17. Candy
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CANDY
F orty-five minutes after Butch mentioned the crew wanting to question me, Brandon arrives. Not wasting any time, I fill him in on what the bikers want from me.
One perk to having a MC therapist on-call is, he’s always there when you sense yourself ready to spiral into depression.
But that’s not why I contacted Brandon.
I need an unbiased outside perspective to tell me if I’m out of line for what I plan on suggesting to Atlas and the team.
My biker family will be against it, and I’ll need to convince them it’s the best shot we have to uncover who’s behind the abductions.
Brandon sits across from me in one of the smaller conference rooms at headquarters. His demeanor is relaxed and his face impassive. “What do you want to do, Candy?”
Easy. “I want to help the crew.”
He nods. “You sound sure of your decision. Answering the team’s questions will help with the investigation.”
“Yeah.” I bite my thumbnail, unsure of how to broach the extent of how much I want to help.
Brandon cocks his head in that quizzical way all therapists do when he notices my hesitation. “Candy? Is there something else you want to share with me?”
Uncomfortable with being put on the spot, I fidget in my seat. “What if I want to extend my help beyond answering questions?”
Brandon blinks rapidly at me, like he’s trying to absorb the meaning behind my question. “I’m afraid to ask what you mean.”
My legs cross and uncross beneath me as I fight with my uncertainty. “I think this is fate telling me to get involved with the heavier lifting in this investigation.”
My counselor breaks professional character, pinching the bridge of his nose with a groan. “Candy…”
“I did a great job working the last assignment,” I claim with enthusiasm, trying to plead my case. “My role was minor, but the team was happy with my performance. And I felt good about the little I contributed. This is the same thing, only bigger.”
“You may have done a fabulous job on the previous investigation. However, your last case was busting a pilfering operation, not uncovering a sex trafficking ring.”
“I know you’re worried—” I try to soothe him, but he cuts me off.
“And my worry is not without cause.” Brandon sighs, setting down his pen and paper.
Great. I’m about to get scolded by my counselor.
“Candy,” he looks at me, folding his hands in front of him, “I don’t doubt your ability to do this job. I worry this case might trigger you.”
“Trigger me how?”
“You will hear other victims’ stories, and you could witness the aftermath of what these women have been through. It’s difficult for others on the crew who haven’t been through what you have. Don’t you see? You’re too close to this case. Can you tell me this won’t take you back to the time you were in their shoes?”
I look away from Brandon, taking several deep breaths to get my heart rate under control.
His concern is fair .
Of course, this assignment will trigger me—I’m a trafficking survivor. Memories and feelings are sure to surface, perhaps multiple times throughout the case.
What Brandon doesn’t understand is that I don’t need this case to be triggered by these women’s abductions. My memories are front and center, and I deal with my trauma daily. I need him to understand this case will help me heal, as well as help others.
Straightening my shoulders, I turn my attention back to my therapist. “You’re concerned about my emotional well-being if I work on this case. Yet have you considered what it’ll do to my emotional well-being if I don’t work this case?”
Brandon’s lips purse.
“I’m in a position to do some real good. Maybe what I know or what I do in this case is what will help bring these people back home to their families. But if I don’t help because I fear suppressed feelings resurfacing or whatever, knowing I could’ve helped, that’ll be the thing that hurts me. If I do nothing, I’ll feel complicit. All my life, I’ve been on the wrong end of things, regardless of whether by my own choice. And now, when faced with an opportunity to do something good for another, I can’t turn my back on this.”
My therapist rubs at his chin, deep in thought. After a moment, he raises his eyes to meet mine. His gaze is resigned.
“It’s not my job to tell you what to do, Candy. I’m here to help guide you through your healing. You know yourself more than anyone else. You know how much to push yourself, and how much you’re willing to subject yourself to. If you pursue this, set boundaries and don’t take on more than you can handle—you won’t be doing any of those victims or the team a favor if you’re emotionally flooded. Do you understand?”
“Hear you loud and clear.”
“This isn’t me approving of your choice to be involved in this case. I know you can handle anything thrown at you, but I’d rather you not do it. Yet I understand why you feel you must. I’ll be on standby if you need any emergency sessions. ”
My eyes well up and lips quirk in the corners of my mouth. “Thanks, Brandon. Do you think Atlas will let me help?”
Brandon shrugs. “Atlas is hard to convince. However, you plead your case like you did with me, and he may give you a shot.”
With those words of encouragement, I go to leave. Brandon stops me before I open the door.
“Candy?”
I look over my shoulder at him. “Yeah?”
“Care to fill me in on your relationship status?”
Brag about me and my biker boy? Of course.
I turn back to him, smiling. “Sooo, Butch and I are together. It’s new. I guess you’d say we’re in the dating stage.”
Brandon raises an eyebrow. “Dating? Candy, I’m not stupid. I’ve been around enough of these bikers to notice the change they go through when they claim a partner. Don’t think I didn’t notice how close you two have gotten since our last session. The man is practically your shadow.”
“He hasn’t claimed me.” The fact that he hasn’t claimed me in front of the crew is a sore spot. I shrug it off as best I can, focusing on the positive direction in which our relationship is moving. “But it’s moving that way.”
“And you feel safe with him?”
Safe with a bulky biker who moonlights as a trained assassin and has a hit-list of the men who hurt me?
Abso-fucking-lutely!
It takes all my willpower not to break out in a fit of giggles.
“Never been safer. Butch does nothing unless I give the green light. He likes me…giving him directions,” I say, trying not to sound cryptic.
If Brandon has any idea what I’m referring to, he doesn’t let on. “What you’re telling me is that you two are serious.”
My heart does that weird skipping thing whenever I think of Butch. The guy makes me stupidly happy.
“You may have convinced me you’re good for this case.” He pauses, pointing toward the door. “However, there’s a man in the hallway who won’t be happy with you getting involved.”
Shit. He’s right.
Butch is going to be the hardest of all to convince I’m right for the job.
“Any advice on how I can break it to him?”
Brandon picks up his notepad to jot something down. He doesn’t look away from his notes as he says, “Perhaps drop the domme persona when having the conversation with him. It’ll mean more to him if you’re on the same level when discussing your involvement in the case.”
My mouth drops. “You know?”
He smirks before quickly schooling his features to one of indifference. “I didn’t until you confirmed it.”
I place a hand on my cocked hip. “Sneaky, Mister Therapist. You best keep this info under wraps, yeah?”
Brandon motions with his fingers in a zipper action across his lips before he waves me goodbye. “Good luck. Remember, I’ll be on standby.”