For the first time, Renata noticed the similarly — but not nearly as well — suited men a few feet away, all pretending not to pay attention.
Security.
His security.
He motioned for a bartender and ordered something Renata had never heard of. A few moments later, she had a large, purple frozen drink in her hands.
“Houston specialty,” he said, guiding the glass up to her lips. She took a tiny sip, immediately recognizing the flavors of sprite and cough syrup. Whatever alcohol the bartender had used was unfamiliar, but she knew without asking that she held in her hands some variation of “purple drank”, popular among her partying high school peers. Renata had heard the stories, and wasn’t interested.
She pulled the drink away from her mouth, but he pushed it back. She obliged another small sip, then shook her head, pressing her lips tight. His eyes darkened for just a moment, enough to send a prickle of fear up her spine, but then the mysterious charm was back, as he tilted his head to the side and laughed.
“Nineteen, huh? No wonder you’re acting all shy.”
Renata looked down at her hands as he called the bartender over again, returning the previous drink and requesting another, making sure to emphasize that it should be virgin. When she was presented with a plain cranberry juice, pineapple juice, and sprite a moment later, she took it gratefully. She closed her mouth over the straw and drained the short glass in one drag, then glanced over at her companions. Neither Sam nor Stacy were paying her any mind, so she turned back to … him.
“You didn’t tell me your name,” she said, squinting a little as another round of head-pounding music started.
“Damien Wolfe.”
His hand reached the top of her thigh and inched inward. She pulled her legs away, ignoring the little voice telling her it was fine. The mention of his name… it tugged at a distant memory, but she couldn’t pinpoint why. He’d mentioned that the club owner worked for him… maybe he was some type of business man?
“Excuse me for a moment,”he said, as several similarly- dressed men walked up. She averted her eyes as they stepped into the corner, conducting a conversation in hushed tones. Her head shot up when Damien raised his voice, and she watched as he slammed his fist into his palm, then jabbed a finger toward the exit as he said something about “cleaning up a mess back in New Orleans”. The cool façade she’d seen not even moments before had slipped a little, and he seemed angry. One of the men muttered something about “lost control”, and Damien hand snatched up a handful of his shirt, dragging him forward.
Renata quickly looked away, not wanting to be caught eavesdropping and face a similar fate. Everyone else seemed to be ignoring the little scuffle, so she did too. A moment later, she felt the shift in the air around her as he sat down again, back to dapper as his hand slid over the small of her back. This time, the voice telling her it was fine spoke louder, as her eyelids dipped a little, suddenly heavy.
“So back to what we were talking about… what do you like to do for fun, Renata?”
She frowned a little, then burst into a loud giggle, leaning into his shoulder. “I don’t think we were talking about that.”
“We are now.”
Renata laughed again. “O-kayyyy. Well… I like to use computers.”
“Really now? That’s… surprising?”
“Why?”
He lifted a hand, allowing it to drift up her arm, over her neck, and up to cup her face. “You don’t look like the kinda girl who likes computers.”
She stifled another giggle as she struggled to keep her eyelids up. “What kinda girl do I look like?”
“The kind who likes to play shy… but really… wild. Are you… wild, Renata?”
Something was wrong.
Feeling dizzy, she shook her head. She wasn’t wild at all, but she was having a hard time actually saying otherwise. Her body wasn’t cooperating… as if it weren’t even connected to her head.
“I don’t believe you,” he said, with his mouth right against her ear. He was close enough now that she could smell alcohol on his breath, and a faint, shrill alarm sounded from somewhere in the back of her mind. She wanted to push away the hand he’d moved between her thighs, but her lips were heavy, her limbs sluggish, and her ears filled with a ringing sort of static.
She managed to shake her head and take a deep breath, finding a moment of mental clarity after. Barely, she found the strength to turn her head to where Stacy and Sam were, but they were both occupied with purple drinks of their own.
She flinched as he pushed her panties out of the way, embarrassed by the involuntary way her body responded to the intimate touch. A moment later, his fingers pushed inside of her. Her brain registered pain, but her body was powerless. She squeezed her eyes tight as his liquor-soaked breath heated her neck again.
“Nice and tight,” he groaned. “Perfect. Let’s go.”
Her vision went black as someone dragged her up from her seat. Faintly, she heard Stacy’s giggly voice asking what was going one, but soon her hearing was as muffled as her vision. Shortly after, there was nothing.
The next morning, she woke up in Stacy’s bed. Her head was pounding, and she was sore between her legs — a feeling she’d never before experienced, but had read enough things she shouldn’t be reading to know why her thighs and intimate parts were tender. She looked around, and a moment later, saw Stacy sitting at the end of the other twin bed in the room she’d shared with Sam before she left for college.
As if she felt Renata’s questioning gaze, Stacy looked up with red-rimmed eyes and shook her head. An ache that had nothing to do with a physical pain started in the pit of Renata’s stomach, working its way into a thick lump in her throat that took her breath away.
She sat up, dry heaving as she wrapped her arms around herself.
When she finally looked up, her throat aching and sore from sobbing, Stacy met her eyes.
