by Skye Warren
Water rushed in a soothing rhythm. His golden skin would glisten. His hands would roam over himself, soapy and brisk. He would clean that lovely cock, wash our scent from the roll of skin. I wanted to taste him freshly washed. To feel the satiny head of his cock against my tongue, tasteless and wet. It would be a morning gift to him and to myself. I pressed my face against his pillow and breathed in deep. Musk. Man. And so familiar. Only one night and I could scent him like an animal. Like a mate.
I slipped from the bed, feeling twinges from my body. I felt deliciously sore, aching in the places well-used and throbbing for more in another. I padded across the thin carpet to the bathroom door and stopped.
Humming.
That was what I noticed first, the humming from inside. I thought it was sweet and endearing. Then why did my blood chill? But it did. I tried to place the song but my mind eluded me, running away before I could be sure. You don’t want to know, it promised. But too late, too late I realized what it was. The haunting refrains of La Bohème. A chill raced over my bare skin.
I stood outside the door clutching my stomach. It had to be a coincidence. A famous classical opera with iconic music. Anyone could know the piece. Anyone could hum in the shower, without realizing it would trigger hateful memories. Though did I really hate what had happened to me? Or did I just think that was the right response? Always pretending, always lying, so much I hardly knew which way was up.
Remembrance sliced through my wounds. The pain of the whip. The humiliation of being fucked with leather and with glass.
The hopelessness of being captive to a stranger.
Except he hadn’t been a stranger, had he? A laugh escaped me, and it sounded maniacal. Last night, Hennessey had flicked at my clit in time with the music. It had soothed me, so much warmer than when the leather flogger had done the same. Except how had Hennessey known to do it? He’d kissed the soles of my feet, except they’d had no bruises in the hospital. I’d never shared that detail in the debriefings afterward. So how had he known I’d been hurt there?
Because he is Carlos.
No. That’s crazy. You’re crazy, I told myself. But the truth of the statement remained. I knew it because he sang La Bohème in the shower. I knew it because he made love to me with his mouth the same way he’d once done with leather. And most of all, I knew it because I recognized the darkness in him. I’d always feared that part of him, from that first interview in prison when I’d suspected Hennessey was capable of worse things than I knew. Had I known all along? Had I suspected?
I wasn’t sure, but I knew now. I felt scared, suddenly. I felt cold, deep inside. I felt as hollow as a drum, and he just beat and beat and beat me.
The room closed in on me, shrinking. I dressed quickly. Easy, considering all I had were my heels and a trench coat. My hair and face were a mess, but I couldn’t care about that. Outside the hotel room door, I walked quickly to my car, half expecting Hennessey to come running out, demanding to know where I was going. Or would it be Carlos who emerged from the shower, ready to take over where the kinder man had left off? Dr. Jekyll. Mr. Hyde. They could both go fuck themselves.
At home, I ran straight to the bathroom and threw up. There wasn’t much in my stomach, thank God. Foamy residue floated on top of the toilet water. My stomach heaved again, and I gagged, open-mouthed and dry over the seat. I slumped against the wall with my eyes closed.
My mouth was dry and acidic, but I could still taste the fear. Harsh. Bitter. A sickening sense of inevitability sank in my stomach. It was like I’d always been reaching toward this moment. As if I’d always end up here, facing the same dilemma that had haunted me my whole life.
Should I tell on my father? Which was more important, the lives of strangers or the life of the only person in the world who gave a shit about me? Selfish. I’d been selfish and at eight years old, maybe that was excusable. And now? The same choice. Carlos deserved to be behind bars. He deserved the death penalty, not only for punishment of past deeds, but to protect any people he might hurt in the future. But Hennessey was the only man I’d ever wanted a future with. The only man who might see me, underneath the hopeful façade and to the darkness beneath, and still want me.
I could hear the clock ticking down the minutes in my head, a barely breathing time bomb. I’d have to decide soon. My meeting with Brody was today. That was the time to tell him. I couldn’t wait and see Hennessey again. My expression would give me away, and then he’d have to…what? Would he kill me for figuring out his secret? He’d have to, to keep himself safe. It would be self-defense for him.
Self-defense? My laugh came out rough, my throat still raw. I could rationalize anything, even my own murder. It was a twisted sort of love, but it was the only kind I knew.
People professed that their love was unconditional, but it wasn’t really. What if someone did something awful? Like murder or rape or organizing major weapons deals across nations? The love would end. I didn’t really know him, they would say, as if that excused their inconstancy. I couldn’t do that. I loved with my entire body, with my whole black heart. I’d never stopped loving my father, even though he’d hurt me, even though he’d stopped hurting me. Even while he sat rotting in prison, hating me, I loved him like the innocent little girl I’d never really been.
