Chapter Twenty-Seven
Claws and Chaotic Commitments
Elliot
Getting arrested and dragged out in handcuffs from the place where you'd just been held captive for hours wasn't exactly ideal. But watching Nicholas slump to the ground, not knowing if he’d be alright, was worse. Way worse.
For the last twenty-four hours, I’ve been stuck in this tiny cell, with a small window near the ceiling. The air has smelled faintly of damp concrete and bleach.
I’ve asked every person who walked past about Nicholas. That’s too much socializing for me. Not that it helped.
When I was driven to the large unmarked building in a secluded place, the agent who drove the car told me she had no update on him. Then I asked the person at the reception desk while they were registering my information, and she refused to meet my eyes.
They took their sweet time processing my arrest. Apparently, it involved a lot more than finding an empty cell to shove me into. Fingerprints. Questions. Paperwork. Pictures. Then I didn’t see another person for hours. Just dark walls, then faded light filtering through the window.
I don’t know what I expected a Bureau lockup to look like.
It was close to the ones I’ve seen on Nicholas’s favorite sitcom, except the precinct is much nicer and the lockups are much drearier.
Gray concrete, harsh fluorescent lights, and rows of identical cells.
They only had one person per cell. Werewolves aren’t the most peace-loving creatures, so all this makes sense.
They’ve slipped three meals from under the bars, some kind of porridge I was too tired to taste in the beginning and too concerned to question later. I just swallowed my third plate of the questionable food, and Nicholas is still not here yet.
He is fine. He has to be. I can live with the fact that I made his life difficult at every step. That all I did was cause him pain for the short duration he knew me. That he’d have to work hard to earn his friends’ trust back. That he might lose his job at the Bureau.
I can live with all that because this is just supposed to be a blip in his long, happy life.
I’ll be here. Or some place worse, because this looks more like a temporary holding place.
But he’ll be out there, living his life.
His friends will still love him, of course, they will.
How can anyone not love Nicholas? The Bureau will realize they need him. Everything will go back to normal.
I can stay here or in any gloomy cell. I’ll be happy to. But only if I know he’s fine. He’ll get a chance to find everything he deserves. He is fine. He has to be.
Then why the fuck isn’t he here yet? I just wish someone would tell me he’s fine. A tiny whisper, a complicated haiku, a long-drawn poem. Anything would do.
I fidget around the cell as the last strip of daylight slips out of the window, leaving me with nothing but harsh overhead fluorescent light. They never switch it off, a constant reminder that someone else controls your life now.
I hear occasional footsteps every once in a while, hoping it's him. Or anyone I can talk to. But then the sound of a heavy door slamming shut echoes through the lockup. Happens every few hours, like clockwork. By the twenty-fifth hour, I stop even noticing it.
That’s why I’m caught off guard when heavy footsteps stop right in front of my cell.
I can barely make out their faces under the light, the shadows make everyone unrecognizable.
But I know these agents. They were the ones who walked me out of the warehouse after saving our lives.
I don’t know if I’m grateful or angry yet.
“Is Nicholas okay?” I ask. The answer will determine it.
They don’t give me one. “Step away from the door,” one of them says.
I do as they say. No one has been violent or otherwise problematic until now, and I have no intentions of changing that.
Unlocking the door, they enter the cell one by one. “Face the wall and bring your hands behind your back.”
When I do, they cuff my hands again. “Are you taking me somewhere else? Can I just meet him once?”
They don’t say anything, just push me towards the door. Sighing, I walk out before they decide just to carry me wherever they want to take me. The place was getting too crowded with two giant werewolves inside anyway.
They take me through the rows of cells, most of the inmates asleep. We turn before reaching reception, leaving the lockup behind for a quieter hallway lined with heavy metal doors, each marked with a plain sign. Meeting rooms. Kitchens. A bathroom. Interrogation rooms.
