19. 18
The place looks like a pigsty. I haven’t been in Chester’s home office for a few days, while both Chester and Beckett have been holed up here after hours. And it fucking shows.
Stacks upon stacks of papers are strewn out over every flat surface in the room. There are endless empty cans of energy drinks and empty coffee mugs. Four huge eyes look back at me when I enter the room. I have to admit, I didn’t knock. That’s on me. But they look as if I’m entering their sanctuary. Their filthy sanctuary.
“Jesus,” I mumble, my eyes going over the mess.
“Yeah,” Chester says, looking somewhat guilty.
“It happened again?”
Beckett looks confused. “This happened before?”
I nod. “Whenever I leave Chester unattended for too long and he has some sort of puzzle he’s trying to solve, this happens.” I motion at the mess they’ve both made. “You went down the rabbit hole with him.”
Grabbing the recycle bin from the ground, I collect all the empty cans. Chester has been here before, and he stretches his legs and starts helping me by rearranging all the papers. Beckett just rubs his eyes, looking tired as hell and in a daze.
“Are you making any progress?” I ask when I start pulling out coffee mugs from literally everywhere. I find sixteen of them.
“Yeah,” Beckett says, staring at his screen again. “I think we’ve got him actually. We’re just documenting everything we’ve found so far so we can send it to Internal Affairs.”
Something lifts inside my chest.
“You found him?”
“Yeah,” Beckett says sheepishly. It’s like he can’t even believe it himself. Either that, or he’s so tired he doesn’t know he’s awake.
“Who is it?”
“The Assistant Director of the Criminal Investigative Division,” Chester says. My stomach drops. That’s not a nobody. That’s way, way up in the chain.
“So basically, my boss,” Beckett adds. This explains the confused attitude. It also explains why they’re getting everything in order to report it. If they report him for municipal corruption and don’t have the evidence to back it up, or Internal Affairs doesn’t reach the same conclusion, they’ll suffer from the consequences. I don’t know what that would mean for Chester, although I’m pretty sure the FBI can make his life much harder if they want to. Beckett would end up jobless for sure.
I inhale deeply. “What can I do?”
“Get us some fuel, fix us something to eat? So we can wrap this up. If we both soldier on, we can finish this tonight.”
I nod, glancing around the room once more. “Sure thing.” I make a mental note to ask Remy if he can help me tidy this room up while both of them keep working. I’ve always thought that having a tidy working spot helps with getting the job done more efficiently. I’ve never thrived in Chester’s chaos.
“How did you find him?” I ask from the doorway.
Beckett doesn’t hear me anymore. He’s busy writing something and lost in his work. Chester sits back in his chair, one foot on the edge of his desk, hugging his bent knee while he observes me.
“We couldn’t find anything, so we went backwards again. We couldn’t find a link from Wayne to someone within the FBI, so we started searching from the FBI towards Wayne.”
I smirk. Ever since he got this method of investigating down, it’s become his favorite way of handling things. Not everyone possesses the ability to think laterally, but Chester’s mind is able to get out of any box.
“Turns out Wayne’s dad was Assistant Director’s Fred Priston’s roommate in college. Both came from the aristocracy within Portland and hit the ground running. Always kept in touch. We couldn’t find any evidence of bribery, payments or correspondence between the two, so it’s only logical that whoever helped Wayne did it because they wanted to do it for him. What we did find is that a couple of years prior to Wayne going to jail and someone covering it up, Wayne’s father helped Fred rise within the ranks of the Bureau, making sure he ended up right where he is now: in the position of Assistant Director.”
I slowly nod. “And nothing comes for free when it concerns people with money.”
“Exactly.”
I furrow my brows, unconsciously chewing the inside of my cheek. “So how are you going to prove it if you can’t find any evidence?”
An evil grin spreads over Chester’s face. “We went through, well, everything. Fred is as dirty as they get. I’ve got a mountain of proof of everything he’s done during the last ten years. If we can prove he’s dirty, the step towards believing he did this too isn’t that big.”
“Let’s just hope they see the urgency of acting quickly,” I say, watching how Chester turns away from me and gets back to work. I leave my two men be, heading toward the kitchen to provide them with the fuel to see this thing through.
It’s late. Like, really late. I should probably head to bed, but Chester and Beckett aren’t done yet, and I want to wait for them. I know I’m going to regret staying up once my alarm goes off tomorrow morning, but it’s not like I’d be able to fall asleep now anyway.
