Chapter Five
Octavio
" I 've been trying to call you," Michael Gunner says, meeting me at the bottom of the rickety steps when I pull up in front of Faith's safe house. It's barely even dawn, but I couldn't stay away. All I've been able to think about since I left yesterday was her…about how her mom used to beat on her when she was too little to defend herself. It's fucking with my head in a major way. I've been up all night chasing down leads in the shooting, but I know I won't be able to sleep until I see for myself that Faith's okay.
"What's up?" I ask, not liking the grim expression on Gunner's face.
"There was a…situation."
"What kind of situation?" I growl, liking the sound of that even less than I like the look on his face.
"Fuck, man," he says, huffing out a sharp breath. "I walked in on Sanders trying to force himself on Ms. Donovan. He had her backed into a corner and wouldn't let her go. She asked him repeatedly to stop, but he wouldn't. I walked in, she kneed him in the balls and then took off. She's been locked in her room since. She won't come out or let me in."
I'm moving before he's even finished talking. Rage roars through me in a red cloud, stealing my breath as I jog up the stairs and into the small house. "Where the fuck is he?" I growl, so pissed my temples throb.
"I kicked him out of here. I tried to reach Roman when I couldn't get ahold of you, but his phone was off too. I even tried Bethel, but couldn't get ahold of him," Gunner explains. "I didn't know what else to do. She won't even answer me."
I ignore him, stomping down the hall toward Faith's room with my heart in my throat.
"Faith, angel, it's me," I call, trying to keep my voice soft and gentle as I tap on her door. Despite the sheer rage pumping through my veins, the last thing I want to do is scare her.
She doesn't say anything, but I hear her moving around inside. Hear her sniffling. The sound breaks my heart in half. After everything she's been through, he put his fucking hands on her. He tried to force himself on her.
The son of a bitch is lucky Gunner sent him home, because I might actually kill him when I find him.
"Faith, please open the door. He's gone and he's not going to come back. I swear I won't let him anywhere near you ever again. Please open the door," I plead, panic beating at me. If I have to break the door down to get to her, I will, but I don't want to traumatize her any more than she already is.
"He's gone?" she whispers through the door, her voice ravaged by tears and so damn small it breaks another little piece of my heart.
"He's gone, conejita . Please let me in."
I'm about to give up and take the door off the hinges, but something scrapes across the floor on the other side. A moment later the doorknob turns, and she cracks the door open. The crack is so small all I can see is a sliver of her arm and a flash of fabric.
"He's gone?" she whispers again, not opening the door any further.
"Yeah, angel, he's gone. Gunner kicked him out of here. He's not coming back."
She hesitates for another moment and then pulls the door open. Her honey eyes are red-rimmed and swollen. Her face is splotchy, and her lips are red. The sight of her looking so tiny and sad cracks me wide open.
"Faith," I whisper, aching to reach out and pull her into my arms, but terrified I'll scare her if I try to touch her right now.
"Octavio," she whispers on a sob, and then she flings herself at me.
I catch her, pulling her into my arms as she falls apart. I sweep her up and carry her into her room, leaving the bedroom door open so she doesn't feel trapped in here with me.
All the shit I bought her is sitting on the bed. The comforter from her bed and her pillows are laid out on the closet floor, making it clear she's either been hiding out in there all night…or else she's been sleeping in there. I'm almost afraid to know which.
I head in that direction without hesitation, instinct telling me that she feels safest there. It's a small, enclosed space, something she feels like she can control. She clings to me, sobbing so hard her body shakes as I sink to the floor in the closet, holding her on my lap.
"Shh, conejita. Estoy aquí. Estoy aquí ," I whisper, trying to soothe her as she buries her face in my throat and continues to cry. Every tear she sheds rips through me like a bomb-blast, leaving me shaking with rage and regret. I promised to keep her safe, and I didn't. I should have been here.
I'm going to fucking kill Sanders for touching her.
" Estás bien. Estás bien. Estoy aquí . Lo siento mucho , conejita. Lo siento mucho . No hay necesidad de tener miedo. Estás a salvo ." I croon to her in Spanish and English, telling her over and over that she's okay, that she's safe, that I'm here and I'm so sorry. I don't know if she hears anything I say, but I say it anyway, my throat aching as she clings to me, her jagged nails digging into my skin.
