by SM West
My head’s throbbing, mouth dry, and I have the overwhelming urge to heave. What the hell happened? My memory is fuzzy, at best, but one thing’s for sure, this isn’t a hangover. Dread takes hold of my body like an unwelcomed guest. I’m in serious trouble.
A belt straps me into a seat and I have a partial view of an aisle. There’s a subtle vibration humming through the air. We’re on a plane. I’m trapped in a tin can in the sky. Why can’t I remember how I got here?
My outstretched legs are encased by long masculine ones, clothed in dark dress pants and leather loafers. Unable to see more without lifting my head, I subtly and slowly inhale, hoping to calm my racing heart. Loud, unruly laughter erupts from somewhere behind me. Involuntarily, I flinch. Fuck.
“Ah, look who decided to wake up.” The deep voice stills me.
Like water rapidly slipping through my fingers, my hidden consciousness vanishes. Fear tightens its grip. My new friend dread creeps up my spine, getting more comfortable.
“Tate,” his casual yet serrating tone cuts through my foggy mind. In a moment of clarity, I remember. The irony of his initial words hit me. He insinuated my slumber was by choice rather than the cold truth, they drugged me. Large fingers firmly ensnare my wrists. I grimace as nails bite into my flesh.
“Behave,” my father whispers threateningly. His warm breath slithers down my neck. The familiar scent of his cologne wafts between us, triggering a nauseous riot in the pit of my stomach. Bastard. Tightening his grip, everything comes back to me.
Oh, my God, Griffin. Is he here? Is he…alive? A small part of me holds out hope for the impossible. My need to vomit viciously claws its way up my throat as flashes of his brutal beating assault me. My heart painfully squeezes.
Raising my head, my neck cracks in respite and my hair parts to the sides of my face. Stray strands are glued to my cheeks by dried, useless tears. I glower, conveying all my hate and bloodlust for Bobby. His cruel smirk widens at my revulsion.
“Oh, Tate will. If not, I’ll teach her obedience.” His brutish stare skates my body like a violation as his words twist around my throat, choking me. I despise him. He’s had me in his sights for years and silly me, I thought I’d escaped. Instead, I’m his captive with literally nowhere to run.
“In fact, it’s time for her first lesson. Come, little rabbit,” his sinister voice ignites a wildfire of terror, rapidly unfurling throughout me.
Despite his size, he’s quick. In a blink of an eye, I’m unbuckled, standing with my back to his chest. His arms tightly band my chest, anchoring me to him.
“NO,” my voice is thick and hoarse, sounding weak rather than fierce. His dark eyes are cold and expressionless. My nail gouges line his face.
“Help me, Daddy,” I whimper.
His expression is stony indifference, unmoved by my plea. I’m filled with boundless anger and sadness as I look to my once hero turned adversary. I barely remember a time when he was my protector, when I adored him. Gone is the man I once worshiped. Before me is a detestable monster. My enemy.
Like the harsh sting of a rubber band, Bobby’s laughter snaps my attention back to his hands on me. Fighting is my only option. I won’t give up. It’s not who I am. I violently buck and kick my heels against his shins. They don’t deter him; in fact, my fight spurs him on as he forcefully hauls me down the aisle.
Several menacing eyes track my struggle as we pass their quad of seats. His thugs. If their smirks are any indication, all of them are shamelessly relishing my fight. Pigs.
Bobby kicks open the lavatory door. While somewhat larger than a commercial aircraft, it’s still small. My breathing quickens and body freezes knowing what’s next. Without effort, I’m tossed forward, unable to slow the trajectory of my body. With a wallop, my head hits the bathroom wall. Guttural sobs spill from my mouth like molten lava, searing red-hot pain radiates through my skull.
Slick, warm blood drips from my nose, the coppery taste hitting my tongue. He’s only just begun. Winding my hair around his large fist, he yanks me back while his other hand rips my shirt in two.
“You’re MINE. I. Own. You.” Each harsh, exacting word shreds the little hope I have of absconding. Shaking my head in refusal, I vow to never submit. I’d rather die. His eyes narrow to slits, a deep roar thunders from him at my silent defiance. His grip tightens on my hair and agony spreads across my scalp.
