“Do you want to have sex?” I whisper against her mouth.
She swivels her hips against me as her eyes close tightly. That’s all the confirmation I need. She is wearing a tight pair of jeans with a tank top. I quickly move my hand over her shirt and squeeze her ample breast while my other hand unzips her pants. Breaking from our kiss, I push her jeans to the ground. I flip her around and place her hands on the wall. She looks over her shoulder at me and I give her my best sex look and her eyes flutter closed as she turns back towards the wall. Resting my forearm between her shoulder blades, I dig a condom out of my wallet, quickly ripping it open with my teeth. My knee spreads her legs apart while I wrap my hands around her waist, yanking her away from the wall slightly as I push into her.
“Mmm, do you like that?” I grit out through clenched teeth.
“Yes,” she moans out, as her head lulls forward.
She is moaning and gasping as I pump into her with force. She is nothing but a means to an end for me and I don’t care if she is satisfied. I feel myself building and grab the back of her hair pulling her head to the side as I bring my mouth down on her neck. I pull out of her and push into her again quickly and roughly, chasing my release. After sucking on her neck roughly for several minutes I move my mouth to her shoulder, drawing her flesh between my teeth while she cries out, in pain or pleasure I don’t know. I begin grunting loudly as the force of my thrusts push her against the wall causing a loud thumping noise to echo in the room. I continue until a string of profanities flows against her flesh as my release comes and my breathing finally settles, before remorse can kick in, making me feel horrible about what I just did. I pull out of her and rip the condom off, tossing it in the trash as I reposition myself back inside my pants.
“Thanks for that,” I say kissing her shoulder where she now has a wicked hickey forming and then step out of the bathroom before she is even dressed.
I walk to the bar and Jack just stares at me. I motion for him to draw me another drink and place a hundred-dollar bill on the bar as I toss my drink down my throat quickly. I close my eyes for a moment, trying to swallow the bile rising up within me. I know this life I’m living is wrong but I can’t seem to bring myself to stop.
“Make sure she gets home okay,” I tell Jack.
He nods and glances towards the bathroom just as she walks out and towards the bar. As she gets to me, she has that look on her face, the one they always have, that look that says they want more from me. Ah hell… I muster up a weak smile and then kiss her passionately, whipping my tongue around her mouth until she is out of breath and then I step away from her and walk out the door. I am not worried about Jack. I treat him well and know that he won’t give any of my information to her. The reality is, I have no time for a relationship. My work keeps me very busy. Oh, who am I kidding? I don’t even want a relationship at all. A quickie here and there is enough for me. I have no desire to care about anyone.
June 5th
Leaning back against the elevator wall, I glance at my reflection in the mirrored door. I am in standard attire, black slacks, white button down shirt, my Glock nuzzled in my shoulder holster as well as one in my ankle holster and my ATF badge on my belt. I started keeping my hair somewhat short because if I don’t, it grows wild and crazy, like I just had sex or something. It’s hard to be taken seriously when it appears like you just rolled out of bed after engaging in some form of sexual relations. I also hated that I often heard the words ‘pretty boy’ attached to me. So, a few weeks ago I shaved it all off. Why? I don’t have a great answer to that. I think ultimately I just needed a change. I have let it grow slightly but not much, just enough to get that standard buzz cut, little longer on top, and short on the sides. I kind of like it this way. It makes me look badass. The only downside is I can’t run my hand through it like I used to do. I move my head from side to side and touch the stubble on my face. I hate shaving but I will need to by tomorrow or I am going to look one step closer to being a damn caveman.
I readjust my jacket slightly so that my gun is completely concealed. When I first became a field agent five years ago the other agents teased me relentlessly, always telling me I was in the wrong department; that the FBI was in another building. I don’t care though. I prefer to wear a suit. It gets me more information than any of these assholes ever get in their cargo pants and ATF t-shirts.
I have worked extremely hard to get where I’m at, receiving my Bachelors in Criminal Justice in only three years and then joining the police academy immediately after. I was a cop at age twenty-two, too young by most standards but I didn’t care. I had always wanted to be a cop, to follow in the footsteps of my father and grandfather. I figured I would spend five years on the beat and then take the detective’s exam, maybe work some cases with my dad and his best friend who happens to be my godfather. But, life dealt me a crappy hand and the next thing I knew I was going through the ATF National Academy. The elevator dings and I head out towards our morning debriefing.
“Hey, Val!” I hear the minute I enter the room.
I nod to Hoffman and sit down next to him. Clayton is probably the only one that will work with me. Everyone else thinks I’m a jerk. Well, they are right about that, but the reality is, they’re all idiots and I work better alone. I met Clayton a few years ago when he transferred here from Omaha. When we first met, the only visual I had was him chucking hay one night and then tossing quarterbacks for the Huskers on the next. He’s huge and when he wants, he can look as fierce as a bear ready to attack but generally, he is all smiles and jokes.
“So… Kailee and I went to Norfolk this weekend to see my folks,” he says looking at my blank expression. “Remember, I told you we were doing that?”
I shrug and sigh. “Yes, I remember you saying something about that. And…”
“And… I asked her to marry me,” he says quietly with a big smile on his face. “And, she said YES!” he whispers to me.