"He t-tried…t-t-to…"
"Shh, bebé , shh. Ahora estás a salvo. Estoy aquí ."
Little by little, she stops shaking. Her cries slow and her breathing evens out. I keep her close, running my hands up and down her back in soothing passes. She sighs softly, her body going limp as exhaustion drags her under. Even then, I don't let her go. I'm afraid if I do, I might really kill Sanders.
I've never been a violent man, but I've never felt rage as forcefully as I do right now. The only thing keeping me from going after him is my need to make sure she's all right. I promised her that she would be safe, and she wasn't. That's on me.
Eventually, Gunner peeks into the room to check on us. His eyes go hard when he sees her blankets and pillows on the closet floor. "She's been sleeping in there?" he asks, keeping his voice soft so he doesn't disturb her.
I nod, pretty sure that's exactly what's been going on. She's so fucking young, and she's been traumatized again and again and again. Of course she's struggling to cope with everything. Of course she feels safest it a space so tiny she controls every inch of it. She needs a therapist, not just for the shooting but for everything else she's been through before the PTSD consumes her.
"How far did it get?" I ask Gunner, needing to know exactly what happened even though no part of me relishes having that knowledge. But if Faith can live it, I can hear it. I owe her that much.
"I heard her telling him to stop while I was in the bathroom," he mutters, glancing from me to her. "By the time I made it to the kitchen to find out what was going on, he had her in the corner with a hand on her breast. He was trying to kiss her. I don't think it got any further than that, but even that was too far."
"Yes, it was," I agree, looking down at her as she sleeps in my arms. Sanders is more than double her size. Too goddamn big to be trying to force himself on anyone, let alone her. She's injured, malnourished, and was under his protection. The abuse of authority is unforgivable. And if he was willing to use his position and size against her, I'm guessing he's probably done it before. "You'll have to write a statement."
"I know." Gunner blows out a breath, his jaw clenching. "I knew he could be aggressive with women, but they were always willing. I never suspected he would go so far. I'm sorry, man. Had I known, I would have said something when he was put on her detail."
"I know," I murmur, not holding it against him. Gunner is a good guy doing a hard job. It's not his fault his partner is a piece of shit. I glance back down at Faith, gently moving her hair out of her face. She sighs softly and grimaces as if, even in her sleep, she's uncomfortable being touched.
Once she's awake, I'm sure any trust I earned with her will be long gone. Sanders undid a week's worth of progress in a matter of minutes. I find myself caring less about that than I do about her safety and well-being. If she never tells me a word about Tarasova and the Bratva, I'll live with it. But she won't spend another goddamn minute longer than necessary feeling afraid.
"I'm going to send one of our female patrol officers out here to sit with you while I take care of a few things," I murmur to Gunner. "I don't want you alone with her at any time." The last thing she needs right now is to be alone with a man she barely knows. If she wakes up before I get back, I want her to feel as secure as possible.
"I understand," he says, and I know he gets it.
I adjust my hold on her and shift out of the closet so I can lay her down on her pallet. I'd feel a hell of a lot better putting her in her bed instead of on the hard floor, but if this where she feels safest…well, that's what matters right now. Everything else will have to wait.
I find Roman going into an office a few doors down from Finn Bethel's. He pauses when he sees me stomping toward him, his phone to his ear and a stack of paperwork in his other hand. He mutters something to whoever he's talking to and then hangs up, waiting for me to reach him.
"We need to talk," I growl as soon as I'm in front of him.
Resignation flows through his expression. He's been working his ass off, trying to find the dirty DEA agent who kidnapped the wife of another agent. He's also been trying to stop the cartel war and do about eighteen other things. Ordinarily, I'd feel bad about dropping more work into his lap, but he needs to know. With Remi Pledger, a dirty DEA agent, still running free in the city, the last thing he needs is for another of his teammates to go rogue, and there is no telling what Sanders is capable of doing.
Roman unlocks the office with a sigh and hits the lights before motioning for me to go in.
