by Karin Tabke
“Too late. You have seen and heard too much. I’d have to kill you, or worse . . .” The man in black moved to stand behind the empty chair in front of her.
“Who are you?” she demanded.
The one in charge smiled slightly, and it wasn’t really a smile, more like a token I-guess-I-should-throw-you-a-bone-if-I-want-compliance sneer. “To the outside world I’m known as Mr. Black.” He looked around the room to the men surrounding her. “Here, on the inside, I’m known as Godfather.”
Angela sucked in a sharp breath. She’d be damned if she’d call him Godfather. That title was one of fondness and respect. She felt neither for the man who held her life in his hands. Mr. Black nodded to Brinks. “Unlock her.”
Brinks stepped forward and eyed her cryptically. “Promise not to bite me?”
“Oh, trust me, a bite from me is the least of your worries.”
He pulled a key from his pants pocket and dangled it from his fingers. “Promise?”
Angela shook her head, exhaled, then relaxed back against the stiff metal. “Just do it.”
As he deftly unlocked each lock, Angela watched his every move. She stiffened when he got too close. He looked at her and said, “I won’t touch you, and if I do it’s by mistake, so don’t freak out.”
Once freed of the chains and manacles, she stretched out her arms and groaned. When she straightened her legs, she hissed in a sharp breath. Bunched muscles tightened harder at their sudden freedom. She arched her back and stood, rubbing her chafed wrists.
“Sit down. Before we proceed, there are a few matters to clarify,” Mr. Black said.
Angela nodded, no longer up to verbal sparring. What she wanted was food, a shower and a comfortable bed. She sat.
“You are a victim and survivor of rape, battery and betrayal by your department. As such, before you are released for active duty here, you will have to be cleared by one of our medical personnel. That means therapy—”
Angela bristled. No way! Shaking her head, she moved to stand.
“Sit down!” the boss boomed. Hands fisted, he leaned down on the table in front of her. “You are unstable, and as such you are no good to me or any member of this team. Lives are at stake, Jax, including yours. Now knock that chip off your shoulder and get with the program!” He stood to his full towering height. “When you are medically cleared and fit for duty, we’ll meet again.”
“I changed my mind, Attila. Jessup has a cell with my name on it.”
He cracked a snide smile, and Angela felt a shiver of apprehension shimmy up her spine. Slowly he nodded. She looked to Brinks for help, but he, like the others, stared unwaveringly at her. “That can be arranged. But before you return, this is how it would play out for you: We dress you up and shoot you up, then leave you doped out in District Attorney Judd Pulaski’s place.” Angela stiffened at the mention of her ex-boyfriend. Mr. Black nodded knowingly and continued, “When your ex finds you, he’ll have you arrested for B&E, you’ll go back to prison for your original crime, plus the added charges of absconding, drug possession and B&E. I’m sure we can come up with a few others as well. You can kiss any chance of parole good-bye.” He leaned closer. “And while you’re in Jessup? We’ll make sure you get good-night kisses from all of the inmates.”
Potent fury erupted deep inside of her and she spewed. “How do you think life will be for you wannabe Lancelots when I tell the authorities exactly what happened to me?” she threatened.
Deep chuckles reverberated off the walls. Angela stiffened to steel. They were laughing at her! Mr. Black broke a genuine smile that showed a rack of brilliant white teeth. Somebody had had a great orthodontist. He shrugged. “Be my guest. You won’t be the first to try and fail, and you won’t be the last.”
Angela sat back in the chair. She was headstrong, she was impetuous, she was emotional and she was scared out of her brains, but she was not stupid. “There is nothing emotionally wrong with me.”
Brinks snorted.
She wheeled on him. “Fuck you!”
When several other men cracked smiles, she had the overwhelming urge to beat the crap out of every one of them. “I don’t need to speak to anyone about what happened to me. I’m over it.”
“Prove it,” Brinks challenged.
Angela smirked at him, then turned and stared down the big bad boss man. “Do you know how I got to Montes?”
“Why don’t you tell us,” he invited.
