been hounding Caspian for a year on this topic, which always ends the same way.

He blows up, I bottle up, and we wait a few days to go again.

I brush my hand to the back of my neck and take a seat in the spacious dining room, doing my best to avoid Cordelia’s stare.

It feels like she can read me better than I can myself, some days.

Fuck Sam for leaving me to do this by myself.

“You said you had business to discuss?” Cordelia grins as she strides around the area, finally looking away.

It’s as if this is her first time seeing the area herself.

I roll my eyes while no one is looking. I’m sure it is her first time–Caspian probably made this some huge, elaborate surprise for her.

“Uh–” I clear my throat. “Yeah. Look, Cas’, I know how you get when I talk about this, but–”

His hand raises, and I groan, throwing my head back against the chair, looking at him down the bridge of my nose.

“Don’t start,” Caspian grumbles, shifting through a large china cabinet until glasses clank together. He turns back with a cigar tucked firmly between his lips.

I prefer cigarettes, but he doesn’t need to know that.

He still sees me as a child, which is why he firmly dismisses anything I say.

I've kept my thoughts to myself and understand why he's so determined to keep me safe. I mean, for crying out loud, word spread shortly after that day. The whole base knows now that I’m literally the product of evil. Well, almost a complete product.

When it comes to my father… I don’t know.

I want to, though. There’s this insane urge within me to see if my future is already written in stone, destined to be some twisted, broken, chaotic person like everyone says I am.

They whisper it wh en I’m not looking, when Sam isn’t watching, and when Caspian is nowhere around, but I still hear it.

I would have already tracked down my father if I could, but there’s no trace of him anywhere. Even scanning my DNA in a system gave little information, and what I found was what I already knew —I come from a long line of psychopaths.

“Cas’.” I huff, placing my hands in my lap so no one can catch the subtle flex of my fingers under the table.

“No!” He yells, drawing a breath to calm himself before gently placing the cups on the table, “I said no , Moe. You don’t want to take my position because you’re ‘not ready’. So that means you’re not ready for this either.”

I tuck my tongue between my teeth, biting hard enough to taste copper. I don’t want the bloody position because it’s not mine to fucking have.

Don't talk back. If a superior gives you an order, you obey it. Never question the chain of command.

His advice echoes in my mind as if it were spoken under the authority of a superior toward a subordinate. But that's the thing: I'm not addressing my colonel; I'm talking to my brother .

I lean forward, resting my elbows on the table, and ruffle my hair.

“Caspian,” Cordelia mutters. She’s trying to ease the tension in the room, but little does she know it's only thickening the air.

"No, no, no, no. It’s always no," I mutter. It’s childish, but if he wants to see me as a kid, that’s fine. If acting like a spoiled fucking brat gets me what I want, then so be it.

I’ve taken on the responsibility of keeping other factions in check, ensuring that no more wars break out and that teams around the world honor their commitments.

I’ve invested blood, sweat, tears, and lives into my work, proving that I am not just the colonel's little brother but a man worthy of respect, even at my young age. Yet, when it comes to this particular issue, I am dismissed and treated like a child in time-out. It’s bloody frustrating and makes me want to find one of those soldiers overseas who talks too much and oversteps his bounds, just to release some of this pent-up rage without anyone noticing.

At least over there, I command respect.

“What did you–” Caspian starts, but Sam and Jasmine step in from wherever they have been.

Caspian clears his throat, “There are other things we need to focus on right now.”

He slides a glass of bourbon across the mahogany table towards Sam, surprisingly mimicking the motion in my direction as well. Thank God, too, because if I had to go through this somewhat sober, I'd likely be bald by the age of twenty.

“Yes and no,” Cordelia intervenes, “The factions are cooperating thanks to Moe and whatever he’s been doing to keep them in line.”

I offer Sharkie a lopsided grin. Now that’s more like it.

I deserve recognition for what I’ve done and how I’ve accomplished things.

I’ve worked hard to prove that I can handle intense situations just as well as anyone else.

On top of it all, I found an outlet for every twisted, messed-up thing in my head to be released.

Fear is the only way to get certain people to cooperate, and I enjoy it a little too much.

I thrive on the thrill of taking things slow, the anticipation leading up to whatever might determine someone’s fate.

But what I love most of all is being the manipulator.

No, that’s not quite right—I love being in control.

Yeah, that makes my moral compass feel a bit better.

Anyway, it works, and it keeps them in line.

“Sam has had the base under control despite his constant need to travel, and with Jasmine's help, we’ve done well addressing concerns as soon as they come.” Sharkie shrugs and pries the bottle of gin from Caspian's hands despite the glare he’s holding.

“We need to keep focusing on the underlying issues, but we also need to start getting others settled in their positions.” She pours a generous glass and slides it to Jasmine before taking her own.

“Not now, Siren,” Caspian warns, using the nickname he reserves only for her in hopes of calming her, but we all know better.

She has just as much control over their relationship and our job as he does.

Sam shifts back in his seat, pulling Jasmine closer to his chest as she focuses on her cup.

Her cheeks turn pink, and she looks nervous, which is typical when Caspian is angry.

I don't blame her. While I can handle him better during his rage-fueled fits, I still feel that sinking sensation when he gets too close. Logically, I know he would never hurt me again; it’s just a feeling I haven’t been able to shake ever since I realized how easily he could overpower me.

“Whatever.” Cordelia rolls her eyes and plops into a seat so violently that the table shakes. One thing about Sharkie is that once her mind is set on something, she’s not stopping. That’s why we get along so well—we’re alike in ways neither of us will admit.

“Sam, we’re slowing down your travel time. You’ll be sent out if force is needed, but Moe can handle the faction you've been visiting just as well as anyone else,” Cordelia says firmly.

“Cordelia,” Caspian interjects, and she narrows her eyes at him in response. It's not what I was asking for, but maybe this could work. It could buy me more time to mentally prepare for the disappointment I'm sure to feel when I finally locate my father.

Sam chuckles in amusement. “That’s perfect. I can update Moe on the information, give him access to what has happened, and fill him in on all the events that led to such close surveillance in that area.”

“I’m right here, ya know.” I wave dramatically. They don’t have to talk like I’m not listening to the whole conversation.

“Don't get involved,” Jasmine whispers as if no one can hear her, and Sam tightens his arm around her waist hard enough that she gasps.

“No, if we're going to be some chaotic family, we all get a say, and I say I'm not going on another fuckin’ trip out there. I’m tired of traveling.” Sam grits, but it feels like it's directed not only at Jasmine but also at everyone at the table.