I cooked dinner for all of us, and then Remy and I cleaned Chester’s office while Beckett and Chester kept working on gathering the evidence. Then we were banished. We went on a run together to be out of their hair and not go crazy by sitting on the couch doing nothing. Remy was all up for it. I just couldn’t sit still long enough.
The run didn’t help.
It’s not the sitting still that’s making me feel like my skin is crawling. It’s the idea that we aren’t getting anywhere. And running doesn’t help with that.
I’m loading the dishwasher, trying to buy myself some time and finding excuses to stay up a little longer. After I’ve turned the machine on, I conclude that there really isn’t nothing left to do besides going to bed.
I cross my arms and lean them on the counter, letting my head fall down and rest there while I stand bent forward. My eyes feel heavy, and I could fall asleep standing just like this. Something which I almost accidentally do.
I startle when a hand grabs my ass.
A hand wraps around my ponytail, grabbing it near the root and twirling it around the wrist.
“I’ve been thinking about having you like this ever since I caught you and Remy going at it in the parking lot at the shooting range,” Beckett whispers.
My belly clenches at the sound of his voice.
“You guys done?”
He grinds his pelvis against my ass and I can feel how he quickly hardens inside his pants.
“Oh, we’re done alright,” he growls.
“Where are Chester and Remy?” I ask, trying to look over my shoulder. He’s wearing his glasses, and he’s using them to very intently stare at my ass. The way those frames make him look should be illegal, and the way he’s eyeing me makes me feel like some creature made purely out of sex.
“Do you really care?”
I don’t.
Instead of answering, I push my ass back.
“You’re asking for it,” he grunts.
“So just give it to me,” I say hoarsely.
“Do you know what you’re asking for?” He keeps grinding his rock hard dick over my pussy, and not only do I know what I’m saying. I feel like I need it in order to survive.
“Don’t hold back,” I rasp.
My answer makes him moan. For just a moment, he releases my hair, janks my pants down and undoes his own. He pushes his underwear down, not bothering to get his clothes all the way off until his cock springs free. Before he gives me what I want, he spanks me, the sound of it ever so loud in the quiet house.
“Goddammit,” I curse, my insides clenching in anticipation. He uses his thumb to stroke away the ache and then guides the engorged head of his cock to my opening. We lock eyes before he can have his way with me.
“Oh, and Beckett?”
“Hm?”
“Keep the glasses on.”
A fire ignites behind his eyes, and he breaches my opening, slamming in right up to the hilt. He starts fucking me with an urgency I’m starting to get familiar with. His hips are pistoning, and I can barely brace myself enough to keep up. His hand goes back up to grab my hair, and he pulls my head back, making my spine arch.
My eyes fall closed, my attention shifting towards the fingers I feel pressed into my hips that are bound to leave marks yet again. I don’t think the last ones have completely disappeared yet. With every thrust, he hits me deeper, hitting my A spot when he slams in and grinding over my G spot when he pulls out.
He’s armed and dangerous and knows what he’s doing.
“Let me hear you,” he growls.
Right then, the only sounds that fill the kitchen are slapping his skin against mine and our hard breathing. But as soon as I know he wants to hear me, I let the moans I try to hold back in. I’m not usually vocal, but the way he’s giving it to me and the knowledge that he wants it makes me give it to him.
“Yes,” I hiss, the small word coming out in hurdles because he keeps pounding into me. He pulls my hair harder, making me cry out, lost somewhere between pain and pleasure.
His hand lets go of my hip and finds my clit. He uses the same pressure he was applying to my hips as to my most sensitive part. I’m not sure if he is really doing anything with his hand or that the way he makes our bodies move does the most. Either way, I don’t give a crap.
I’m rapidly working my way towards an orgasm, and Beckett doesn’t seem to be letting up. My moans and cries grow louder, and they mix beautifully with his grunts and the music our bodies produce.
“Fuck,” I moan, feeling myself teetering on the edge of coming but not wanting to give it.
“Hurt me,” I beg, trying to find a way not to make myself come just yet. To hold back just a little longer. Beckett pulls my hair harder and pinches my clit at the same time. His mouth crashes against my shoulder and his teeth sink into it, biting through the shirt I have on.
It’s enough to make me not come on the spot.
He seems to understand what I’m doing because he changes his pace. Instead of blatantly pounding into me, he starts rotating his hips. He takes a second and uses his foot to kick mine further to the side. My legs are so wide that I’d topple over if he wasn’t holding on to me and I wasn’t leaning against the counter.