Facing the mirror, the stark reality of being trapped in the monster’s clutches slaps me in the face. My tears fall. He looms ominously behind me. His undeniable, although I’m reluctant to admit it, Adonis features with his dark eyes, aquiline nose, full lips and prominent jaw, twist into a hideous, depraved beast. My mascara grotesquely streaks my cheeks and the blood’s drying and hardening around my nostrils. I’m not a crier, but my inevitable fate has taken hold. I’m reduced to pure, raw, irrepressible emotion.
“Please, don’t do this. I’ll obey. I’ll do as you say. I’m…”
Stuttering, I swallow the bile. My pride is no longer important. Survival is paramount with killing him, a close second. His death at my hands, bathing in his blood, drives my actions. At this time, I may not be able to exact my retribution, but there will come a time. Right now, stopping this is my only concern.
“I’m yours,” I utter lies, praying the mere words will be my salvation.
“Good girl. Such a good little rabbit,” he cruelly coos.
His sharp teeth sink into the sensitive spot between my shoulder and neck like a wild savage tearing into his prey. Balling my hands into fists, I bite my own lip to counter the intense burn of his mark. I want nothing more than to put him down.
Grabbing the waistband of my tights, he effortlessly rips them in two. I’m exposed. My vicious ruining awaits me. A surge of unbridled determination lights my spine.
“Stop. I’ll kill you for this. Stop,” I scream, bucking and clawing despite his grip on my scalp.
With a deep, menacing laugh, his black pits gleam with joy at my pain and vulnerability. “That’s it little rabbit, give it all to me. Fight me. Fear me. It only makes me want you more,” he taunts.
He will pay dearly for killing the love of my life. My Griffin. My heart is gone, but my passion lives. It is stronger than ever. My passion for reprisal.
Time is no consequence.
Waiting, no burden.
I will have my reckoning.
Blackness, like a pall, infects my mind and body.
Hello darkness, I’m pleased to meet you.
My dynamite-red desire to maim, kill, destroy is all consuming. I may be his sick, twisted obsession, but I am not his victim. My vow is forged with each tear, outcry and drop of blood. I will kill him no matter what it takes.
WALKING WARILY DOWN THE DARK corridor, I occasionally glance behind me to ensure I’m not followed. I’m no pro, but I’ve been at this for almost eighteen months, I know what to look for in a tail. I know more than I should about covert rendezvous, surveillance and wiretaps. My weekly appointments are B-movie cloak and dagger nonsense, bait and switch, to safeguard my meetings with my handler. The thing is, there’s nothing make-believe or Hollywood about this. Lives depend on me not getting caught.
Special Agent Noel Spencer is my shadow. He’s more linebacker than FBI with his King Kong frame. Pure muscle. No matter his size, he’s a chameleon, easily blending into any background. Most of the time, I’ve no clue where he is, only that he’s there.
Despite his constant presence in my life, I barely know him. Silence is our bond. In the beginning, we spoke a handful of times, mostly to go over protocol. Since then, silence. Most people would go crazy with the silence. It works for me. I hate chit chat and these weekly stints in the back of his car are my solitude. I don’t need to be on red alert. I can simply be. Just existing is rare in my life, although too much of it could get me killed.
Noel’s for my safety or at least that’s what I’ve been told. As much as I’d like to believe my wellbeing’s important to them, I’m no
fool. I’m valuable. An asset. I have what they want. I’m literally sleeping with the enemy.
Davis Cooper or Coop, which he prefers, is my handler. From day one, we hit it off. He’s charming, warm and easy to talk to. It doesn’t hurt that he’s also easy on the eyes with his dark skin and hair, chocolate brown eyes, toned body and knock out smile.
From the day he approached me, I’ve felt like he cared. He truly wanted to help me out of my situation. I know better. Many times, I’ve had to remind myself he’s not my friend. Though he may be sincere, this is a mutually beneficial union.
Once at the motel door, I rap out the code: twenty beats and repeat. Meeting in shit holes is tiresome but necessary. No one will look for me, the wife of one of New York’s powerful and corrupt men, in a flea-ridden motel smack dab in the middle of Hell’s Kitchen. The door opens, a man stands before me. This isn’t Coop.
