Chapter Nine
Maverick .
“ She did it for you.”
Two days have passed since the evening I spent getting my ass verbally handed to me by Jonas and Damon. I’ve spent them being haunted by their words. I grab my cell phone from my nightstand by my bed where I keep it charging and dial the number I’ve spent the last four years avoiding.
She answers after the third ring. “Maverick? What’s wrong?”
Hearing Tasha, my old partner's voice again, floods me with emotion but I clear my throat, shoving them away. “Williams, hey. Are you… busy?”
“I mean, I was about to go to bed, but I have time for you.”
Tasha and I were partners for over five years.
She was young and ambitious, started out as a cop, then decided to join the FBI.
She had barely been there a year before being assigned on my team, making us forced friends.
“How's Tom?” I ask of her husband so that this isn’t awkward but I’m pretty sure I’ve made it awkward.
Goddamn, I don’t even know if she changed her last name .
She hums in disapproval, but she answers me. “He's great. Getting old.” There’s a beat of a pause and then, “You’ve never been one for small talk Harrington. Cut the shit. What’s going on?”
She’s right. I’m not. I never had time for bullshit small talk; it’s unnecessary and wastes time I don’t have. “What’s that thing you said to me when I told you I was going to be teaching at Rayne-Moore?”
“That it’s fucking weird the entire town doesn’t have a crime rate.”
“Right.”
“Small crime rates mean big secrets.”
I nod although she can’t see me because fuck if that isn’t so close to the fucking truth. “I think I may have found something. I have a few cold case files that might not be so cold anymore… think you can get me some files from the database?”
Without hesitation she says, “I might be able to get a few. Depending on if I can bribe Tom with sex.”
“You can always bribe me with sex, babe. Hey Mav!”
“Hey Tom. How’s the job?” He works for the IT department portion of the FBI.
Security breaches and whatnot. Tasha and I were always in the field.
I don’t even remember how they met. Christmas party, I think.
But I can’t remember. All I know is one day she was single and the next, there was an engagement ring on her finger.
“Job’s fine. Not as exciting as the stuff y’all do, but you know. Can’t complain. Rattle me off a few of those names and I’ll get what I can tomorrow and email them to you.”
“I don’t think these should be emailed. Do you still live in Springfield?” I ask.
Again, this gives them pause.
“Till we retire back home to North Carolina.” He replies finally.
I breathe out. “Could you come here? I’ll pay for your travel expenses. And I’ll get you a weekend stay at a hotel out in Boston.”
I can hear them whispering amongst each other until Tasha finally says, “Fine. But we want a honeymoon suite. The Four Seasons. All the fancy stuff.”
“You've been married for four years.”
“We never had a honeymoon.” She gripes matter-of-factly. Right. Because I had walked away from it all the week before their wedding. Which meant she had to work double time to cover my ass.
Fuck I really am a bastard. I’m sure after I gave her permission to tell our story, but to leave me out of it, she had book tours and podcast shows and…
I oblige her, grateful for any help I can get, giving Tom the names and dates I know are more recent, within the last ten years.
We talk a bit longer as she updates me on their fertility treatments and struggles, and I regret not answering any of her calls. Or texts. Or emails.
But I left the FBI for a reason. I got out for a reason.
What happened at the Ackles Farm… I almost let it break me. No, it did. It did break me. Something in my psyche was never the same.
Before we hang up, she says, “Hey, it was really good hearing your voice. Please don’t let another three years go by before we talk again. Even if it’s just… to talk. You know? Just… remember I’m a phone call away.”
“Thanks, T. I… might have to take you up on that.”
“Oh? What’s her name?”
I pull the phone away from my ear and look down at it. “You psychic or something?”
She laughs and it feels good to hear someone laugh again.
I myself haven’t done that in such a long time I don’t think I remember how to.
“No. But I know you. Something must have happened for you to have the spark light up your ass for you to call me. I mean, it’s been years, Mav.
” She scolds me like an older sister, and it feels nice.
I contemplate whether or not I should tell her about Raven but she’s right. We were once close enough I let her cry on my shoulder, and I let her sleep on my arm during flights all over the nation. “Her name is Raven. ”
“Raven… Rayne-Moore… Christ, Maverick, what the fuck?” I can see her now, out of bed and pacing her bedroom. “Is this why you went to teach there?”