“I’m so sorry Ren. They took us to this big house, and that guy you were talking to… nobody would stand up to him, and Sam wouldn’t do anything. We were so drunk, and… I’m so sorry, Ren.”
As a fresh wave of sobs swept over her, Renata drew her legs up to her chest, burying her face against her legs.
All she’d wanted to do was talk to CD last night.
— & —
Something was… off.
It wasn’t the searing pain in her shoulder or head — Renata knew what that was from — or the fact that the room around her was unfamiliar — she had a good idea of where she was.
Something… cold was touching her.
Renata dragged her eyes open with a groan, and as her blurry vision cleared, the first thing she saw was Naomi. Deep mahogany skin, dark, striking eyes, and a thick mass of kinky black hair— she was beautiful… and deadly.
Naomi had death in her eyes.
Renata swallowed hard, frozen in place by Naomi’s lethal stare. She flicked her gaze upward, and immediately knew what the “something” cold was.
There was a gun pressed to her forehead.
“I’m going to ask you several questions. All I need from you is a yes, no, or the shortest possible answer. I don’t need your pitiful explanations. You can tell the truth, or I will blow your brains all over this room without hesitation or regret. You got me?”
“Yes,” was Renata’s immediate answer. She wasn’t exactly scared of her, but truth be told, Naomi was terrifying. She had no doubt that Naomi would pull that trigger.
“Are you willingly employed by Damien Wolfe?”
“No.”
“Does he have your daughter without your consent?”
“Yes.”
“Have you given him any information that could be hurtful to this team?”
Renata swallowed hard. “Yes.”
Nostrils flared, Naomi tightened her grip on the gun. “The information on getting past my security system?”
“Yes.”
“Anything else?”
“I d
on’t think so.”
Naomi pressed the gun harder into her skin, sending a fresh wave of pain through Renata’s head. “Does he know we’re after him?”
“I don’t know.”
“Think harder.”
“I don’t know!”
Narrowing her eyes, Naomi stared a little longer before she finally backed away a little, pulling the gun away from Renata’s head, but keeping it pointed in her direction. Now that she’d moved back, Renata could see Inez — her caramel skin glowing in the dim light, blonde-tipped hair pulled into a messy bun — standing near the door of the room, her arms crossed as she watched them.
“Do you know if Wolfe sent those men to my apartment himself?”
Renata shook her head. “No. I never know who I’m talking to.”
“Do you know who came after you last night?”
“No.”
Naomi sucked her teeth. “Well you just don’t know shit, do you?” She rolled her eyes, then swung her attention back to Renata with a scowl. “How about this — why don’t you tell me how you ended up with Damien Wolfe as a baby daddy?”
“No.”
The refusal was out of her mouth before she really even knew what she was saying.
Naomi’s expression turned lethal again, and a second later, the gun was pressed against her head again, with Naomi’s finger against the trigger. “You’re in no position to be brave, Agent Parker. I already feel like I still owe you an ass whooping for telling Marcus I knew about his dad. Redeem yourself, bitch. I want some answers. Now.”
Tears pricked Renata’s eyes as the steel bit into her skin, adding more pressure to the headache she already had.
“Naomi… please,” she whispered. “I was sixteen years old… just a kid.”
For a long moment, Naomi glared at her. Her finger danced over the trigger again as her scowl deepened.
She doesn’t believe me.
But then… Naomi’s expression softened, as a sudden flash of understanding crossed her face. Her eyes went wide, and she pulled the gun away, stepping back from the bed. Relief swept over Renata, and she squeezed her eyes shut, not opening them again until Naomi spoke.
“I’m sorry,” she said, in a strained voice. “I recognize Damien Wolfe for exactly what he is — a monster. I’m sorry that he made you another victim.”
Renata swallowed her tears as Naomi met her gaze with glossy eyes of her own before she continued.
“Taylor is… she’s family. My… cousin, I guess. We’ll get her back for you.”
Naomi nodded, then turned and left the room, not looking back. Inez gave Renata a tight smile before she nodded as well.
“I’ll get Savannah, see if she can give you something for the pain, okay?”
Renata didn’t know who the hell Savannah was, but she agreed. Anything to take away the nightmares plaguing her — asleep and awake.
three.
“It’s done.”
To anyone observing the scene, it would appear that the man lounging on the couch, dressed in pajamas worth twice the average mortgage, hadn’t heard anyone speak. He lifted his to his mouth, took a sip, then lowered the glass.
He frowned.
Too much vermouth.
He made a mental note to address his beloved about the mistake —a courtesy he was becoming exhausted with offering— then finally offered the man standing at the door — his assistant, Harrison— his attention.
“Was it messy?”
Harrison scratched his eyebrow, squinting a little before he answered. “A bit.”
“Will it be on the news?”
“Already is.”
The man sighed, then shook his head. He sat up straight, and beside him, his wife sucked in a tense, fearful breath.
“Will it be connected to me?”
“No.”
Furrowing his brow, the man suddenly stood. His wife folded her hands in her lap, staring at her fingers.