“No shit?” I lean back in my chair and cross my arms.
“You’re okay with that, aren’t you?” He looks nervous all of a sudden.
“Um… yeah, of course,” I punch him in the arm because, well, that’s what guys do, but damn, it’s like hitting a wall. “Congratulations, man. I’m happy for the two of you.”
“Thanks,” he says grinning from ear to ear.
Huh! I never would have thought Kailee Thompson would get married. She always told me she never would. Kailee’s parents, Joseph and Lynelle, were best friends with my folks. Of course, they tried hooking us up at one point but Kailee is not my type. She is too much maintenance for my liking. Not that we didn’t make out a few times, just to try it out, but yeah, that didn’t stick. It felt wrong and we never did anything else. She’s probably the closest thing I have to a best friend. Clayton met her one day when she and her parents came by to take me out to lunch. That was about eighteen months ago and they have been together ever since.
“All right, all right… settle down, ladies,” Area Director Benjamin Anderson says as he walks to the front of the room.
Everyone quiets down and looks at him. He’s a tall African American man with a medium build. He rose through the ranks in a time where that didn’t happen very frequently for black men. He has a reputation as being short and to the point, and above all, he does not tolerate insubordination. He adjusts his suit jacket and straightens his tie before staring at all of us. We all sit up straight and pay attention; he simply demands it of all the people that work for him.
“We have new Intel that suggests that the Sicignano family is setting up some kind of operation in New Orleans, but the trail starts here in Chicago. We are assuming guns, but it could be drugs as well.”
The minute he utters the word Sicignano, my face and body immediately become tense. Clayton nudges me and when I look at him, he has a serious expression on his face as well. There is muttering in the room as everyone begins to grasp the implications of this. Carmine Sicignano and his brother, Enrico, run one
of the largest gun trafficking businesses in the world. Carmine is the man in charge and takes care of operations in New York. There is an uncle named Salvatore in Los Angeles but he is nothing to talk about and there’s an uncle named Francisco that died recently. Chicago is the base of operation for Carmine’s younger sibling, Enrico who is extremely dangerous. He always seems to have something to prove. Their cousin, Gino, and his daughter, Aryana, lead his guard. Gino is Enrico’s right hand man, and Aryana, well, she is crazier than anything I have ever seen before. She likes to dabble in explosives and has been known to blow up buildings and not care if there was anyone in them or not. She has no qualms about killing innocent bystanders, even children if they get in her way. Her motto seems to be ‘kill first, who cares about questions’. We have been trying to arrest the whole lot of them for years but no one will go against them, and the people that might always end up dead.
“Masterson,” Anderson states distinctly and I blink several times, trying to focus on him.
“Yes, sir,” I reply.
“I want you to oversee this investigation as you are already well versed in Enrico’s operations here in Chicago. We believe he is the one that will be running things in New Orleans, but knowing Enrico, he already has someone down there doing his dirty work. We just don’t know who all the players are yet. You will need to coordinate with the New Orleans’ field office as well as our FBI brethren and local law enforcement if necessary. You will not be running solo on this. Do you understand me, Masterson?” He states with authority.
“Yes, sir,” I say, breathing in deeply, my heading spinning.
“This case is too big for one man and one agency to take down. Don’t make me regret this decision, Masterson. I can’t have any of your vigilante bullshit on this case.”
“You won’t, sir,” I say assuredly, running my hand through my non-existent hair.
“If I do, Masterson, I swear you will be out and I don’t mean off the case, I mean out of the agency all together. I don’t care how good of a damn agent you are. Do I make myself clear?” He continues sternly, placing his hands on his hips for emphasis.
“I understand, sir. No solo missions. I get it!” I reply annoyed at him for calling me out in front of everyone like that.
He stares at me for a moment, presumably assessing whether I’m capable of handling an operation of this magnitude without going off half-cocked. He crosses his arms, his eyes narrowed and I shift in my seat uneasily.
“Pick four other agents to assist you. I want a preliminary report by the end of the week. That’s all,” he says authoritatively and then walks out of the room.
Everyone turns and looks at me expectantly. I can’t even think straight right now. This is my first lead investigation and, to be honest, it might be my only opportunity. I don’t always play well with others so I know this is a huge test for me. Anderson wants to see if I’ll mess up or not. But, I can’t think about that right now because the only thing I can focus on is that this is probably going to be my best chance to take down the man who destroyed my life. I feel my chest heave as I sit up determinedly. I will bring them down if it’s the last thing I do!
“Val, can you believe this?” Clayton asks beside me.
I nod haphazardly, trying to concentrate on the task at hand. I need to select four agents but I need people who can help me on this mission that won’t annoy the hell out of me in the process. I look up and a large crowd has gathered around me. They all want in, but they all hate me, so screw ‘em. I think for another quick moment, scanning in my head the bios of everyone in the room.
“All right, I want Hoffman, O’Neal, Jones and Paulson. The rest of you get the hell out of here. I want to use this room,” I say decisively.