Angela smiled, her lips tight. “When I found out that slime bag was a fed untouchable, I tracked down an old buddy of mine in D.C. Special Agent Wayne Rios. Ol’ Wayne knew exactly where the safe house was. You know the rest of the story.”
“Why don’t you elaborate and tell us how you extracted that sensitive information from Special Agent Rios?”
Angela’s smile loosened. She shook her head and tossed her hair back. Her gaze locked onto the boss man’s. She saw fire there, behind the ice. Angela knew exactly how to work her assets. “I fucked it out of him.”
Her remark was met with stone silence.
Angela stood and sauntered toward Mr. Black. “So you see, boss man,” she softly said, “I’ve processed the assault, dealt with it, and filed it away. Done. Finito. Gone.” She snapped her fingers. “Just like that.”
His gaze bore into her as if he could see past her soul. His intensity tipped her off balance. “Since you have dealt so succinctly with your trauma, tell us what Montes did to you,” Mr. Black pushed.
Angela balked. That she would not do. Telling them about Rios was one thing. Seducing him had been her decision, her rules, and she’d controlled every second of the interlude. But she would not relive the shame and pain of Montes in public. She stared harshly at the boss and stepped back, shaking her head.
“You can’t even talk about it,” Mr. Black said. The bully leaned forward, his pale blue eyes narrowing to slits. “Well, you’re going to. We’re your team now. You need to trust us. Talk to us. Tell us everything.”
“I have nothing to say to any of you!” she screamed.
Brinks stood and came around the table, intent, she was sure, on touching her. Angela took a defensive stance. “Stay the hell way from me.”
He stopped before he crossed into her space and looked hard at her. His eyes softened just enough so that she could see his own pain hiding deep behind his cool exterior. “Officer,” he softly said, “we all have our demons. Barbara Martin, the therapist here, is the best in the business. Talk to her, and you might find you have something in common.”
The sudden sting of tears bit at Angela’s eyes. She had not cried once since her attack. Not even when she’d received word that her mother had died. Why now? Why here in front of these strangers? She despised her weakness.
“I doubt I have anything in common with your shrink.”
“You’re not leaving this room until you tell us what happened,” Mr. Black said.
Angela moved into his space, daring him to touch her, daring him to push her, daring him to cross her clearly drawn line. “Then I guess we’re going to have a long night.” She turned and plunked down on the chair she had been tied to. Crossed her legs and her arms and tipped her head back and closed her eyes.
She wondered how long it would take him. She wondered if he’d lose control and force the truth from her. Every muscle in her body tensed hard, anticipating an attack. Long minutes passed. Silence, save for the soft breaths of the men that echoed around her. She could feel Mr. Black’s presence. He had not moved. She guessed he was staring down at her with that sharp scowl. Let him.
More minutes passed. Now she was bored. Slowly Angela opened her eyes and stared directly into Mr. Black’s icy gaze.
“You will discover, Giacomelli, that as part of this team, you will have no secrets.” He stepped closer. “You will also discover that cowards are not allowed.”
His baiting worked. She stiffened but still kept her appendages crossed, closing all of them out.
“Cowards get other
people killed. I value each and every life in this room above all others. I will not allow you to jeopardize any of them.”
Angela looked up and said, “I guess maybe you should have done a little more homework before you recruited me. I have nothing to say to you.”
Mr. Black moved in closer. Angela unwrapped and stood up. When he chest-butted her, she caught her breath. He lowered his head and spoke so softly that she barely heard his words: “Tell us what happened, now, or I send you back to Jessup.”
Angela swallowed hard. For spite alone, she wanted to tell him to fuck off. Tell him she didn’t need him, his little group of elite operatives, or his pity. But she didn’t.
“We are not the enemy,” he said with just enough sincerity that she felt herself crumble a little inside.
It wasn’t his words, she realized, that struck something deep inside of her; it was the compassion in his tone. Angela fisted her hands at her sides, wrestling with the nightmare of what had happened to her and speaking about it to these strangers. They had no idea that for her to talk about it aloud was to relive it. And she was not strong enough to go there. Not yet. Not here.