We stop in front of Interrogation Room 7. How creative. One of the agents pushes the door open with some effort. So a human like me doesn't stand a chance of escaping through it.
I spot a short woman already sitting on one of the two uncomfortable chairs. She looks up and smiles. Meena Srivastav. The LA WRB Head. Everything about her screams danger. Even that smile is trying too hard to be warm. It just reminds me I need to be careful.
That, and this being clearly an interrogation. If the subtle label on the door didn’t clear it up, the room does. A desk, a harsh fluorescent light, and glass walls make that abundantly clear.
The agents shove me inside and force me into the chair opposite Meena. They remove my handcuffs and cuff me to the desk instead.
“Leave it,” Meena says, authority dripping from the two words.
The agents, on the other hand, undo my cuff and leave the room with it. I focus on the glass in front of me. If the head of the Bureau is here, who is behind that glass? “Didn’t you go a bit overboard with the precinct imitation?”
Meena snorts a laugh. “Weirdly enough, this was a precinct long before we got the building. In the sixties, I think.”
So, she’s playing the good cop. Do they even need a bad cop anymore? “How is Nicholas?” I ask before I start screaming in hopes someone with information will hear me.
She tilts her head. “He’s fine. Resting his injuries away.”
My body sags in relief. “That’s good.” My voice comes out weak.
Meena’s eyes narrow, the smile still firm on her face. It doesn’t fit. “He never let us meet. I wonder why. Not even after you were abducted, was he worried I’d clock you?”
I take a deep breath. The interrogation part of the meeting has clearly begun. “Must be a coincidence. He didn’t know anything about my side gig.”
Her smile gets wider. “I’m not going to question that even though I know you’re lying. You admit it, though? You killed all those werewolves by dosing them with Valmeron and Myocardiner?”
I nod. “I did.”
“You couldn’t have done it alone, though? We have this entire team, and we’re still having a hard time controlling the crimes.”
I shrug. “Guess I’m just that good.”
She laughs. “That you are.” Then she drags the file that I completely missed on the table towards her. “But you see, I don’t believe you. And this time, I can’t let it go. Your associate, Samuel Parker, was right outside the warehouse where we arrested you.”
“He drove me. I’m already doing your job after my day job. I like being chauffeured to places sometimes. Takes some load off, you know?”
Meena nods agreeably. “I get it.” Then scrunches her nose. “Except Samuel confessed to all the murders after he called me to inform me about my missing agents. He helped us find the best way to approach the situation, you know? Smart guy.”
What the fuck? “Where is Sam?”
She waves me off. “He’s fine. But our little chat was much quicker, let me tell you.”
My heartbeat picks up. Sam can’t be here. He was far away from everything. Why the fuck did he get involved? “He’s lying,” I say urgently.
“Yeah? So, he didn’t hack into all your victims' systems, help you stalk them for days and then hide all the evidence to protect you?”
I shake my head. “No. It was all me.”
“Aw, Elliot, I wish the selfless act could help your case. Justice at the Bureau just doesn’t work that way.”
This time, I’m the one laughing. “Oh, I’m aware of your justice. My victim list of criminals roaming free all over the city told me everything about it. Weird how I didn’t come across the Bureau once during all those years I chased active criminals.”
Meena slams the file shut, her hands clutching. Then she takes a visible deep breath. “Yes, we should go around killing random werewolves instead. That’ll solve all the problems.”
“I did not kill anyone who didn’t deserve to be removed from society. They would have harmed more—”
“How could you have possibly known?”
“We—” I snap my mouth shut. “I researched. Traced the victims’ movements. Only when I was sure it couldn’t have been anyone else did I kill them.”
Meena nods. “Even if I believe you, there’s just one problem. We looked—”
There’s a loud bang at the door. Startled, I look up at it. Is that a dent?
Meena sighs an aggrieved sigh. “That took longer than expected,” she murmurs.
Then there’s another bang.
“God, Nicholas. Stop before the whole team abandons work to watch the show.”
