Chapter 5
Raiden
With takeout in one hand, I use the free one to dig around in my pocket and retrieve my keys.
Once the door closes behind me, a sigh of exhaustion parts my lips.
At this point, my bloodshot eyes have made friends with the bags beneath them, but the only thing that’s kept me from going insane is overworking my body to the point of passing out.
If I’m left too long in the quiet, my brain turns against me, whispering falsehoods I refuse to entertain.
I sag against the counter, using a chopstick to lazily stake a piece of Kung Pao chicken.
After staring blankly at the exposed brick wall of my living room for a good twenty minutes, I set aside my half-eaten dinner and drag my sorry ass to the one place I might find a shred of insight.
Flicking the light on, the contents of my spare bedroom hit me with the force of a wrecking ball.
As a kid, I’d fixate on things I couldn’t wrap my head around.
I’d ask a million questions and scour every search engine possible until I was confident I knew everything there was to know about the subject I’d been stumped by.
Curiosity mixed with an obsessive personality can be a toxic combination.
In college, being assigned a simple research paper could send me down an hours-long rabbit hole that typically strayed so far off topic that I’d need to rewrite the entire thing.
So it should come as no surprise that those idiosyncrasies have found a home in any and everything concerning Andilyn Adams. The builder-grade walls of what was meant to be my office are barely visible beyond the plethora of pinned photographs, notes, and timelines.
To my left, I’ve constructed a rudimentary map of the compound, but Andi’s recollection is all we’ve had to work with.
We debated sending out a drone, but the probability of it being seen was too risky.
Secured on the opposite wall is a whiteboard that illustrates a timeline of Veritas, but none of what we know is definitive.
They’re quite secretive about their origins.
Lastly, straight ahead of me lies the evidence I’m particularly interested in revisiting.
Andi’s connection with every prominent member of Veritas is highlighted, her near decade spent with them allowing her to glean quite a bit of insight into their inner workings.
Everything Andi has risked her life for over the past seven months is staring back at me, the lackluster details making a wave of anger surge through me.
You’d think there’d be more to show for how much she’s gambled, for how delicately she’s walked the fine line between life and death.
Because I have no doubt she’d be executed on the spot if her pathetic excuse of a husband discovered she’s been double-crossing him.
The only thing keeping me standing upright and my mind from fracturing over that possibility is the fact that Tobias takes immense pleasure in torturing Andi, especially psychologically.
If she has been made, I can only hope he’s more interested in drawing out her punishment rather than delivering it in one swift, killing blow.
But the image of her being tortured for days on end has bile creeping up my throat.
“This looked much cooler in Criminal Minds,” Colsen chimes in, his sudden appearance dragging me from the dark direction of my haggard thoughts, which have mostly disappeared in response to having a few years shaved off my life.
I swear the man is part ninja with the way he so easily inserts himself, not once alerting me to his arrival while seemingly spawning from thin air.
Either he’s an expert in stealth, or I’m an even shittier detective than I thought.
“I thought we agreed you’d start wearing a bell if popping in unannounced is going to become a regular occurrence?” He ignores my jab and continues with his rambling.
“This is…” he trails off, gesturing to the entirety of the room with a flippant wave of his hand.
“Sad. Or freaky?” He cocks his head to the side, lips pursing as he ponders which adjective best describes my obsessiveness.
“Nah, more like morbid.” Col nods, his answer solidifying the more he thinks about it.
“Thank you, oh wise one, for your astute observation. I’ll be able to sleep peacefully tonight now that I know your opinion on the matter,” I snark, but there’s no heat behind my words. I’m too drained to muster up any actual irritation.
“Liar,” Col snorts, the clink of glass against glass reaching my ears as he lifts his hand and offers me one of the two beers he’s likely pilfered from my own refrigerator. “You’ll sleep like shit, if you manage to sleep at all, just like you have for the past three weeks.”
“I can’t be sure, seeing as I’ve put very little energy into making friends since elementary school, but I think you’re supposed to blow smoke up my ass and tell me everything is fine.