Tilting her head back, Angela glared at each man in the room, and instead of arrogance, she saw in each one of them pain, buried and endured. Had they purged as she was being asked—no, forced—to do? She turned her attention back to Brinks, who had not moved and stood quietly waiting for her to speak. Swallowing hard, she opened her mouth to speak, but only a hoarse grunt emerged. She swallowed again.
“You say me and your shrink might have something in common?”
Brinks nodded.
Angela laughed, the sound harsh. “Was your Doctor Martin raped by a piece of shit pimp while her team, the team that was supposed to make sure that didn’t happen, sat on their asses?” Angela demanded. “Was she tied up and beaten while the little girls he smuggled in from Mexico sat and watched, knowing if they didn’t do exactly what he told them to do, they’d be next?” She trembled violently, unable to control the outburst. The faces in the room blurred as she was sucked back in time to Montes’s filthy hovel. She could smell him. Sweat, cigarettes and tequila. His skin soft and clammy, his arms furry, his breath putrid, his dick small. When she’d laughed at his midget hard-on, he’d lost it. She flinched, feeling the smash of his ham-sized fist on her face, the sound of crunching cartilage so close. The warm spray of blood on her face. Her broken nose, her blood, her body being violated. The screams of the children, their desperation as they were forced to witness her attack.
Angela jerked her head back and glared up at Brinks. “Did Doctor Martin’s rapist break her nose and shatter her jaw?” Hot tears stung her eyes. She ripped open her prison jumpsuit, exposing her belly and the long pink scar there. “Did a lunatic butcher her belly, making sure she could never have a child?” The tears erupted as her rage and shame spewed like a geyser. She looked past Brinks to Mr. Black. “Tell me, big, bad-ass-mother-fucking King Arthur, did her partner sidestep her with a half-assed apology, blaming the screwup of the sting on her that night? And did her team turn their backs on her when that prick who raped, beat, and mutilated her was whisked away by the feds, who said he was an untouchable witness? Did the love of her life, the guy who promised to stand by her no matter what, dump her like she was a used-up piece of furniture because he couldn’t bear to touch her?”
Angela stopped. The room was tomb silent and just as cold. Evenly she looked around at each one of them, and for the first time their arrogance was gone. She looked up at the man in charge. “Satisfied?”
He nodded and said, “Yes. I think we can be of help to each other.”
She didn’t want to help anyone, not even herself.
“Now,” Mr. Black softly said, “tell me. What can we do for you right now?”
Four
When the door closed behind the newest addition to L.O.S.T., Godfather forced back a scowl, doing his best to keep his face expressionless. Looking around the table, he saw uncertainty reflected in his fellow operatives’ eyes. Silence weighed heavy in the tense air. Who would voice their opposition first?
Satriano cracked. “She’s too unstable.”
Godfather said nothing but walked to the mainframe housed in the massive black console in the corner of the large room. He pulled the keyboard out, grabbed the remote and hit a button. Light flickered across the screens surrounding them. Immediately, an image of Angela Giacomelli, beaten, bruised and broken, wrapped in a hospital gown, sprang up. “She is now,” Godfather admitted. With a press of his finger, a slideshow began. Shots taken at the hospital. Obviously after that piece of shit Montes had destroyed her. But L.O.S.T. would rebuild her. Make her stronger, smarter, more lethal. The ultimate weapon against a man.
Few things caused Godfather to feel more than his normal dogged determination to put pricks like Montes away. But something about Angela Giacomelli moved him beyond his usual sober awareness. She was damaged, flawed, and hurting badly, but beneath all that pain was a woman who still had more than a little fight left in her. A woman who had the nerve and drive to clean up Dodge, one piece of crap at a time. He’d known when he’d read about her arrest last year that she was marked for L.O.S.T. Now that he had her, he was not going to allow her to slip from his grasp. She was perfect for what he had in mind, but he worried that it might take too long to bring her up to speed. There were two ops right now he could use her on, but she was in no shape to be turned loose. He cursed under his breath. Time was not a commodity he had right now. But he had no choice. He was a patient man. And he knew that Angela Giacomelli would deliver in spades if she was handled correctly.