I hear a lot of mumbling and then see Jeff Paulson smirking as he motions with his hands in a shooing manner to the other agents. He’s a hot head and I’m not sure how well he and I will get along, but the man is brilliant when it comes to explosives, and knowing Enrico as well as I do, Aryana will be a factor on this case, which means I need an explosives expert on my team. Jeff flips off a couple of other agents as they scowl at him. Man, I hope this is a good decision. I turn to Clayton who moves his chair around and sits with his large arms crossed on the back of the chair looking at me expectantly.
“Look, you all know I am not much of a people person and generally don’t like working with anyone,” I start and catch all but Clayton nodding in agreement.
Clayton turns and shoots them one of his ‘don’t you say anything or I’ll pound you into the ground’ looks and they all stiffen and sober up completely. I have no regrets having him on my team. Not only does he work well with others but, there isn’t a gun made that he doesn’t know about. It will also be nice to have someone on my team who doesn’t hate me or want to beat the crap out of me. Bottom line is, I know he’ll have my back, always.
“Let’s get started.” I say authoritatively. “All four of you have different areas of expertise which means you will look at this case from a different angle. I want to hear your initial thoughts first and then we can start figuring out where to begin.”
“Guns,” Clayton says first. “Word on the street is that they are trying to get their hands on this modified assault rifle that’s being manufactured in Europe somewhere. I’ve heard Russia but I also heard somewhere in the Middle East.” He pauses for a moment, looking at all of us. “Word has it that Carmine pissed off one of the families out there, not sure which one, but they are tying his hands and cutting off his supply. That’s got to have him pissed off. Maybe he found a way around it. Some sort of side deal or something,” he finishes with a shrug.
“I don’t know,” Agent Michelle Jones interjects. “Carmine has been trying to expand their drug smuggling for a while now. If I were to venture a guess, I would say that whatever is about to happen it’s going to be drug related.”
Michelle is a recent transplant to the Agency. She transferred here from the Bureau three months ago. She said she was tired of their bullshit and wanted to be on the front line, which sort of makes sense, but I know there is something else going on with her. She worked undercover for a few years in New York trying to get close to Carmine but was never able to break through. I heard that something went down that made her move to Chicago, but I don’t know what that was. Overall, she seems rather hostile to everyone, but she has better knowledge of Carmine’s practices than most, so I want her. I can handle hostility. Hell, I’m a pro at it myself.
“What do you mean?” I question.
“The whole time I was trying to get close, the ruckus was between the brothers,” she clarifies. “I don’t think they were on the same page but Carmine was very determined. I think he is behind it and will have Enrico set up some sort of drug ring, maybe getting supplies from the south and shipping them up here.”
I nod, that could very well be true. Carmine does like the drugs. He thinks they are lucrative, which I suppose they are, from a business standpoint but Enrico, well, he loves the guns, always has. I glance to the side and see that Zachary O’Neal has this contemplative look on his face. One of his curled fingers traces his pursed lips slowly. He looks like he wants to say something but doesn’t.
“O’Neal, what are your thoughts?” I ask.
His brows furrow and he doesn’t say anything right away. I haven’t decided if I like O’Neal or not. He’s one of those all-American guys that most people trust immediately. He sets people’s minds at ease and they often just spill whatever it is he wants to know. I have yet to see him get angry and a cool head is a good thing to balance my crazy, jump in guns a blazing, attitude. Also, based on things I have heard him say in meetings, he has an exceptional analytical mind. He is careful with his thoughts and can connect dots others don’t always see.
“I think Carmine is very smart, calculating,” he starts while tapping his lips lightly. “He wants what he wants and won’t stop even if that means plowing over his brother to get it. Family i
sn’t important to him, power is. Now the question we should be asking is, is Enrico strong enough to go against what Carmine wants? I don’t know. I used to think he wasn’t, but now Enrico seems to be very driven and it wouldn’t surprise me if he tried to take his brother out.”
“You think he would do that? Go against Carmine?” Clayton asks stunned.
“Yes,” I interject. “Enrico wants what Carmine has, complete power and control, but he will never have it while Carmine is around.”
We all sit in silence for a moment, absorbing that thought and what it might mean. We have seen the Sicignanos take out an opposing family before. They did it with such viciousness that we were all left dumbstruck because it happened so quickly we had no time to respond. By the time we got there, all that was left was rubble. But, if they turn on each other, I have no idea what could happen and the collateral damage that would ensue would be insurmountable.
“Well, if Aryana comes across my path I am ready for her.” Paulson, finally says, breaking the silence in the room. “I swear, I’m gonna nail her for the St. Francis bombing,” Jeff spits out with venom, his face hard.
We all turn to see him looking down, his brows furrowed. He was on the case when Aryana blew up the St. Francis church. There was a christening happening and one of their enemies was there. Aryana made sure to blow the place up with everyone inside just to prove a point that they would kill anyone who got in their way. Sixty-seven people died that day, including twenty-three children. Jeff was the first ATF responder on the scene and through his hard work, we were able to identify a signature. We just can’t connect it to Aryana; at least not yet.
“All right,” I say clasping my hands together. “Let’s see if we can start linking things together.”
Retaliatory Justice (The Talionic Files #1) Page 2