“Who are you?” I ask suspiciously.
Taking a step back, my body tenses, vigilant. Darting my head right and then left, I check to see if any other surprises are coming my way. Looking back at the stranger, my eyes narrow. My feet are firmly planted in the corridor.
Noel never mentioned a new guy. I quickly double check the room number. It’s correct, 306. So, who is this guy? Could I book it before he does God knows what to me? Has Bobby figured out what I’m up to? Is this the end?
Shit, this is not the ending I envisioned. In this war I have waged, there must be a loser. I refuse to believe that’s me. I will be the victor. Obsessed with their downfall, I’ll do anything, even murder, to bring them to their knees.
Scrutinizing, I bravely contemplate taking him. Despite my twice weekly Krav Maga classes, I’ve never used my skills outside of the gym. I’ve fantasized about taking down Bobby, but never had the nerve to do it. Not after my epic fail, which was well before the skills and training I have now.
A shudder runs through me at the brutal memory of my punishment. The thought of using my moves on this stranger is fleeting and immediately rejected. I no longer fear abuse or death. I’ve nothing to lose. Yet I won’t be careless or deliberately put myself in harm’s way.
Tall, dark and handsome, firmly but gently, grabs my bicep and hauls me into the room. He’s a stunner with black hair, arresting blue eyes and an impressive body. There’s no way I’m falling for Mr. GQ. I’m immune to men. Grabbing onto the door frame, I resist. I’m not going in until I get some answers.
“Who the hell are you?” The edge in my voice is evident. “Where is Coop?”
“Mrs. Thornton, I’m Special Agent Rylan Wolfe. I’m your new handler. Coop’s been reassigned.”
Flashing his badge, he walks into the small space filled with a crappy double bed, dilapidated desk and ratty chair. Reluctantly, I follow, still attentive, less anxious after seeing his credentials.
“It’s Tate. Not Mrs. Thornton,” I growl. He raises his brow. “Why isn’t Coop here? What’s going on?”
Turning, Wolfe nails me with his eyes. His gaze so intense like he’s stripping layers of my armor. My shoulders stiffen further steeling against the torrent of unsettling sensations pummeling me. Fight or flight kicks in; I’m not convinced this is legit.
“Like I said, Coop’s been reassigned. I’ve been on this case as long as Coop,” he states.
Every part of me wants to get the hell out, but need keeps me rooted to the spot. I need the FBI. Walking away would be a major hit, stalling my plan by months, if not years. Something I’m not prepared to do unless I absolutely have to. I’d rather die than walk away. The end is near. So, I’m stuck here, trying to figure out if I can trust this guy.
“Look Wolfe,” my tone is pointed. He cocks an eyebrow. I can’t tell if he’s amused or annoyed. “I need more than that if I’m going to trust you,” I demand, my eyes trained on the door. My only way out. “If you’re really in the know, then you understand what I’m up against. Switching handlers this late in the game doesn’t sit well with me. Seriously, what happened to Coop?”
A slow burn builds within me as piercing eyes travel the length of my body. Appreciative yet dissecting. Perhaps deciding if he can trust me? The feeling’s mutual, mister.
Never to be intimidated, I dish out a dose of his own medicine, my eyes roam his impressive body. He’s easily six inches plus to my five foot seven, and his expansive chest, broad shoulders and narrow waist all equal one very fine, muscular build. Even in his black Armani suit, there’s no denying he’s fit.
His red-hot visage steals the show with his strong jaw, full lips, and a slight bump on the ridge of his narrow nose. His dark hair is short with enough length to give a girl something to hold on to. And his eyes. Wow. They’re his best attribute. A devastating blue steals my breath every time he glances my way. I once knew a man with similar eyes. Not quite the same intensity but close enough. The man I love.
Digging my nails into my palms, the slight twinge chases the thought away. I shouldn’t compare the two. And what the hell am I doing? I’m in no position to take notice of a good-looking man.
“Look, Mrs. Thornton…”
“Tate,” I growl. “No, you look. I trust Coop. You, not so much. If you expect me to, tell me why he left,” I say irritated.