He then picks up thrusting again, changing his movements into long and hard ones. It feels like he almost pulls all the way out, but he stops just in time before doing so. When he slams back in, his balls slap against my lips and I’m fairly certain he hits his own hand every time.
“Harder,” I beg. I’m not sure it’s even physically possible, but I want it anyway. I want him to give me his all. I want him to possess me and never let me go. Somehow he manages to give me more, bruising my body where it keeps slapping into the counter.
It’s the exact amount of stimuli I need to shatter into a million pieces. A loud moan leaves my mouth, the sound of it distorted because of the thrusts that keep on coming. Somewhere very deep in my mind, I think this would make an awesome soundbite, but I’m a little busy dying and going to heaven.
“Fuck,” Beckett stammers, pistoning into me even faster, chasing his own release and not holding back. I’d love to say I’m giving it to him as good as I’m getting it, but really, I just stand there and get fucked into bliss.
It’s not often that I manage to come twice in so short of a time, but when I think I’ve finally come down from my climax, I feel the tingling edges of another one coming on. This time, it’s less on my face, and the buildup is more stable, until I find myself falling over the edge again.
And I just keep on falling.
My muscles spasm, my legs are shaking and my breath gets caught in my throat.
Beckett follows me mere seconds later, seriously roaring with his release. I thought that sound was reserved for animals and porn, but it turns out that having really unexpected aggressive sex can bring it out in my man as well. I can feel my insides sucking around him, spasming and relaxing – milking him.
His sweaty and heavy upper body falls on mine, both our breaths ragged. I don’t know if I feel like I can’t breathe from a lack of oxygen, being stuck beneath his body, or general exhaustion. Perhaps it’s a mix of all three.
It takes a minute before we’re both back on Earth again and get up. He removes himself from my body and pulls his clothes back up with shaking hands. I don’t feel very put together at the moment either, but I’m feeling a nice kind of disheveledness I’m feeling.
He helps me get up again, and when I turn around to face him, I find Remy and Chester standing in the doorframe of the kitchen.
“How long have you been there?” I stammer, my cheeks getting even hotter.
“Ever since Beckett stood up from his computer, I emailed all the files to Internal Affairs and I followed him into the kitchen.”
“No way,” I say. They can’t have been here all that time, can’t they? I would’ve heard them. Or at least felt they were near.
“Way,” Remy says, having a naughty look in his eyes. “Also, that was fucking hot.”
“That’s the only reason I’m okay with this,” Chester mumbles.
Oh my God. I really just had sex in front of an audience without noticing. Do I really care about it? Not really, I don’t think. Beckett looks kind of smug and really tired. Which is probably very fitting right about now.
“Okay, guess it’s time for bed then?” I offer.
“Oh now she remembers there’s such a thing as a bed,” Remy teases.
“As if I didn’t get the idea for this whole ordeal from you having your way with her in a certain parking lot,” Beckett chastises him while he helps me get my clothes back into place.
“You’re all a bunch of depraved perverts who don’t hold back. Don’t start a dick-measuring contest. You’re all equally bad,” I say.
“Says the woman who’s getting dicked by three men,” Chester says with a wink.
“That’s it! All to bed with you!” I shout.
Laughter fills the quiet house, but they all listen and start making their way up to the bedrooms.
I’m less tired than I expected to be the next day. Once I reached my bed, I slept like a baby. Waking up wasn’t the best part of the day, and getting up and ready for work was torture, but I survived and I actually have a very productful morning.
It’s an hour before lunch when Beckett calls me. My heart makes a little jump when I see his name light up on the screen.
“What’s up?” I say by way of greeting.
“What was the name of the woman he killed when he was calling you?”
I guess that’s another way to greet a person. His voice is deep and sounds alarmed, and I hate that I don’t magically know what’s going on. The way he speaks and the timing of it makes me on edge instantaneously.
“Lola Perez.”
I hold back my twenty questions to find out what’s going on, because it’s probably quicker when he just tells me himself.
“Fuck. This is really going down,” he grunts.
“What is?”
“I just got a call from Internal Affairs. Based on all the evidence we sent to them last night, they were going to take Fred Priston, the Assistant Director, into custody pending the investigation. He has a home both here and in Washington D.C., where he runs the overseeing field office. When they went to his home in Portland, they found that the home had been broken into and there was a dead body at the top of the steps to the basement. He left her ID with her. It’s Lola Perez’s ID.”
