Give Me Redemption (Give Me Series Book 4)

by Paige P. Horne

  “Can you tell me what happened, son?” Pops asks me after a moment. I exhale and pull out my smoke, lighting one and holding it between my lips.

  “You shouldn’t smoke those things,” he says to me.

  I chuckle. “Yeah, well, I shouldn’t do a lot of things.” I sniff and remove the cigarette after inhaling. “I messed up. I chose to do something reckless and I got caught.” I shrug. “I also got lucky they didn’t throw me in jail.”

  “Why did you mess up?” he asks me and not in a way of scolding, but he genuinely wants to know.

  “Why does anyone mess up? Shit happens.” I laugh.

  He shakes his head. “You know you’ve always been the jokester in this family, but I’m no fool, Jace. I see you. I’ve always seen you. You hide behind that funny. But you’re sad. You’ve always been a little sad.”

  I look at him for a moment, my smile fading. We don’t say anything for a long while. We just stare. I know he’s not a fool—that’s the last thing I’d ever call Pops. But I had no idea he saw me. I always thought Bryce was the one.

  “You never needed anybody,” he says to me. “Not anyone, and you proved that when you went away. I was so angry at you for doing it behind my back, but part of me understood. You two needed to become your own people, and you did.” He slides his hands into his pockets as a horse moves around toward the back of the barn. The wind picks up a few pieces of stray hay and I inhale my cigarette. I flick the ashes and scratch the side of my cheek.

  “I did need someone, though,” I say. “I needed my brother.”

  “You can’t blame the boy for going his own way, Jace. Bryce is a very complicated man. He’s got a lot of shit inside of him that he struggles with. What your parents put on him… It wasn’t fair. A kid shouldn’t have to raise another.”

  “What about what they put on me?” I ask him. “I was the one they never touched, the one that was invisible.” I run a hand over my head.

  He shakes his. “I’m sorry you went through that, son. I hate that both of you had a crappy start. I hope that we made up for that at least a little. We tried.”

  I wave him off. “You’re the only reason why we made it out, Pops. The shit that’s wrong with us has nothing to do with you.” I look back at the tractor, focusing on it, as I smoke my cigarette. Moments pass between us. My parents were something else. I guess I’ve always felt abandoned.

  My dad died, then my mom gave us up, and then Bryce went off and did his own thing, and then my brothers in the Army… I just don’t understand, that’s all.

  “You know why I think you did what you did?” he asks me.

  My eyes jump back to him.

  “Because something bad happened to you out there and the only way for you to get out was to do something reckless, something stupid? I think you got caught on purpose.”

  My lungs freeze; my heart hammers.

  “You’re too good at hiding things,” he says. “You wouldn’t have gotten caught.”

  I rub my nose and look back at the tractor. “Yeah, well, this time, I just got caught.” I put my smoke between my lips and reach over to turn the gas cap. Bending down, I sniff.

  “Somebody put gas in your diesel tractor. You’ll need to drain it and flush out the fuel system. That should work. I’m going to go for a ride.”

  He nods. “Love you, boy.”

  “I feel the same, Pops. Be back in a little while,” I say, walking out of the barn. I head up to the shop where Bryce and my dirt bikes are. I strip off my shirt and jeans before sliding my riding gear on. Slipping my helmet over my head, I jump onto the bike and kick-start it. It doesn’t start, so I kick it again and it roars to life, filling the shop with fumes that take me back to when I was just a boy.

  I remember when Pops first bought us dirt bikes and how fucking excited Bryce was. He never got excited about much, but pure joy showed on his face that Christmas.

  We didn’t get gifts when we lived with our parents. Hell, we hardly got the necessities, so a gift was out of the question. Well, there was a time or two that Bryce would come home with a new toy for me in his pocket.

  How he got them I didn’t know at the time. We didn’t have money. Of course, I know now. He stole them.

  He did that to make me happy, but it’s shitty that he had to.

  I put the bike in gear and hit the throttle, flying out of the shop and out into the open fields.