I’m failing miserably at reining in my frustration. On top of feeling clueless, his magnetism ticks me off. Attraction, or any other emotion for that matter, is a thing of the past. Yet my arousal’s irrefutable. It’s like my extreme passion, my drive that keeps me alive, driving down a set path for years, has taken a detour. I’m reacting rather than controlling the situation.
Deeply inhaling, I try to calm myself, “I trusted him. He’s as committed to this as I am.”
“So am I,” he sighs with a tense jaw and curled fists, possibly feeding off my annoyance.
“Then tell me,” I encourage. He motions for me to sit in the chair, as he perches on the bed.
“One of our assets gave Coop up to Bobby and Warren.”
“Assets?” Sinking my teeth into my bottom lip, I attempt to stifle my impending outburst. The more people involved, the more risk of failure.
“Calm down, it’s been taken care of. Surely, you couldn’t have thought you were our only asset? Your info has been invaluable in building a case like this. Still, we need more. Other informants.”
“Others? No one else can be trusted,” I angrily reply.
“Relax, we’ve only got three others,” he patronizingly replies. “In cases like…”
“Three?” I scream. Abruptly standing, the chair falls back with a thud onto the carpet. Why didn’t Coop tell me this? “Seriously?”
“Serious as a heart attack,” he deadpans, his waning patience evident in his clenched jaw. “We had four. One’s been neutralized, another removed. Now, it’s you and one other.”
“This is insane,” I hiss. “Tell me what you need and I’ll get it. You’ve got to get rid of them.”
“Calm the fuck down,” he yells, quickly schooling his aggravated features. Clasping both hands behind his neck, he glares. Measured breaths suggest his attempt to regain his composure. What the hell is his problem? My attitude? What does he expect? I’m not exactly calm. I have reason. I just discovered Coop lied to me. The man I’ve trusted for years lied to me.
“You don’t have access to the business. Information, you can’t get without raising suspicion. Do you seriously think what you’ve given us is enough to put these assholes behind bars for the rest of their lives?” he pauses, exhaling a harsh breath. “It’s not. We need concrete evidence of criminal activity, which you can’t get.”
His words batter my ego; every word is true. I’ve provided names, some locations and dates, but nothing about their operation. I clamp my mouth shut, repressing the tongue lashing I desperately want to dish out. There’s no point continuing this line of questioning when he’s right.
Wolfe’s frustrated growl intensifies my physical attraction, a feeling I thought was dead and buried long ago, and a cagey rawn
ess. Like on the edge of a knife, one false move and it’s game over.
Getting into bed with the FBI was crucial, but tricky. When Coop approached me, I was already planning my escape. I’d have preferred to do it on my own. Nevertheless, I took his offer as a sign. I needed them. Someone to watch my back. Now, with my knee-jerk reactions to Wolfe, I’m distressed and rethinking this whole arrangement.
“So, where’s Coop now? Is he safe?” I truly want to know.
“Yeah. We’re not exactly sure what happened. Somehow, Bobby won over our asset. She’s out of the picture now. Coop’s safe. We quickly moved him and created enough of a paper and cyber trail to make it look like he’d been on another case, in another state.”
“‘Did Bobby buy it?”
“Looks like it. It made her look like an opportunist. Desperate to get into his bank account and bed.”
I rub my clammy hands along the tops of my thighs, staring down at the dirty carpet. Coop’s my partner or at least he was. In this moment of vulnerability, I realize I’m alone. Coop’s gone. I’ve lost someone. Again. That’s all I seem to be good at. Loss.
“You’ve haven’t asked the obvious,” Wolfe cuts into my thoughts.
“What?” I have no clue what he’s talking about.
“You haven’t asked if you were compromised. If you’re safe,” he curiously states.
“No, why would I? I know I’m not.”
***
ON THE RIDE BACK, I wrestle with telling the FBI to fuck off. As tempting as it is, it’s stupid. Cursing my predicament, the memory of when my life unraveled invades my thoughts.
I was sixteen and had been assaulted. I sought shelter and support from my parents, only to discover they let the monster in. They believed his version. He was the aggrieved party. I was the scheming, petulant teenager. It was then the façade of my life collided with the dark and dangerous reality of my world.