“Crap.”
I’m conflicted. I’m sick and tired of Wayne upping his body count while this all should be over and done with. But at the same time, I’m relieved we found her body. It didn’t sit right with me that he stole her life and we couldn’t find her. At least now we know where she is.
The image of Elaine’s mother comes to mind. The way she said that not knowing where her baby was was almost better than finding her dead is etched in my mind. It’s the point where hope becomes hopelessness.
Beckett sighs.
I push my desk chair back and get up to start pacing my office. “Now what?” I ask when I reach my window and stare down at the busy streets, where people keep going on with their lives as if nothing major happened. Not only was another woman murdered, but we also have solid proof that the Assistant Director of the FBI is corrupt and an accomplice to murder.
Nothing about today is ordinary.
“Now Internal Affairs is going to find the Assistant Director and they’re going to arrest him.”
“And Lola?”
“She’s mine,” he states.
And I feel that statement in my bones.
Somewhere along the way, this whole investigation became personal for him. It’s not like he didn’t care at the beginning of this whole shitshow, but something did change. For me, it happened the moment I found those bodies, and it intensified the moment he took Elaine. For Beckett it’s been more gradual. But these women became his, and the hunt for Wayne has become his personal vendetta.
It means we’ve got another woman to avenge.
“Be ready in twenty?” he says. “I’ll come and pick you up.”
“Sure.”
We end the call, and I get out of my office and walk towards Chester’s desk. Miranda catches me on the way over there, handing me a stack of mail. I guess my face is showing how I’m feeling on the inside, because she lays a hand on my arm and asks me how I’m holding up.
“Barely,” I answer truthfully.
She doesn’t say anything or make any empty promises how everything will be alright or anything like that. She just pulls me close and hugs me. Which must mean I really look like crap because usually we’re not too big on PDA.
I manage to smile before she lets me go.
Chester is lost in his own little world. He looks tired, which makes sense because I know how late it was last night before he got to bed. He just didn’t get pounded in the kitchen before he went to bed. He only worked his ass off. He’s still working on more side projects than I’m aware of, doing the job of at least four people all by himself.
When I get to his computer and glance at his screen, I catch him playing a video game and laugh.
“Playing games on the boss’ time?” I ask him after I’ve taken his headphones off.
“Technically, now that I’m investing my money into the organization, I’m more the boss myself,” he says, eyes devious.
“You wish.”
“And I have to practice my shooting.”
“We both agreed that shooting in a game is different from shooting in real life.”
“Yeah,” he says, looking at his game longingly. “But it still doesn’t hurt.”
“Well, save it for later. Beckett will be here in twenty to come get us.”
He starts saving his game and shuts off his screens before he focuses on me again. “Why?”
“They found Lola Perez’s body in the Assistant Director’s house.”
His eyes go big and he goes silent. Which is a wonder in itself.
“That’s…” He seems to be looking for the right word.
“Disturbing?”
“Yeah. Sick. And coincidental. And really sad for Lola.”
We make our way to the elevator in silence, and as soon as the elevator starts moving, Chester corners me, pushing his leg in between my legs and caging me with his arms. I grab the back of his head, weaving my fingers through his hair and pull him towards me, giving him a hungry kiss.
I don’t know what it is, but I’m insatiable.
He kisses me like his life depends on it.
“You looked so fucking hot last night,” he says, his lips never leaving mine.
“Wish I could say the same, but I really didn’t know you were there,” I joke teasingly.
“I know, that’s what made it even better,”
Before we can get further into it, the elevator dings, signaling we’ve reached the ground floor and the doors open up. He steps away from me, leaving me feeling empty.
The cold fall air we step into when we get out of the building contrasts my insides. Being set aflame every damn day by these three men is going to get me killed sometime soon. It can’t be healthy to be this horny all the time.
Beckett pulls up in front of the building when we step onto the sidewalk, and both of us climb in the back. Beckett turns, giving both of us a once over from behind his aviator glasses before he steers us back on the road again.
“No hanky-panky in the back,” he says.
“I think you’re the only one who doesn’t want hanky-panky in the back,” Chester says, and if my cheeks hadn’t been red up until this point, they would’ve been now. Apparently, we’re at the point where we’re randomly discussing anal during a work day while we’re on the road to a crime scene of a woman who got brutally murdered by a serial killer who called me while doing so.