“What? No. I didn’t even know her entire story until a few nights ago – I… Christ, T.” I groan. “It’s all coincidental. She’s my student and there’s… there’s something going on here. I can’t explain it. I just have this feeling.”
“A feeling, huh?”
“You never had issues with my instincts before.”
“Is it true what the tabloids and the media said? She can’t talk? Violent? I mean I guess I suppose you wouldn’t have known anything about it. What happened to her happened around the same time as the Ackles- as your hiatus .”
Whoosh whoosh
I decide to lie this time. I decide to lie wholeheartedly to the woman I used to stay up all night with planning and plotting, hunting and catching predators and sickos. “It’s true. Hasn’t spoken a word in over four years. But she’s not violent.”
“That may be her only saving grace. Keeping her mouth shut.”
I – again – pull the phone away from my ear and stare at Tasha's picture in disbelief. “So, the Four Seasons, Huh?” I put the phone back to my ear.
She giggles. “Yeah. Big fancy pants professor, you can afford it now. We’ll see you then. I’ll text when Tom has the info you need. Good night Mav.”
“Night Tasha. Night Tom.”
“Night!” Tom's overly cheery voice and the concern in Tasha's soothes something in me. Like I’ve been missed.
“Friends? We were your family, and you threw us away!”
I groan, throwing my phone on my bed, and then flopping down on it. Fucking Jonas.
He had every right to not believe me, but as much as I wanted to deny it or stay away from it all, I want to help Raven or at least try to help her in any way that I can.
“Turn us in after she finds the answers. She deserves that, at least. ”
He was right. She does.
________
I don’t know what I’m doing here. That’s a lie – I know exactly what I’m doing here.
I could lie again and say I’m just here to make sure she’s okay. That she’s good. That Stephen doesn’t touch her inappropriately. That nobody drugs her drinks or takes her to a VIP room and she can’t shout “Stop!” loud enough for the bouncers to hear.
That’s a lie because I already know she’d never let anyone other than us fuck her. Something about that gets me ready when I step through the steel door of the old seven story red brick building that houses Inferno.
But I’ve been doing that a lot lately – lying to myself. I don’t know if I’ve gotten better or worse at lying to myself.
The lights flash, her body wrapped again in a sheer, glimmering bodysuit that barely covers her pretty cunt.
Make up and small holed fishnet stocking up her legs, once again hiding her thigh tattoo, those glorious black and gold wings of hers, eyes hidden behind the black mesh of her mask, her movements fluid and in time with the music behind her large cage.
They’ve moved her. She’s no longer in the smaller one closest to the tables. She’s front and center. An upgrade, I suppose.
From across the room Stephen fucking Prescott sits back, captivated, clenching a fist on his wide-spread thighs, the other holds a cigar and a glass tumbler filled with amber liquid.
I know the look in his pale blue eyes from across the room.
Hunger. But because of the rules set in place by the owners of Inferno, he can’t do shit about it.
I wonder if he would? If this were a seedy club where you could touch the dancers however you want, pay an extra five hundred and fuck her then discard her, would he do it ?
Or would he treasure every moment of being in her lush body that was tailor-made for me like I did?
He takes her in like I am, every movement she makes, he’s watching. Calculating.
How many weekends had he paid the X amount of thousands of dollars for her to merely sit on his lap and almost flash him her gorgeous slit?
But I’ve been watching her closely. She’s never let him take her into a room.
Never let him touch more than is allowed, and when she’s in his lap, she keeps her hands above his chest.
Of course he’s calculating. He’s trying to figure out what to say, what to do to convince her to go into a VIP room with him.
He’s trying to see how much more she wants for her time.
He looks frustrated. Annoyed that he could have anyone he wants, say his name, and they fall on their backs, spreading their legs and yet this one…
the one that won’t even talk to him… takes his money and walks away, every.
Single. Time. Without a backwards glance.
I walk over to the cage keeper as soon as I see Prescott get up from his seat, but I’m closer to the keeper. I look at his name tag that says Jake . Gold hair and golden eyes, most likely contacts, are lined with kohl, his vest fits his chiseled body perfectly, and the smile he gives me is kind.
“ Her .” I point to Raven, who’s rounding her hips side to side with the music, holding onto the bars as she squats down. I see Stephen with her, talking to her and she flashes him a wide smile. I grip my wallet and pull out a card.
“That’ll be four grand.”
“For the night?”