  Chapter Eight

  Harlow

  “It starts out with me being paralyzed. I can only move my eyes. It’s like a heavy layer of cement covers me. I hear muffled sounds and feel the cold coming in through the open window. The streetlamp burns tangerine in the room, the trees sway from the breeze casting shadows across his back. He tosses her out first before he goes after. I scream on the inside, being my body to jump up and go after them, but it’s futile. Nothing happens until I wake up covered in sweat, my throat raw because I wasn’t only screaming in my nightmare.”

  Cathy, my therapist, looks up from her notepad. I push my glasses up the bridge of my nose and rest my hand back on the arm of the chair.

  “So, in your dream you see him take her,” she says.

  “Yes.”

  “But you’re helpless.”

  “Yes.” We’ve gone over this already; I don’t know why I have to keep talking about it. I could be out doing my job, but the chief insists I go here every week to “get things off my chest” he says. Exhaling, I look down at my black watch. I’ve been here for thirty minutes.

  “Is that how you feel in real life?” she asks.

  “What? Paralyzed?” I ask.

  “No. Helpless. When it comes to her situation, do you feel helpless?”

  “Of course, I do.”

  “And do you regret the fact that you snuck out and went to hang with friends that night instead of being there with her?”

  “What kind of question is that?” I ask, narrowing my eyes.

  Cathy holds up her hands. “I’m not judging you; I’m simply making sure you understand your feelings.”

  “This is bullshit and a waste of time. I understand my feelings perfectly well.” I stand up. “I’ve got to get back to work. See you next week and we can talk about the same shit.”

  “Our time isn’t up,” she says as I walk to the door. I grab the door handle, looking back at her.

  “Yes, it is.”

  I exit the door, pulling it closed behind me. “She’s on fire today,” I say to her next fucked-up patient. He lifts his thick brows, looking up from his phone. I walk to the front desk and pay for my therapy that I didn’t want to have before I push open the glass doors and step out into the city street. I exhale, feeling my shoulders slouch as cars pass by. My run this morning didn’t help with the anxiety I get knowing I have to come to this place.

  I walk to my car and hop in, cranking it and blasting the AC. Taking my hair down, I run my fingers through it, massaging my scalp before I put it back up into a bun. I pull the sun visor down and look at my reflection.

  Tired eyes and a shitload of freckles I don’t care to cover with makeup. Nothing’s changed. I flip the visor back up. Reaching over, I grab my shades from the passenger seat and slide them on before putting the car in gear and heading back to the office.

  The days are long, and the nights are longer, but that’s been my case since I was a teenager. I’ve suffered with night terrors and a heavy dose of regret for as long as I can remember.

  Do I regret not being there?

  What the hell does Cathy even mean? Of course, I do. If I would have been there, then maybe she wouldn’t be gone.

  Fucking regret. “I want you to understand your feelings,” I mock the woman with caked-on makeup and an office that could bore a monk. I can’t believe Davy is making me do this shit. It’s ridiculous. I already know I’m messed up. I don’t need to pay someone to tell me.

  My phone rings and I hit the answer button on my steering wheel.

  “Hey, Mom,” I say as I c
ome to a red light.

  “Hey, baby girl. How did it go?” she asks.

  “Ah, you know, same crap, different week.”

  She sighs. “I think you need to give this a chance, Harlow. It could help you.”

  “Not you, too,” I say with an eye roll.

  “Yes, me too. I talked to Frank.”

  “Mom, you did not talk to Davy…Frank about this,” I correct myself. In the Bureau everyone calls everyone by their last name. My mom calling Davy Frank sounds weird, but that is his first name.

  “I did and we’re in agreement. You need to figure out how to get better. I should have made you do this years ago.”

  “You tried,” I remind her.

  “Yeah, well, I didn’t want to push you too hard. You blamed yourself, and it’s not your fault. You need to come to terms with that, sweetheart.”

  “Okay, Mom. I’m pulling up to work now. Love you. Talk later.” I hang up as the light turns green. She talked to Davy? What the hell?

