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)
It was a fucking blood bath. One Alan didn’t even bat an eye at helping me cover up. Horrific things go on all the time in Central America. It didn’t take much for it to look like a battle between cartels. No man in that house was left alive. I didn’t take the time to sort out who was who. There was only one reason those men were there, and that was to take, to use up, to hurt.
The women who were set free thought I was their savior. No one knew I was an FBI agent. They thanked me and disbursed from that house.
I never thought it would creep back up and bite me in the ass, even after discovering that one of the men visiting just happened to be the son of a tech millionaire from California. He was just as guilty as the man who put a bag on my head and dragged me off the street two weeks prior. I saw what that man did to one of the younger girls there.
His father made it look like he was there for business, but I doubt his dad knew he was forcing a sixteen-year-old to suck his cock. I paid extra attention to that one. Sometimes when I close my eyes, I can still hear him begging for his life, offering me every penny of his father’s wealth if I let him live.
“What do they know?”
“I haven’t told them anything. I don’t remember any details other than what was in the report. You know me. Too busy to focus on much.”
Translation—I’m not putting my ass on the line for you.
“What are my options?”
“You can either come in for the inquiry or don’t.”
I clench my hands until my knuckles crackle.
“So what you’re saying is to come in and end up going to jail because that’s what will happen if I’m questioned. Or what? Run?”
He doesn’t respond, and I know he’s being very careful with his wording in case I’m recording this conversation.
“If I run and they catch me, I’ll end up in prison too.”
“As your handler, I have to urge you to come into the office. It’s pertinent that you explain what happened.”
I mull this over. I’m a good agent. I’m able to work well under pressure, handle myself in tough situations, but I can’t beat an interrogation by the FBI. Just the technology they have will let them know I’m lying before the words even leave my mouth.
“I can’t go to prison,” I mutter.
Once again, he doesn’t speak. His silence is telling.
He knows exactly what happened in Costa Rica. The man is just as vengeful as I am, only he’d never have the balls to go through with slitting a man’s throat while he sleeps or gutting another man while he screams for mercy because he never showed any to the women he was fond of mutilating. Alan probably jacked off to the tales I’ve relayed about my time in third world countries, suffering through unmentionable shit while trying to cut the head off the fucking snake.
“Call me when you make your decision, but please make it soon. The longer you wait, the worse it will get. There’s already been talk about considering you rogue and putting out alerts to find you.”
The phone goes dead before I can remind him that I’ve been trying to get ahold of his ass for two weeks, not the other fucking way around. I just got burned by my fucking handler. I expect shit like this to happen with someone who didn’t fully support what I was doing, but I guess I always knew that if heat was ever applied, he’d fucking jump ship.
I want to scream the walls down, throw shit, and set this fucking place on fire, but that’s not the best way to stay off the radar. I have no doubt that Alan has already told them where I am, that he’s been working with them to bring me in. Deep down, I know the alerts he warned me were coming soon are already out there.
It means I can’t go back to Cerberus. Kincaid wants me gone, so he sure as hell isn’t going to harbor me in his clubhouse. He’d never bring down heat on his family for me. I was never really considered part of that group. I’m not privileged to the same protections.
No one will fight for me, but that’s nothing new.
Having no one is how I’ve spent my entire life.
I had the Bureau, the promise of work, the assurance that I could feed my demons while possibly saving others from the fate I craved.
Now I no longer have that.
I was being honest when I told him I couldn’t go to prison.
Idleness kills me.
Silence drives me crazy.
This may be exactly what I need to conjure the strength I’ve been trying to find since my sister fought her own demons.