CHAPTER TWO

"Clark? What kind of a name is that for a girl?" laughed her classmate.

"The kind your parents give you when you're born and don't get a choice," she said calmly. Boys like him had been laughing at her name since kindergarten. She wasn't sure why her parents chose her strange name. She wasn't named after a relative or a friend. Clark Allison Grimes . Why not Allison Clark Grimes? Huh?

"It's still a weird name," said the boy.

"I know," she said with a smile, walking away from him. She didn't let them see the tears when they made fun of her. That wouldn't do. She walked all the way home with tears in her eyes. When she opened the front door, she took off up the stairs to her bedroom.

"Clark? Clark, honey, how was your day?" called her mother. She heard the door slam to her daughter's bedroom and looked at her husband, frowning.

"I'll go talk to her," he said. He took the steps two at a time and gently knocked on her bedroom door.

"Go away!"

"Clark, I'm coming in," he said calmly.

Twelve was an awful age for a girl. He knew that she'd already started her period, her breasts were developing, and to top it off, she was a great student and athlete. All of those things made her feel stressed and constantly hormonal. He knew that she should have been one of the most popular kids at school, but for some reason, their daughter had only a handful of friends.

"Dad!"

"Clark, what's wrong?" he asked, taking a seat at her desk.

"The same stuff, Dad. Kids making fun of my name! Why? Why did you and Mom give me this stupid name?" He smiled at his daughter and took the seat beside her on the bed.

"What's my name, Clark?" She stared at her father as if he'd lost his mind. "Humor me, kiddo."

"Jovan."

"Is that a normal name?"

"No," she scoffed.

"No, it's not. It's unusual. Odd. Strange. Kids made fun of me, too. What's your mother's name?"

"Mabel."

"That's right. Mabel. Is that common?"

"No. She's the only Mabel I know," said Clark.

"Yep. Me, too," laughed her father. "Those names, Jovan and Mabel, made us both targets in school. I don't think our parents intended that, but that's what we were. We met in middle school and bonded over strange names. We realized it was making us stronger. We could take anything from anyone. It's just a name. It doesn't define you as a person."

"So, you cursed me too," she sniffed. Jovan laughed.

"No, not cursed. We gave you a gift, Clark. A gift that would last a lifetime. Your name is unique, just like you. One of the most important things you can protect and defend is yourself. That includes your name. I've watched you. You don't lose your temper or fight. That's good."

"I'm smaller than everyone, Dad. That's why I don't fight. I don't want to get my butt kicked." Jovan chuckled at his daughter.

"Well, that's smart on your part for sure. I don't want to see that pretty face all messed up."

"Da-ad," she whined, her lip trembling. He pulled her close, kissing the top of her head.

"I'm sorry, honey. I'm not laughing at you. I'm trying to laugh with you. Having this unusual name will help to build character and strength for you. As an adult, fewer people will care or say anything, and you'll be all the stronger for it."

"Promise?" she sniffed.

"I promise," he said, smiling at his only child. "Now, what do you say to a movie tonight, pizza, popcorn, the works?"

"Perfect. Thanks, Dad."

"You're welcome." He started to leave, and Clark called out to him.

"Dad? I think I want to fly planes when I grow up."

"Really?" he asked, attempting a smile as the pit in his stomach seemed to swallow him whole. She nodded.

"I want to join the Marines and learn how to fly everything. Jets, helicopters, all of it."

"The Marines?" he said with a questioning nod. "Well, that's something. You know that your mother and I will support you."

"Thanks, Dad. I'm just going to wash up, and I'll be right down."

"Sounds good, kiddo." He walked slowly down the steps, his wife anxiously waiting for him.

"Well?"

"You know how we gave her a difficult name, hoping it would help to make her stronger?"

"Yes," she frowned.

"We might have overdone it."

A few short years later, Clark had entered the Marine Corps, enrolled in college, and worked a full schedule. Her parents had never seen her so determined. Petite, blonde, beautiful, and smart. She was the full package, and all those kids who made fun of her name, especially the boys, were regretting it. Their daughter was insanely focused on one thing. Becoming a pilot.

"Clark?" yelled her commander.

"Yes, sir."

"You're leaving." It wasn't a question. It was a statement.

"Yes, sir. It's time. I want to try my hand at flying for someone else for a while," she said with a smile.

"Someone else? Who else is better than the Marines?"

"Voodoo Guardians. Sir."

"Are you fucking kidding me? Seriously?" he said, staring at her.

"Yes, sir. An old friend flies for them as well and recommended me for the job. They've got some sweet machines."

"We know," he frowned. Shaking his head, he just looked down at the best pilot he'd had for his team in a long time. "You're good, Clark. They'll be damn lucky to have you."

"Thank you, sir."

Clark had one last flight with her team. Dropping a group of Marines and DEA agents into a remote mountain area in West Virginia, they were shutting down an opioid factory run by a bunch of backwoods, wannabe chemists. Their concoctions had already killed more than three dozen people.

With only one place to land, they didn't have a choice but to be placed right in the middle of the whole damn camp. The minute the helicopter was seen, the drug dealers were firing. Fortunately, they were also taking their own medications. The Marines and DEA agents were faster and far more accurate.

As the team scrambled, handcuffing those that were still alive, the rest gathered evidence. Clark stayed close to her helicopter, not wanting anyone to mess with her bird.

"Got two for you, Clark," said one of the agents. "I'm locking them to the floor." Their handcuffs were secured to the floor of the chopper, and he left her there to mind them, although they weren't going anywhere. The men were both in jeans and flannel shirts with worn work boots. One of the men had two earrings in his left ear, the other with a fake designer watch on his wrist.

"Well, ain't you pretty," smirked one of the men. Clark said nothing, not even bothering to turn to look at them. "Nice ass, nice tits. I bet you'd give me a wild ride, wouldn't ‘ya, honey?"

"Shut the fuck up!" yelled one of the Marines. "Don't take that shit, Clark. Bust him in the mouth, or I will."

Clark only nodded. So used to not listening to ribbing or teasing from anyone, she was immune to their comments.

"I won't be in jail forever, girly. Just know that I don't forget a pretty face. Ever."

Something about the way he spoke to her sent a chill up her spine. She turned to stare at his face, embedding it into her memory. She stared so hard, he was the one that turned away from her glare.

All totaled, thirteen dealers were killed, seven hospitalized, and five jailed. Five days later, she was carrying her bag to her car when the Marines from the last mission approached her.

"Clark!"

"Oh, hi, guys."

"Hey, we just wanted to wish you good luck. VG is the best, and they're lucky to have you."

"Thank you. Why do I feel like there's more?" she asked.

"Uh, yeah, well, those guys we hauled in made some vague threats about coming for all of us," said Taylor.

"We're Marines, you guys. They were high on drugs and not exactly the brightest bulbs in the box."

"Clark. Take this seriously, okay? Just watch yourself." Clark stared at the men she called family and nodded.

"I will. Thank you, guys. Take care of yourselves as well." She watched them walk away and got behind the seat of her jeep.

"Time for a new life."