Chapter 2 #2
Jonathan sighs. "That's where you come in. There are several unknown aspects of this case and investigations that need someone in the middle of it."
"And that's the case?" I ask, crinkling my brow.
I don't really understand what he's saying.
"Yes," he says, nodding. "We need someone on the inside of this institution. In the classes and frats. We need you to be in the thick of everything, observing Franco's moves and anyone else that might be involved with him. The University is ringing alarm bells left and right, but we’re not sure what exactly is happening there. We want you to observe and take notes on the people important to that place.”
Sweat trickles down my neck. My stomach swishes from the nerves. Anyone associated with him. That means them, too.
"Okay? So, you're sending me to college to keep an eye on the institution itself? Or Franco?” His name leaves my lips in a whisper as my hope dwindles down the drain.
College, I can do. Easy peasy. I already graduated from my online classes with a bachelor’s in criminal justice and cybersecurity.
But doing it in my former hometown with my ex-best friends and murderers lurking around somewhere, probably running parts of their foster father’s enterprise by now? Much harder.
"Both? Sort of?" he says as if it’s a question, cringing slightly.
"Both..." I trail off breathlessly, groaning at the hangover banging inside my brain again.
"Something else is going on within those walls. We believe Franco has created some sort of initiation of sorts and is siphoning off college students to fill his ranks and push his control outside of Greenwood. He’s building something, Liv. We just don’t know what, yet.”
I rub my temple. "I mean, every leader in the history of leaders pushes the boundaries of their gangs, mafia, or whatever.
What's different about this?" Literally, nothing except that he wants to torture me by making me come back here.
Ugh. I squeeze my eyes shut, throwing up a bazillion walls in my brain.
I can't think about the upcoming case or who could be involved.
"It's the fact that Franco has never attempted to step out of his comfort zone, until now. By investing in the college, Franco has extended invitations to other gangs to join."
"Another gang?" I ask, quirking a brow.
"Yes. There are multiple gangs residing on campus now, each living in their own quarters, presenting themselves as frats for the student body to join." Jonathan only nods when he turns the computer screen toward me. "But the main adversary is them. The Shades, as we call them."
"And what do we know about them? Or any of them?
" Sometimes it's tiring trying to pry information out of his elusive ass.
He's as tight-lipped as he was when he was in the special forces and learned how to keep everything inside.
Something he tried to pass down to us in our training when he took all of us in and expanded Veritas.
"Absolutely nothing. We simply have their names, but nothing more. They’re elusive and hiding a lot of what they do from the public eye." Jonathan slides me a sheet of paper, listing off five gangs living on campus. Some I’ve heard of. But others? Not a clue.
"Helpful," I grunt, glancing at my empty coffee cup and wishing it would refill itself. I was right, I need more caffeine to survive this conversation. "I'm assuming this is all a part of my assignment when I go there?" I raise a brow.
"Indeed. This will be your most complicated case yet, Liv. There will be a lot of moving parts you need to keep your eyes on. But we trust you to fully immerse yourself and get the job done.”
"What's the bottom line of this mission? The main reason you're sending me here?"
"We want eyes on Franco and his..." his lips roll together, and my heart drops into my stomach. I know exactly what names are about to fall from his lips. "And his sons, Huxley Crewes, JJ Jones, and Macklyn Owens."
My heart drops into my burning stomach and dissolves completely at the mention of them.
My jaw clenches as my fingers tighten around my coffee cup. I'm way too sober and hungover to even pretend I want to jump headfirst into this mission armed with nothing but a keep an eye on the people who orchestrated your murder.
No matter how much caffeine runs through me. It’ll always be a fuck no from me. Fuck them. They can die under Franco’s thumb. No matter how much I want to put Franco away and watch as he rots in Veritas prison, I won’t willingly walk back into the lion’s den.
"Y-you... Y-you want me to-to..." My tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth.
"Find someone else," I demand rigidly. "Ask Jordy!" I basically shout, losing myself to the panic clawing inside of me. “He’d love to do this.” That’s not an understatement.