We’re so classy.
“I thought you didn’t want hanky-panky in the back either. It’s what they call a top, right?”
I expect Chester to admit that that’s true, but when I look to the side, I see that his ears are red and his cheeks are pink. His middle finger is spinning his thumb ring a million miles a minute. I scrunch my eyebrows.
“What?” I finally ask.
“Maybe someday I won’t only want to be a top.”
He’s using words he’s comfortable with to tell me something he’s completely uncomfortable with: he feels safe enough to explore bottoming with Remy because he’s curious, but he isn’t there yet. In Chester’s world this is huge. And him saying this in front of both me and Beckett is freaking major.
Thankfully, Beckett shuts his mouth.
“Have you talked about it with Remy?” I ask, trying to keep my tone flat because I don’t want to spook him.
“Yeah,” he says, showing me the back of his head while he deliberately stares outside. We’re driving through one of the least exciting parts of Portland, so it’s not like there’s much to look at outside.
“And what does he have to say about this development?”
He takes a moment to think his answer through, the spinning of his ring slowing down somewhat. “He doesn’t care. He’s happy to bottom for the rest of his life, but if I ever want to try he’s more than willing to explore that with me.”
I can’t help but smile. It’s exactly how Remy is.
“You’ve never wanted to before?” Beckett asks. Them working together on getting Fred has brought them closer, until they’re comfortable talking about stuff like this.
“I’ve never been okay with not being in control.”
Beckett accepts his answer and then lets it go. He puts on some music when the silence starts to feel uncomfortable, and we listen to some Sweet Child Of Mine. When we pull up to the driveway of a very modern home that is cordoned off with yellow tape and police swarming everywhere, it’s obvious that we’ve reached the right place. Beckett parks the car and we all get out.
The house is something I’d expect to see in Silicon Valley. It has a mostly glass exterior and is all sharp edges. I crinkle my nose. Not really my thing. Beckett takes off and has a conversation with someone who seems to be in charge. They greet each other as if they’re familiar, and I wonder if he’s FBI too. Seems logical, seeing as Internal Affairs started this whole thing.
Beckett waves us in, taking us beneath the yellow tape and leading us inside. I’d be worried about being in civilian clothes and not wearing the proper protection, but we all know who’s behind this.
“So,” Beckett starts. “In the meantime, the Assistant Director has been arrested in D.C.. We were going to just take him in for questioning, but finding Lola in his home has made them get into action a little quicker. He’s been declared a flight risk, and given the position he has within the FBI, he probably has all the right connections to get away.”
His talking distracts me from the short walk through Fred’s house, and before I know it, there’s a group of agents doing all sorts of things. I see flashes from cameras going off, people taking notes, dusting for prints, and taking swabs. All the while stepping around the woman who this is all about.
Lola Perez lies on the floor, her vacant eyes staring up at the ceiling. While her head is in the hallway, her legs are on the stairs that lead down to the basement. I wonder if the last thing she saw was the look in Wayne’s eyes, or if she stared past him, and went to wherever her mind could take her.
Around her neck is the now familiar Celtic knot necklace. Even after being cut off from everything he used to do in his ritual, he’s kept the necklace. He still sees them as members of his family in his own fucked up way.
“Why here?” I ask. “Why not in the basement?”
Beckett sighs and looks around. “My best guess is that he wanted to put her in the basement, because that’s what he’s used to. But he isn’t going to make a clock here. I don’t think he’s ever going to make a clock again. He wanted us to find her. He knew that we’d eventually find Fred, to whom he feels no loyalty whatsoever. He wanted us to find Lola before she was too far gone. He didn’t take any of his other counter measures. He didn’t wrap her in cling foil. There’s no limes to mask the smell. He always intended for us to find her soon.”
Chester looks pale. He’s usually far away behind his computer when stuff like this goes down. “And what does that mean?”
“That means that he’s cocky enough to believe he won’t be caught. That we can’t find him. That he’ll keep doing what he’s doing.”
We all fall quiet.
“But he’s going to fuck it up,” I say.
My eyes keep getting drawn to Lola’s lifeless body. Such a waste of a good life. But I refuse to let it be in vain. I refuse to let one man play God, just because he can. We’re going to get him, we’re going to outsmart him, and we’re going to take everyone who ever helped him down with him. Starting with Fred.
“Let’s get to work,” I say before turning around and walking back to the car.