“The bastard deserved what she did to him and more,” Brinks, aka Gage Stone, sneered. A chorus of agreement rang out. Godfather nodded and continued to watch the screen.
Images from Angela’s life flickered one after another, cataloging her from birth to her police academy graduation. A chubby baby held in her proud grandfather’s arms. An eight-year-old riding a dirt bike, flying a mile high into the air as she challenged fate with a brilliant, exuberant smile. Her receiving first communion, looking annoyed in a prissy white dress. Sitting ramrod stiff on a horse as a judge pinned the blue ribbon to her mount’s bridle. Nailing the winning goal in the women’s NCAA Division One lacrosse championship. Then, finally, the chief of police pinning her badge on her chest when she graduated valedictorian of her class.
Something foreign kicked him in the gut. Powerful but poignant. Making his chest burn in a way it hadn’t in a very long time.
Satriano cleared his throat. “Okay, yeah. She’s something. She didn’t deserve what was done to her. But I’ll say it again, she’s unstable.”
Godfather nodded again, deep in thought.
“What are you thinking?” Stone asked.
Godfather threw the remote on the table with a casual flick of his wrist. “I’m thinking she’s perfect for at least two ops on the table right now.”
“She’s too volatile!” Satriano shouted.
Godfather let out a long breath and looked at Dom. “Satriano, there wasn’t a more pissed-off unstable operative than you the day we dragged your sorry ass through those doors. You were back on the street in less than a month.”
Dante, another operative and one who had no room to talk, snorted, smacking Satriano on the chest but quieting when Godfather turned on him. “And you, I remember the day you were hauled in here, telling us all to go fuck ourselves swinging those ham fists of yours.” He looked past Dom to Slade and Dylan. “Don’t shake your heads, you both were as bad.” He turned to Gage. “And you, Stone? No one could get near you.” Godfather stared down every one of them. “You were all fuckups when you got here. That’s why you were chosen. Because of the hell you’d been through. Because you weren’t willing to take it lying down. Because you wanted payback.” He pointed to the frozen frame of a stunning, smiling woman. “Jax is no different.”
The room grew uncomfortably silent, and suddenly Godf
ather knew what was bugging them. He grunted. No one was willing to say it. Yes, they’d all been screwed up, but they were all screwed-up men. They weren’t ruled by hormones or the urge to nurture. Save for Naomi, his assistant, they were an all-dick squad. That was about to change.
“I respect your hesitation, men. But just in case none of you happened to notice, Jax Cassidy has some serious assets none of us have. We need a woman for the operations where a dick just won’t make the cut. We need a woman like Jax, who is trained, who is fearless and who won’t hesitate to use what she must to close a mission.”
“Calculating,” Cruz muttered.
Godfather smiled. “Exactly.”
He turned and stared at the static images left on the screen. At every turn, Jax had challenged life—no fear, no hesitation, no regrets. The woman who’d left the room less than twenty minutes ago was hard as nails on the outside, but terrified on the inside. He’d seen it in her eyes. And he’d seen it magnify each time she’d thought someone had been about to touch her. Sighing, he rubbed the back of his neck.
When he had chest-butted her, he’d honestly had no clue what she would do. But when she hadn’t attacked, he’d known then he had her. He liked that despite her instinct to fight, she had the self-control to do what was in her best interest.
“She does a good job hiding behind that mouth of hers,” Stone said. “But she’s not just unstable. She’s scared, and fear causes mistakes.”
Godfather nodded. The future of the team hung on every operative being in top form, mentally and physically. “Fear can be turned around and used to one’s advantage,” he said.
“It can also make you second-guess yourself,” Cruz said from beside him.
“In Jax Cassidy’s case, her fear will keep her focused,” Godfather rejoined.
“I know we all agreed to recruit a female operative,” Stone started, “but . . . she makes me nervous. Our motto has always been no rules. We do the job and we do whatever it takes. Stealing. Killing. Fu—” Stone hesitated.