  I sigh and round the block, pulling up to the gate. I grab my card and swipe it over the scanner. The gate opens and I pull into the parking garage connected to the tall building that is my place of work. I’ve been an FBI agent for ten years and I still love every minute of it.

  Know why?

  Because I find psychos and bury their asses. People who take children, who rape women, and break the law. We have rules for a reason. It keeps things balanced in this fucked-up world and I’m here to make sure that happens.

  I get out of my car. Adjusting my gun on my hip, I walk to the elevators and head up. I slide my shades onto my head, slipping my phone out of my pocket to check my email.

  The elevator flies up before coming to a stop. I step out, putting my phone back into my pocket. The rose gold floor shines from Marco, the janitor, who’s on his wax machine.

  “Harlow,” he says, shutting the thing off. “Did you see the Braves won ten to nothing?” he replies with a grin.

  “Yes, sir, I did.”

  “That’s five in a row now,” he says. “Now I’m not a gambling man, but I bet you they’re going to do it this year.”

  “Let’s hope so,” I say with a smile.

  “Yes, ma’am,” he says. “You have a good day now.”

  “You too,” I reply, removing my shades from my head and sliding them into the top of my blouse. I head to the other set of elevators that will take me to our offices.

  The doors start to shut, just as someone puts a folder between them. They open back up and I groan internally when Jim Miller comes into view.

  “Dalton,” he says with a nod.

  “Miller,” I reply, unenthused. He’s the office whore. He’s slept with half the building. It’s not only disgusting, it’s annoying.

  Fuck who you want, but leave it outside of the workplace. He’s got women crying over him for heaven’s sake, and some of them are married.

  The doors slide shut and we’re alone, and it’s going to be the longest elevator ride of my life.

  “So, what are your plans this weekend?” he asks.

  I play with my watch and look ahead because his mustache creeps me out. “Same as always. Watching the game, drinking some wine, and not going out with you.”

  “Oooo,” he says dramatically. “That hurts, Dalton. You know, I’ve never understood why you won’t give me a chance. You and I could be a good match.”

  I look over at him. “Maybe because you’ve had your dick in every vagina in this building, Miller. Ever thought of that?”

  “So, you’re saying if I hadn’t, there would be a chance?”

  I roll my eyes as the doors open. “No.” I step out and head down the hallway to our offices.

  “I’m only a short distance away,” he calls after me. “Let me know if you change your mind.”

  I hold up my middle finger as I turn into the open door. I hear him laugh and I see Davy leaning on a co-worker’s desk. Frank Davy’s got a bit of a belly from too much beer and not enough exercise. He’s bald on top, but he has hair on the sides of his head.

  It’s salt and pepper, showing how this job can stress you out. He’s chewing on a healthy nut bar ’cause his wife is constantly putting him on a diet.

  He looks up at me and moves his tie. “How did your meeting go?” he asks discretely. We’ve decided not to let everyone in here know I’m going to therapy.

  I make a face, but say, “It went amazing. We really made a breakthrough.”

  Monroe, the guy whose desk Davy is at, looks up over his eyeglasses. “What kind of meeting did you have?” he asks.

  “Don’t worry about it,” Davy says.

  He lifts his brow but decides not to press the matter and goes back to looking at the papers in his hand.

  I chuckle as I take a seat at my own desk with a pile of paperwork on it. “Not so fast,” Davy says. “Come to my office.”

  I look over at Monroe who gives me a sideways glance. I sigh, slide my chair out, and yank my blazer down in the front as I follow Davy into his office.

  “Shut the door,” he says as he tosses the rest of his nut bar into the trash. “I’m sick to death of eating this shit. Can’t a man have a burger for lunch every once in a while?” He grabs the liquor decanter and pours himself some.

  He looks at me as he rounds his desk, sitting in his squeaky chair and taking a sip of his drink. Photos of his kids and wife, along with his own pile of paperwork, cover the sturdy wooden top, and awards and certificates sit on the shelves to the left of him.