“What makes you so sure?” he asked, his voice dangerously low as he stalked up to Harrison. “I’m supposed to believe that because what… you’re always right?”
“I am always right.”
“You’re not always right, get the fuck outta here.”
Despite his boss’s harsh words and stony expression, Harrison’s posture was relaxed. He smirked. “I was right about Renata.”
A vein twitched at the man’s temple as he scowled at Harrison — but the younger man didn’t back down.
Good.
Finally, a smile cracked his face, and he clapped Harrison on the shoulder before returning to his seat. “You were right about Renata. But don’t pat yourself on the back yet. This isn’t over. She hasn’t proven herself quite yet.”
Harrison nodded. “Anything else you need, Mr. Wolfe?”
Damien shook his head. “For now… that’s all.”
When Harrison was gone, Damien turned to his wife, lifting a hand to stroke her face. He lowered the hand to her throat, and arousal swept over him at the way her breath hitched.
“You know I have to punish you, right?”
An excited gleam came to her eyes as she nodded. “Yes, please.”
Good.
— & —
“You hit those keys any harder, you’re gonna break something.”
Quentin’s fingers paused over the keyboard, and he let out a quiet groan in response to Naomi’s interruption.
Three hours… or maybe closer to four.
Four long hours had passed since the first gunshot into the back of his car, and he’d still gotten nowhere with checking into the shitload of things Renata had revealed. Instead of the laser-sharp focus he usually employed when it was time to find the facts buried under lies and half-truths, his head was spinning. Maybe it was adrenaline, maybe it was anxiety— he didn’t know which. What he did know was that he needed answers— concrete facts — to figure out if Renata was someone he could trust or not.
Before, when he’d only known her as painted_pixel, he trusted her implicitly. He may have never seen her face, never heard her voice, but… he’d known her since they were kids. She knew things he’d done, crimes he’d committed… had even played accomplice more than once over the years. But they had a code. If you get caught doing some shit you shouldn’t, you’ve never heard of me. If you need help, ask. Don’t try to find me, I won’t try to find you. Don’t tell any identifying details about yourself.
Quentin shook his head.
They’d trampled all over that one.
She knew he lived in New Orleans as a kid, he knew she lived in the suburbs of Houston. She knew he worked with a bad-ass professional criminal. He knew she’d erased cyber-crime related arrests from the system in order to be accepted into a government agency — he hadn’t known then which one. She knew he’d suffered the worst pain of his life when his mother succumbed to cancer a few short months after his father died. And he knew that when her mother found out that newly-seventeen, never been in trouble, skipped a year of high school, always on the honor roll painted_pixel was pregnant… she’d kicked her out of the house.
He’d known something was wrong when she contacted him from a public computer, in a public library, terrified, alone, and in a panic. His first question was why she hadn’t just gone to the friends’ house she was always talking about, but she freaked out about that.
He was still going through his own shit, still processing the fact that both of his parents were gone, but he pushed that to the side. That first night, she stayed in the shelter, but early the next morning, he sent her to the bank to open an account with the few hundred dollars in birthday cash and allowance she had. A couple of hours later, once she gave him the account number, he’d put in enough to get her through the next few days.
Enough for a few weeks rent at a motel until she could find something better, enough for a new computer, which she had to sneak into her room in a laundry basket, so no one saw. Enough for clothes to hide her growing belly, so she could finish her senior year
in peace. He could feel her strain, even through the screen, but he encouraged her, helped however he could, all while meticulously avoiding the knowledge of her real name.
If she wanted him to know, she would tell him.
They’d made exceptions to that no personal details rule before, but it was still part of their code. If she wanted him to know, he would know.
But… she hadn’t wanted him to know.
After everything he’d done for her over the years, risks he’d taken that could have ruined his life… she’d stood right in his face as Special Agent Renata Parker, knowing who he was, and not said a word.
That was fucked up.
Quentin groaned again as Naomi pulled up a chair up beside him at the table in Inez’s “war room”. It was one of many rooms in what was essentially a — rather luxurious — secure bunker, in the basement of her house. A couple of doors down, Renata was asleep in the medical area.
That was part of why he couldn’t focus.
Despite a confusing combination of anger, betrayal, and hurt, he was concerned about her. Sure, her loyalty was in question, but that didn’t make watching a crimson stain blossom from the gunshot wound in her shoulder any easier. It didn’t change the fact that the gunshot wound along the left side of her head would have probably taken her life if the trajectory had taken it just an inch further right.
“It’s just a graze,” Savi, Inez’s “retired military doctor” neighbor had assured.
That didn’t make him feel any better.
The thought of losing painted_pixel made a weird, dull sort of ache bloom in the pit of his stomach, radiating up to his chest. Similar to the way he felt whenever something happened to Naomi, but… different.
Worse.
He wasn’t quite sure yet how he felt about the possibility of losing “Agent Parker”.
“So are you just not gonna say anything?” Naomi asked.
He could feel her eyes on him, and when he looked up, sure enough, she was staring expectantly, waiting for him to speak.
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