Hope flourishes through me. He’s really fine. I know Meena told me, but I needed the confirmation. Needed to see him one last time.
Meena walks over to the door, her heels clicking across the floor. When she yanks the door open without any effort, Nicholas's furious face fills my vision.
Oh, he’s furious. I hope he’s sane enough to back up my lie. There's no reason for both our lives to be destroyed over this.
Meena and Nicholas stare down at each other, both playing a game of power my human brain can’t begin to understand. “Why is he here?” His words are coated in ire.
“Do you really need me to tell you? This is an official interrogation, Nicholas. You can’t be here.”
“The fuck I’m going anywhere. You betrayed—”
“Oh, save the dramatics. You made a fool of everyone. Not just your friends. The entire organization. And now you want to talk about betrayal.” She stomps back to the chair, leaving the door open. “Come in then. We’ll talk all about it.”
A chill runs down my spine at her tone. No. “You should leave.” I find my voice.
Nicholas’s eyes snap to mine. I wish they hadn’t. I can’t bear to see the hurt there. He doesn’t listen, though. He walks straight in and closes the door behind him. “Fine, then arrest me too. I knew everything. All of it.” His voice is firm.
I shake my head. “No, he’s lyi—”
“Or better yet, maybe I should turn myself in to the LAPD while I'm on my good Samaritan streak, too. I can tell them all about the confidential information I leaked, evidence I’ve hidden, people I’ve helped—”
“You must be desperate if you’ve resorted to empty threats,” Meena interrupts him. She shakes her head. “Really, Nicholas? A serial killer?”
“He’s more than a serial killer. Didn’t you guys name him Vigilante Hunter?
That's still creepy, by the way. And I’m not trying to threaten you.
I’m reminding you of what we do. We break laws.
We hurt people. We decide their punishments.
We control lives.” He walks closer to the desk. “Don’t act like we’re so pure, Meena.”
I look at her with bated breath. She blows out a frustrated breath, breaking the tension. “That again? We can’t keep having this discussion. You know just as well as I do that this society can’t function without rules. We have them. He—” She points at me. “—never did.”
Nicholas shakes his head. “But he did. He had a moral code. Has he ever killed anyone who we were not going to arrest and imprison for life?”
Meena shrugs. “I don’t know, and that’s the point. Without rules and accountability, he could have been going around killing humans or werewolves we never found. Who knows if he didn’t.”
Nicholas’s resolve is breaking. He’s sweating. His jaw is tight. He really thought he'd be able to protect me. But it’s time to end this. “She’s right. What I did was—”
“Then give him rules.” My eyes snap to Nicholas.
He’s standing ramrod straight, his eyes determined.
Placing his palms on the desk, he leans down to meet Meena’s eyes.
“Give him rules. We can use the help. Deep down, you know he hasn’t killed anyone who didn’t deserve much worse.
So, hire him. Didn’t you teach me to take help when it’s given? ”
What?
Meena frowns, her eyes sparkling. I can see her processing Nicholas’s words. Is she really considering this? She turns to me. “Do you consent to this?”
My gaze flickers to Nicholas’s pleading eyes before resting on Meena. “I do.”
Nicholas blows out a relieved breath.
Meena nods. “Alright. I’ll talk to Samuel too. We can really use him. If he doesn’t agree to the arrangement, he’s going in for life,” she warns.
“He will take the offer,” I say confidently.
“We’ll see. And Elliot, don’t for a second think this means freedom. It’s the opposite. The Bureau owns you now. One step out of line and I’ll personally make sure you never see sunlight again.”
I nod. No prison? A life with Nicholas? And still hunting criminals? This is better than anything I could have ever imagined. Why will I even argue?
Guess Nicholas didn’t get the memo. He drags a chair from the corner of the room and sits beside me. His solid presence is the only evidence this isn’t a dream. Then he opens his mouth.
“I have conditions.”