I step inside and glance around. The only thing in the office is a desk with a computer on top and a chair. "Since when did you work out of an office?" I ask. The man hates being stuck behind a desk. He's worked undercover for most of his career, turning down a number of promotions along the way.
"Don't ask," he growls, scowling at the room like he wants to set it on fire. "What's going on?"
"I want Faith's detail pulled."
Roman cocks a brow at me, his surprise obvious. "What happened?" he asks, dropping his paperwork on the desk and then leaning up against the side of the thing. He crosses his arms, pinning me with a no bullshit look.
"You haven't heard?"
"I've been here for five minutes, motherfucker."
"Shit. I went to check in on her this morning and found her locked in her room. Apparently, Rick Sanders backed her into a corner in the middle of the night and tried to force himself on her," I say, giving him the cliff notes version. Even saying that much has my blood boiling all over again.
"Jesus fucking Christ."
"He wouldn't back off until Gunner heard her threatening to scream. When he walked in, Faith nailed Sanders in the balls and locked herself in her room."
"Son of a bitch." Anger swims through his blue eyes. "Is she okay?"
My teeth grind together at the question. She's not even remotely close to okay right now. "She'll be better when she knows she'll never have to see that motherfucker again," I say, unwilling to betray her secrets even to him.
"I'll take care of it," Roman promises, already fishing his cellphone out of his pocket. His fingers fly across the keys as he taps out a text…to Finn Bethel, I'm guessing.
Finn heads the gang taskforce here. He's about as tolerant of predators wearing the badge as Roman is. Between the two of them, Sanders will be dealt with quickly. Which is probably for the best because I don't trust myself to deal with him right now.
"I'll start looking for a replacement for him today."
"You think she's going to want some other guy up in her personal space right now?" I cross my arms and hit him with a hard glare. "We'll be lucky if he didn't undo any progress I've made with her." Not that I care about that right now, but still. If she ever learns to trust me again, it'll be a miracle.
"She's still not giving up anything on Nikolai Tarasova?"
I shake my head. I've been taking it slow with her, trying to give her time to get used to me before I bombard her with a thousand questions. I don't want to overwhelm her or give her a reason to compare me to Tarasova. I want her to see that I'm different. I hate the thought of her looking at me and seeing anything remotely resembling him.
"How do you want to play this, O?" Roman asks, holding my gaze. "If we pull her detail, Tarasova will come for her without hesitation."
"And if we don't pull it, what trust I've gained is gone, and we'll never find out what she's hiding," I shoot right back at him, sighing heavily. I scrub a hand through my hair and then down my face. I'm exhausted, pissed off, and seriously fucking worried about Faith. "She knows more than she's saying, Roman. If she didn't, they wouldn't want her so badly."
"We can move her to your house."
I drop my hand to look at him, pissed because we both know there isn't another option. I can't cut her loose when Tarasova has made it clear he wants her back and is willing to pay to make it happen. And I can't leave her in protective custody after what Sanders pulled. The only option is to watch over her myself…and I have no clue how I'm supposed to accomplish that. I've got a stack of open homicide cases on my desk. And the way I'm feeling about her is complicated as hell.
No matter how many times I tell myself it can't happen, I still want her like I want fucking oxygen. And I want her trust just as much. Not because she doesn't have a choice or because she needs me to keep her safe. But because she genuinely believes I want what is best for her. I want her to open up to me because she can't imagine not sharing her secrets with me. I want to be the person she reaches for when she needs comfort, the one she knows she can come to for anything.
But if she's under my roof… Cristo. The lines are already blurring, desire outweighing duty for the first time in my life. She already feels like she traded one cage for another. If she's under my care…there won't be any hiding the goddamn bars keeping her locked up. Because I'm not entirely sure I'll be capable of giving her the freedom she wants. I'll find a reason to keep her. I'll become her captor. My arms will be her cage. And she'll never have the freedom she wants so badly she's willing to risk her life for it.
I'm so fucked.
"Luke Santiago is watching Mila while I deal with the Remi situation," Roman murmurs, eyeing me like he knows exactly how I'm feeling. "We can put him on Faith too while you deal with your shit, and I deal with mine. Whichever of us finishes first can take over from there."
