Total pages in book: 52
Estimated words: 48018 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 240(@200wpm)___ 192(@250wpm)___ 160(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 48018 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 240(@200wpm)___ 192(@250wpm)___ 160(@300wpm)
On the third day, they finally stop fucking around and send an actual agent in. He sits down in the chair opposite me with a heavy seat, making the legs of the chair scrape on the ground where the tube has come through the shitty institutional rubber stoppers. Funny how small details like that stick out at times like this. I’m hyper-vigilant, ultra alert, and in survival mode.
“I’m Agent Sheffield,” he says. “We’re investigating the death of Agent Palmer, who was shot in a diner recently.”
I keep my expression completely neutral.
“We have reason to believe you were the one responsible for his death.”
I say nothing.
“Agent Cooper…”
“I’m not an agent anymore. I was honorably discharged,” I remind them. “Because I was shot in the line of duty. It’s a pity Agent Palmer didn’t survive, so he could also enjoy being discarded as useless by the government he pledged his life to serve.”
Sheffield smirks.
Fuck. I just said way, way too much. I am potentially in trouble here if I can’t get my temper under control. He already knows he is under my skin. If he keeps chipping away there, he’ll crack me wide open if I let him.
I take a breath and let myself have made the mistake. It doesn’t have to be a complete fuck up. Advertising a vulnerability isn’t always a bad thing. It can be a distraction.
“You’re bitter because you were let go after your performance declined. You lost your home. You lost your job. But you’re doing well for yourself now. How is that?”
“I guess I pulled myself up by my bootstraps,” I smile.
“According to our intel, you’ve shacked up with Angelo Vitali and turned into his errand girl.”
“Fun intel. Where’s my lawyer?”
“You know you’re not going to get a lawyer.”
“Then you know you’re not working for the law.” I sit back in the chair, lift both my hands, and present the middle fingers. “This is all you’re getting from me, agent.”
A click issues from outside the room. Someone has activated an intercom.
“That’s enough.”
I know that voice. That voice belongs to Angelo Vitali, who apparently is standing outside this room.
A moment later, he is no longer outside the room. Instead, he is inside it. He steps through the door, looking perfectly dapper, as always. He exudes power and wealth, and he is looking at me with an approving smile that I want to bask in.
“Remove those cuffs please, agent. Let my girl go.”
“He’s an agent?”
I look at the man across from me, who finally has the good grace to look ashamed.
“Yes. One of many on my payroll,” Angelo says. “You don’t think you were the first to catch my eye, do you?”
That’s a very hurtful thing to say. Fortunately, I still have my middle fingers deployed. Fuck whatever the fuck this is. Fuck Angelo.
“You did very well, Riley,” Angelo compliments me as the crooked agent takes the cuffs off me. “You were calm, you were aware of every trick, and you stayed in control of the situation even when you were in cuffs. You’ve impressed me.”
“This has all been a test?”
“Think of it like a training scenario.”
I stand up, rubbing my wrists where the cuffs sat heavy against my freedom. A great many thoughts and feelings chase through me, one after the other. Most of them have curses attached.
I walk up to Angelo, who has the nerve to stand there looking satisfied with himself. He is very handsome, but I do not care anymore. He could look like the hunchback of Notre Dame right now.
“You just had me think I was fucking arrested for three goddamn days, sitting in a very fucking real cell as some kind of fucking TEST!?”
My temper gets the better of me. Angelo might well be pleased with my behavior, but I am not at all pleased with his. Before I even know what I’m doing, my hand is in motion and the flat of my palm is en route to smack him right in his smug fucking face.
There’s a brief point in time, a little split-second where I know I’m going to hit him, and he knows I’m going to hit him and he could stop me — but he doesn’t. He lets my palm connect with his rough, masculine cheek with a slap loud enough to echo around the world, or at least that’s how it feels.
There’s a silence after I make contact, a fizzing sensation in my palm, and a look of horror followed by a choking laugh of disbelief from Bobby. I didn’t even notice Bobby come into the room. I have been far too preoccupied with hating Angelo.
“Did that make you feel better, Riley?” Angelo asks the question dangerously softly, his dark eyes filling my vision until I feel as though I’m swimming in them.
“I mean, yeah, actually, a little.”