Or at the very least, not call me on my bullshit,” I grumble, taking a long drag of the local IPA, mentally calculating how much alcohol it would take to ensure my eyes remain closed for more than a couple of hours tonight.
Based on the few pounds I’ve lost from a lack of appetite, not much at all.
“Only shitty friends do that.” Col claps a hand on my shoulder, his grip tightening momentarily.
That simple, brief show of support makes me deflate, a heavy exhale escaping me.
“No news is good news. There’s no need to borrow trouble, man.
Andi’s smart and wily, and more determined than any of us give her credit for.
Remember that time she was almost caught by that dickhead’s mother while she was talking to the three of us?
She’d been on one hell of a tirade about the very woman who was interrupting our conversation, and thinking on her feet, Andi expertly took control of the situation and fed her some placating excuse about speaking her faults out loud, so she was forced to accept her shortcomings.
” Col chuckles lightly, doing his best to bring some levity to the moment.
“And then it bit her in the ass.” I clench my jaw, unable to see the brighter side of things when I recall how irate Andi was the next time we spoke.
Thinking of the following week Andi endured makes my fears grow tenfold.
Every day, she was forced to stand before her peers and recite every flaw she had, and then they insisted she pick them apart from the other Tainted in the same fashion.
As far as penances go, it was a mild performance in comparison to some of the things she’s been forced to do.
But it was an effective way to drive a wedge between her and the others.
It shouldn’t be so easy to create such a divide between them when they share a common enemy, but Veritas wouldn’t thrive if the very group of people they’ve caged were able to conspire against them.
So they’ve gone to extreme measures to ensure that doesn’t happen.
Which means Andi had to chisel off another piece of her soul, bite back the venom she was dying to spew, and portray a level of self-hatred they would’ve come to expect from someone who’d been there as long as she has.
The problem with that is I can’t think of a single thing Andi could’ve strung together that would have held a morsel of truth. She’s fucking perfect.
“I’d bet it’s a perfect ass, too,” Col whispers dreamily, his eyes clouding over as he attempts to conjure up an image of Andi.
I slam my fist against his arm, causing him to stumble sideways as he grunts in pain.
“Shit, man. Dial it back a bit, yeah?” He glares back at me while pressing his barely cool bottle to the tender spot.
I hope it fucking bruises. I know he’s doing everything in his power to keep my head on straight, and making off-the-cuff comments is simply his go-to, but he should know better than to say something so pig-headed about Andi.
“Don’t speak about her like that,” I growl, draining the rest of my beer.
“Fair.” Col shakes his arm out, then turns to face me, his lips pressing together in thought.
“What’s up with you?” I question, knowing that pensive look means there’s something he wants to talk about, but he’s hesitant to bring it up.
“It’s Briggs.” I groan, my head dropping back so I’m staring at the ceiling.
His name alone has frustration burning away the mellow feeling the alcohol had given me.
“I know. Believe me, I know. But he’s been MIA for days now, and before I resort to contacting his psychologist, I thought you could do me a solid and double-check that he isn’t sitting in a jail cell?
” Col pleads, doing a horrendous job of trying to round his eyes and play up the pitiful puppy dog look.
“Damnit, Col. Have you considered that maybe you should contact his shrink?” I gripe, already dialing the number I’ve gotten way too comfortable with over the past year of being their neighbor.
“I have and will call Dr. Fraser if the situation warrants it, but we’re not there yet,” Col insists. I roll my eyes, sighing in relief when a familiar voice answers the phone.
“Penny,” I quickly greet the jailer on duty, my sleep-deprived brain trying to convince me that I could be clogging up the line and somehow miss Andi’s call, as if technology has regressed in the span of a few weeks and call-waiting no longer exists.
“Do you happen to have a Briggs Sinclair in custody?” I cut straight to the point, knowing Penny can be a talker, especially if they’re having a slow night.
“Hmm,” she contemplates, the sound of her nails clacking against the keyboard grating on my already frayed nerves. “Nope, no Sinclair on the roster.”