Chapter 14
Lauren
It’s been literally days since I climbed out of Angel’s truck.
Days since I’ve seen another face.
I’ve been holed up in this motel room since I closed the door the night after leaving Jake’s.
I have no fucking will to leave the room, and I hate when I get like this.
It’s dangerous. To my mental health. To my body. To anyone who bothers me.
I’m like a caged animal, only I’m the one who holds the power to escape my capture.
Images flash in my head, memories I’ve tried for years to block out.
My life is a vicious fucking circle.
Need the pain, get the pain, regret the pain, need the pain again.
I fucking hate it, and I hate myself for it, but I guess that’s sort of the point to my life.
Hating myself comes easy. I can live in it, dwell on the things I missed, the things I could’ve done. I can let it fester and hurt, infect every part of me. I roll it all inside and let it turn septic, eating away at me, but without work, I have no true outlet for it.
It’ll kill me eventually. One of these days it will all become too much, and I long for those days. I crave the day I’m strong enough to do what I’ve been building toward for such a long time.
Today isn’t that day, and a spark of hope sets my skin on fire when my phone rings.
CIRCUS MONKEY lights up the screen, but instead of answering it immediately, I debate whether or not I should. Letting it go to a voicemail that hasn’t been set up is only punishing myself. Knowing Alan, if I don’t answer, he’ll refuse and do the same when I call him right back.
“Yes,” I snap into the phone after the call connects.
“There’s a problem.”
My eyes squeeze closed as I pinch the bridge of my nose.
With a federal agency with way too much oversight, there’s always a problem, always red tape, always a lag in info and movement in my line of work.
It’s fucking dangerous, and the bigwigs in DC don’t give a fuck that someone’s life could be hanging in the balance.
They need to make sure their bases are covered; their I’s are dotted and their T’s are crossed.
“What is it this time?” I mutter. “A Senator’s daughter? A mistress of a congressman?”
Silence fills the line, and although it’s not like Alan to leave me fucking hanging for nearly two weeks, I still can’t stop the annoyance that’s threatening to take over.
“I hate it when you waste my fucking time,” I snap. “If you can’t—”
“There’s been an inquiry into Costa Rica.”
My jaw snaps closed. “What did you tell them?”
“Nothing.”
Of fucking course he didn’t say anything. The man would never go to bat for someone on his team. If there’s even a hint that his job is at risk, he’d throw his own mother under the bus.
“What kind of questions are they asking?”
“They’re asking for everything. I’ve been evasive, but they’re giving you two options.”
My hand is shaking so badly that I have to press the speaker button on my cell phone and put it on the bed to continue.
“Which trip?”
“What do you mean?”
“Which trip to Costa Rica are they asking about?”
“Not this last one,” he says, and it’s all it takes.
This last trip to Costa Rica was bad, but that was because of the traffickers.
The trip to Costa Rica, the one right after El Salvador, I was a different person.
I didn’t follow protocol, which is always hard for me because the captors are never operating under a code either, but I was even less concerned then.
The pain and abuse I saw hit me differently.
I knew I shouldn’t have been back to work so soon after going to Cerberus for help with Thumper.
I wasn’t in the mood to play victim, to feed my demons.
I was angry, livid that there were people in the world who thought they had every right to hurt those weaker than them.
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.