  Davy’s office is all windows, covered with open blinds, so any one in the office can see in. “Talk,” he says, leaning back. His sleeves are rolled up, his blazer off, resting on the back of the chair.

  “I think I’ve done enough of that for today,” I tell him as I cross my arms over my chest. My elbow hits my gun and I adjust it.

  “I’m sure you’re not doing enough of that.”

  I drop my arms and move to sit on the arm of the chair across from him. “Davy, you know I don’t want to go to this shit. It’s a waste of time and money.”

  “You may not want to, but you are and that’s final.”

  I roll my eyes. “Fine.”

  “Fine,” he says. I’ve worked with this man for ten years. He’s become more like a father figure to me than a boss. He sits up, making sure his tie doesn’t get stuck between his belt and belly.

  “We’ve got a new case,” he says, clearing his throat.

  “Another kid?” I ask.

  “No. I want you off of those for a while.”

  “What?”

  “You heard me. I want you on something else.”

  “Why? I’m always on these cases and I’m good at them.”

  “Yeah, but it’s unhealthy.”

  “How is saving kids’ lives unhealthy?” I ask.

  “You know why. We have other agents who can handle those for a bit.”

  I narrow my eyes before looking down at his desk. I don’t like this one bit, and he knows that. This is what I’m good at. I find the nasty fuckers who take children from their homes and I prosecute them.

  “This isn’t permanent, but I think it’ll be good for you.”

  I look up at him. “Fine. What is it?”

  He nods and links his fingers in front of him. “Man named Bryce Grant. Owns a club called Red here in Atlanta. We have word that he’s running an illegal gambling operation underneath it.”

  I roll my eyes and throw my head back. “Are you kidding me? You’re putting me on some small crime case?”

  “It’s not small crime, kid. This guy is the real deal. This man has some serious criminals coming in and out of that place, which makes it dangerous for the rest of Atlanta’s citizens. We’ve got to put a stop to it.” He unlinks his fingers, spreading them out. “Plus, he’s dealing with some crazy amounts of money.” He lifts a folder and tosses it to me. “Here’s everything we have. It’s not much. We need you to find out more. You’re going to have to get in o
n the inside and see for yourself.”

  “You want me undercover?” I ask.

  “Yes.”

  I lift a brow. “I want it to go on record that I’m not happy about this.”

  “Noted,” he says. He exhales, lifting his glass of liquid stress reliever. “This will be a good change for you, Dalton. Think of it as a day off. You’ve been too focused on—”

  I hold up my hand. “I already know what you’re going to say. There’s no need to continue.”

  He takes a sip from his drink. “You know what the odds of her being alive are.”

  I clench my jaw.

  He sets his drink down. “You’ve got to move on from this eventually, Dalton. You don’t have a social life. You never date. You’re in your thirties and never even had a serious relationship.”

  “Why are you talking to me about this?” I ask.

  “Because I care about you. Look at what you’re missing out on.” He points to his pictures.

  He thinks I don’t know that. I realize how old I am, and I realize I’ve never had a serious relationship.

  I like it that way.

  I don’t need a man.

  I have a sleepover with Malcom down the hall from my apartment when we both need it. There are no strings, no feelings, just a good fuck, and he’s out and I’m in pj’s watching TV with some pasta and wine.

  Alone.

  My life is fine.

  “What about my other cases?” I ask, changing the subject.

  He narrows his eyes but lets me. “You can work on those on the side, but let this be your main focus. We need to shut this shit down.”

  “Yes, sir,” I reply, standing with the folder in my hand and head for the door.

  “Dalton,” he says. I twist back.

  “I didn’t mean to pry. I just…”

  “I get it. You care.” I shrug. He gives me a small smile and I head back to my desk.

  I plop down in my seat as I toss the folder down onto the desk.

  “What was that about?” Monroe asks.

  “New case,” I reply, unmotivated.

  He nods and looks back at his computer. I glance down at the folder, wishing it would light up in flames. I have no desire to do this case.