When I finally opened up to my loud and crude roommate a few years ago, he finally understood my story. And in return, I understood his.
When I left Greenwood with burns on my body and a slit across my throat, I promised myself I'd never fucking come back.
Why would I? My best friends betrayed me in the worst way possible because their foster father told them to.
They stood over me as I begged for my fucking life and.
.. they ended me. Now, I have to face them?
Be back in their sights when all I want to do is fucking run and hide and never show my face here again.
Jonathan watches me sympathetically. "I know, Liv," he says softly.
But his voice doesn't break through the emotions clawing at my throat. It does nothing but make it worse.
How can he even pretend to know? Sure, he caught me when I was broken, put me back together, and gave me this life. But he wasn’t there to watch the demise of my family like I was.
"Olivia," he says, standing and stalking toward me. A heavy hand lands on my shoulders, attempting to ward my panic away. "I told you one day you'd have to face the hardest job of your career, right?"
I suck in a breath, trying to pull the oxygen into my burning lungs. "Yes," I croak through the panic.
"This will be your most difficult case yet. You'll be facing what no one else has faced within Veritas before. Their past."
"Why does it have to be me?" I whisper in defeat, exhaustion sweeping through me. "Why?"
I don't want to see them. I don't want to look into their eyes and know they're the monsters I left behind.
"I'll tell you the truth," he says, leveling me with a stern look. "You're the only one who can infiltrate his gang, Liv. You know the ins and outs of his operations. You were there. No one else can possibly predict his next moves. You can."
"I don't know shit about that!" I cry out, breaking his hold on me. "I don't know how he operates!” I throw my hands in the air, huffing.
"My brother worked side by side with him for years when the Viotto's turned their backs on him and forced him into alliances with Franco. You were there. You lived on the grounds. You watched your father."
"I watched my father do a lot of shit, Jonathan, like when he beat my mother to a pulp for talking.
I watched my father lock me in the basement when I was an inconvenience.
I watched my father put bars on my windows so I couldn't escape the hell he put me through.
I watched him favor some strange kid over his own daughters.
I watched him do a shit ton, but being by Franco's side was not one of them.
" My chest heaves by the end of my tirade, and I shake my head.
"I don't know what my dad did with Franco or what plans they made for the future.
Whatever it was, my dad screwed the fucking pooch and got us all murdered.
" Or at least, that’s the running theory I have.
Why else would he disappear right before we all died?
"Except you," Jonathan says lightly.
"Yeah. And what good did that fucking do, huh?" I toss my arms in the air.
"You're such a strong woman, Liv. You've grown so much since the first time I saw you. I know this hurts. But you survived for a reason, and I think it was for this. To bring Franco down. Isn't that what you want? To put the man down that fucked your family over and eradicated you?” He rants, shaking his head with more emotion than I’ve ever seen cross his face.
He rarely shows what he’s feeling. Despite his words from earlier telling me that it’s okay to feel, Jonathan locks everything up tight behind the indifferent facade that he shows the world, because he has to.
He doesn’t allow himself to get emotionally invested in our cases.
It’s only facts with him and nothing more.
"You don't even know how much it hurts," I say, putting a hand on my chest and rubbing the ache festering beneath my flesh.
"You're asking me to step into the lion's den with my murderers.
And who is to say they won't recognize me?
I haven't changed that much. No matter how much you remind me of my plastic surgery and skin grafts. I still have the scars of their betrayal lining my fucking face and the biggest one across my throat!” I shout, pointing to the various scars snaking across my cheek and neck.
They are still raised, the ridges feeling like a giant wrinkle that refuses to be smoothed out, but they are no longer angry and red.
Now they are a shade slightly darker than my skin, but still a prominent feature on my body.
They let the world know I went through some bullshit and walked out the other side as someone new.
“Besides, only men can get into Franco's gang.” Unless you're one of the wives or a hooker, there's no way they'll let me within ten feet of their organization.