"You trust Santiago to keep his hands to himself and stay out of her personal space?" I've met Luke Santiago a few times. He seems like a good guy, but I don't know him like Roman does. He was with Remi Pledger when Remi defected. From what Roman has said, Santiago is still messed up about it and feeling guilty.
"Yeah, I do. Wouldn't have him watching my fiancée if I didn't. He's good people, O."
I consider it for a moment, torn. The last thing I want to do is lock her in a house with another man she doesn't know and doesn't trust. But if Roman trusts Santiago with his fiancée…well, Roman doesn't trust anyone with Mila's safety, not after she was kidnapped and shot by Jose Guerrero a few months ago. There is no bigger endorsement for Santiago than Roman's trust. And with Mila there, Faith won't be alone with Santiago.
"Santiago will keep an eye on her, keep her safe," Roman promises me.
Still, I hesitate, knowing damn well that this could blow up in my face in a major way. She'll be my responsibility. I would never abuse or hurt her. Fuck that. But I'm self-aware enough to have no illusions about how this is going to go play out.
When it comes to her, I've found something I want more than this job, perhaps more than answers. And I'm not entirely sure how far I'm willing to go to get it.
"You've got a mass shooting to deal with," Roman reminds me when I'm still hesitating a full minute later. "I've got Remi to deal with. If you don't want someone else in a safe house with her twenty-four seven, this is your next best option. Besides, maybe it'll do her and Mila both some good to have someone else to lean on while they're cooped up."
"Fuck," I growl, pointing a finger at him in warning. "Fine. But if Santiago puts his fucking hands on her or even looks at her wrong, I'll break his neck."
"Deal," Roman mutters, shaking his head.
Dios, dame fuerza, I pray, knowing damn well that I'm going to need a little divine intervention if I'm going to keep my distance from her while she's living under my roof.
"You want me to live with you," Faith says, staring at me like I've grown another head. She's curled up on the couch in her safe house, tucked as far into the corner as she can get without falling off the other side. Even though she slept for several hours, she looks exhausted. Her eyes are still red and swollen and her hair is a mess. She's still beautiful.
"You no longer feel safe here," I explain as gently as possible, crouching down in front of her. I just want to pull her into my arms and hold her until the haunted look on her face disappears. "I won't ask you to continue staying here after what happened."
She stares at me, her gaze tracking back and forth across my face, but she doesn't deny her fear. I think we both know she can't. What Sanders did…well, I wouldn't feel safe here either if I were her.
"I should have told you that he made me uncomfortable," she whispers, grimacing. "I didn't like the way he looked at me. I'm sorry I didn't tell you."
"You aren't at fault in any way for what he did," I growl at her, and then silently curse myself when she flinches away from me. "If anyone owes anyone an apology, it's me. I'm sorry I wasn't paying closer attention. I should have seen that he made you uncomfortable, angel. You did nothing wrong, and what he did wasn't your fault. Understood?"
"I…" She nods, wrapping her arms around herself. "Is he going to get away with it?"
"Hell no, he isn't."
"What will happen?"
"He's been suspended pending an investigation. Once the investigation is over, he'll be terminated. He'll also likely lose his badge." He won't get another chance to use his position to prey on a woman. If Finn and Roman don't see to it, I will. Men like Sanders are a disgrace to the badge. We're here to protect people, not prey on them.
"Will I have to testify?" Faith whispers, her distress over the possibility obvious.
"Do you want to testify?"
She quickly shakes her head.
"Then you won't testify," I say simply. "You'll be asked to write a statement, but if you don't want to testify, I won't force you to do it." With Gunner's statement and his willingness to testify, dragging her in for a formal interview isn't really a necessity at this point anyway. Gunner saw and heard enough to get Sanders fired, and he feels badly enough about what happened to have no qualms about testifying for the ATF's Internal Affairs Unit. "If you want to press criminal charges against him, you might have to testify at trial."
"I don't want to testify," she whispers, seeking my gaze. "I don't want to see him again."
As much as I'd like to see him behind bars for what he did…I can't force her into pursuing that avenue. She's been through enough without me taking her choice away from her on this. What I want doesn't matter. "Whatever you want," I promise. "The choice is yours."
