Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 83519 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 418(@200wpm)___ 334(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83519 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 418(@200wpm)___ 334(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
“I appreciate your help,” he says, not seeming to be bothered that I don’t shake his hand.
I manage a nod.
“Say thanks by not bringing my name up in the report,” I say before walking away.
The last thing I want is to be here when the cops show up.
As I climb back into my truck around the corner, I just don’t feel right. Maybe it’s the gratitude Spade showed but doing something good just for the sake of it isn’t how I normally operate. Thinking of the pain that little girl suffered and letting it drive my actions is something the old Angel would’ve done. I haven’t been that man in a very long time, and I don’t like how it makes me feel.
As I crank the truck and drive away, I have this insistent urge to counter it by doing something terrible to level things out again.
Chapter 14
Lauren
It’s been literally days since I climbed out of Angel’s truck.
Days since I’ve seen another face.
I’ve been holed up in this motel room since I closed the door the night after leaving Jake’s.
I have no fucking will to leave the room, and I hate when I get like this.
It’s dangerous. To my mental health. To my body. To anyone who bothers me.
I’m like a caged animal, only I’m the one who holds the power to escape my capture.
Images flash in my head, memories I’ve tried for years to block out.
My life is a vicious fucking circle.
Need the pain, get the pain, regret the pain, need the pain again.
I fucking hate it, and I hate myself for it, but I guess that’s sort of the point to my life.
Hating myself comes easy. I can live in it, dwell on the things I missed, the things I could’ve done. I can let it fester and hurt, infect every part of me. I roll it all inside and let it turn septic, eating away at me, but without work, I have no true outlet for it.
It’ll kill me eventually. One of these days it will all become too much, and I long for those days. I crave the day I’m strong enough to do what I’ve been building toward for such a long time.
Today isn’t that day, and a spark of hope sets my skin on fire when my phone rings.
CIRCUS MONKEY lights up the screen, but instead of answering it immediately, I debate whether or not I should. Letting it go to a voicemail that hasn’t been set up is only punishing myself. Knowing Alan, if I don’t answer, he’ll refuse and do the same when I call him right back.
“Yes,” I snap into the phone after the call connects.
“There’s a problem.”
My eyes squeeze closed as I pinch the bridge of my nose. With a federal agency with way too much oversight, there’s always a problem, always red tape, always a lag in info and movement in my line of work. It’s fucking dangerous, and the bigwigs in DC don’t give a fuck that someone’s life could be hanging in the balance. They need to make sure their bases are covered; their I’s are dotted and their T’s are crossed.
“What is it this time?” I mutter. “A Senator’s daughter? A mistress of a congressman?”
Silence fills the line, and although it’s not like Alan to leave me fucking hanging for nearly two weeks, I still can’t stop the annoyance that’s threatening to take over.
“I hate it when you waste my fucking time,” I snap. “If you can’t—”
“There’s been an inquiry into Costa Rica.”
My jaw snaps closed. “What did you tell them?”
“Nothing.”
Of fucking course he didn’t say anything. The man would never go to bat for someone on his team. If there’s even a hint that his job is at risk, he’d throw his own mother under the bus.
“What kind of questions are they asking?”
“They’re asking for everything. I’ve been evasive, but they’re giving you two options.”
My hand is shaking so badly that I have to press the speaker button on my cell phone and put it on the bed to continue.
“Which trip?”
“What do you mean?”
“Which trip to Costa Rica are they asking about?”
“Not this last one,” he says, and it’s all it takes.
This last trip to Costa Rica was bad, but that was because of the traffickers. The trip to Costa Rica, the one right after El Salvador, I was a different person. I didn’t follow protocol, which is always hard for me because the captors are never operating under a code either, but I was even less concerned then. The pain and abuse I saw hit me differently. I knew I shouldn’t have been back to work so soon after going to Cerberus for help with Thumper. I wasn’t in the mood to play victim, to feed my demons. I was angry, livid that there were people in the world who thought they had every right to hurt those weaker than them.