"Thank you."
My brows furrow. "Don't thank me for not putting him in jail."
Her face falls like I hurt her feelings, which wasn't my intention. I don't want her feeling like she owes me anything, especially not for this. She never should have been put in this position where she has to decide whether or not to press charges against a man who was supposed to protect her. But before I can attempt to fix the situation or explain what I meant, her expression firms.
"Why do I have to stay with you? Can't the ATF send women out here to guard me?"
"They don't have anyone available at the moment," I tell her, keeping my tone level. When Finn signed off on putting her in protective custody, we tried to arrange for female guards, but the few who work with his gang unit are busy working other cases right now. And it shouldn't bother me that she's reluctant to stay with me, but I find that I don't particularly care for her reluctance or her distrust. She's been anxious and leery since she woke, keeping as much distance between the two of us as possible. I don't like it. I want to go back to this morning, when she turned to me for comfort.
"What about–?"
"Faith, conejita , there is no other choice," I tell her, cutting her off before she can finish that question. "If there was, believe me, I would have proposed it, but there isn't."
She flinches like I struck her and then quickly squares her shoulders as if trying to hide that reaction from me, though I don't understand why it upset her. Nothing I say to her seems to come out right.
"Fine," she huffs, clearly annoyed. "I'll stay with you then."
I open my mouth to ask her why she's so deadset against it and then snap it closed again, not sure I want to hear her answer, not with the way she's all but bristling like a pissed off kitten as she glares at me. "Go get your things together," I mutter instead, rising to my feet. "I'll wait for you outside."
"Now? We're leaving now?" She gulps, her eyes going comically wide.
"Yes," I say, barely able to fight back the smile threatening to overtake my face. "We're leaving now."
"But…" She opens her mouth and then closes it several times, obviously looking for some objection she can't find. Finally, she sighs, tossing her head as she climbs to her feet. "Fine," she mutters again. "But I don't like it."
I laugh softly as she stomps down the hall to gather her things. Once I'm sure she's doing what she was told and isn't trying to pry the bars off the windows to escape, I step outside to talk to Gunner.
"How'd she take it?" he asks, looking up from his phone.
"She's not thrilled with me right now." I lean against a rickety post, staring out into the overgrown yard. "Finn and Roman have been advised of what happened. Sanders is being dealt with."
Gunner nods like he expected that. "I'll swing by there when we leave here."
"You can head out," I murmur, casting a glance at him. "I'll get her there safely."
"With all due respect, I'm on her security detail until she's safely inside your residence," he says, meeting my gaze. His expression is steady, resolute. "I'd like to do my job until then."
Respect for him ripples through me. I can't fault the man for doing his job. If he wants to fulfill his obligation, who am I to stand in the way?
"Very well." I give him a nod. "You can follow behind us."
Faith stomps outside a few minutes later, her arms loaded with shopping bags. Her face is set in stubborn lines, her eyes narrowed as they sweep over me. "I guess I'm ready," she mumbles.
"Let me take them, angel," I murmur when she clings to the bags instead of letting me take them from her. "Your hands are injured."
She huffs and reluctantly releases her grip on the bags, only to wring her hands together. Her bottom lip quivers before she sinks her teeth into it. Her gaze bounces from me to Gunner and then to the weather-beaten boards at her feet. She's stressed out and scared but trying like hell not to show it. I don't know if it's simply who she is as a person, or who she's been forced to become to survive, but she doesn't like to be vulnerable or cede what little control she has.
I file that away with everything else I've learned about her and then escort her to my Tahoe. Once her bags are in the back, I help her inside, being careful to touch her as little as possible when she cowers against the seat. If I see Sanders anytime soon, I may break his jaw for making her leery of me. I don't fucking like it. At all.
As she gives up her fight with her seatbelt and reluctantly allows me to help her fasten it, I decide I'm going to help her overcome her aversion to being touched. Though whether my decision is for her benefit or my own, I can't even begin to guess.
"You ready?" I ask, striving to keep my tone light once I'm settled in beside her.
She nods, refusing to look at me.
I sigh softly and pull out, slowing to wait for Gunner to fall in line behind us.