I loved Hennessey. I feared Carlos. They twined together like thin strands of metal, a perverse braid, twisted and unbreakable.
I couldn’t stop loving him even knowing what he was capable of. I could still turn him in. That was within my capability. But I’d hate myself for it. What else was new? The shower burned my skin, taking off chunks and swirling down the drain. The bruises on my body were no longer deep enough, wide enough for the indecision I felt inside.
After I dressed I headed to the Bureau for my meeting with Brody. That was the safest place for me anyway. The last thing I wanted was to be caught here by Carlos. Or worse, by one of his associates. He must know I suspected after leaving the hotel without saying goodbye. He must have known I’d figure it out, even if he had looked different. How had he done it? A disguise? It must be, but then I’d already known he was a master of them. I remembered the spread of grainy security camera shots with different clothes, different hairstyles.
He was a chameleon. Changing his hair color, his eye color had been child’s play. His face structure had been different, the cheeks fuller and the forehead higher, but there were techniques people used to change those, fillers that went inside the mouth and cosmetic putty. These were things we learned at Quantico to help us detect disguises—and to help us go undercover.
Carlos.
I shook my head, not believing. Maybe I was imagining things. God, please let me be imagining things. I wouldn’t mind going crazy if it meant I didn’t have to face this choice again. This betrayal. Except I wasn’t the one being betrayed. I was the one doing it, and that hurt so much worse.
I trust you, Hennessey had said last night. And he did, so much it tore me up inside. He didn’t have to show me that side of him. He could have dated me as himself, had sex with me as himself. He even could have whipped me as himself, if he’d just told me he was into that BDSM shit. I would’ve done it.
But he’d wanted to show me the real side of him, the dark side. Just like I’d done for him last night. Something far more intimate than sexual intercourse. We’d told each other the truth. Oh, it had been tentative and framed with doubt, but we’d done it. We’d each offered up ourselves, our true selves, and he’d accepted me completely. He trusted me, and in repayment, I was going to walk into the Bureau and turn him in to my boss.
People would call me strong and smart. I might even get a commendation out of it. A promotion, a raise. So fucking brave they’d have to reward me. But I’d know the truth. It took more strength to stand beside someone you loved, even when they were wrong.
Especially when they were wrong.
The building bustled with its own nervous energy, expanding and shrinking like the bellow of a ro
ugh breath. The building heaved with inanimate panic. I crossed the marble floor with its scales of justice, feeling a sense of unreality. Of disbelief. They said justice was blind. They were right.
I nodded at a few agents I knew, gritting my teeth against the urge to scream. To cry. To ask for help. How many of them were on some drug lord’s payroll? I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from screaming.
Laguardia had done more than hire an inside guy. He’d been the inside guy.
He’d made a fool of all of us. Me. Lance. Brody.
God. Brody. Would I tell him? I had to tell him. For anyone else, that was the easy answer. But I’d already sold out someone I cared about, and it hadn’t worked out so well. Not for him and not for me. I wouldn’t be tossed into the foster care system like garbage this time around. Wouldn’t lose my childhood to overworked social workers and rats running in the space between the walls. No, this time around, I’d probably lose my life. With Carlos’s wide-flung network and cold-blooded reputation, I would pay for this betrayal with my life.
“Coward,” I muttered under my breath.
The irony was Brody might not even believe me, but I had to try. I owed that to the Bureau, didn’t I? If not that, then I owed it to the men and women who might be hurt if I said nothing. People Carlos might hurt.
I headed straight for Brody’s office, on a mission. Praying I could do this. Needing to stay silent. It was like flipping a coin into the air and finding out which side you wanted it to land on. Heads, and you finally, finally found someone in the world who understood you. Who accepted you. Tails, and you were responsible for his execution. Fuck.
“Sam?”
I didn’t have time for Lance. I waved, trying to put him off. He refused.
“I need to talk to you,” he said urgently.
“I have a meeting with Brody.” My voice sounded unnatural. Flat. Was this really me?
Dissociation. Another fancy term the textbooks were fond of using. But one thing I’d figured out about labels early on: naming something didn’t actually help you fix it. That was really all psychology was. It catalogued mental diseases, made neat little charts with symptoms and checkboxes. It couldn’t cure a damn thing—least of all me.
Lance touched my elbow. “Please. It’s about Hennessey.”
That got my attention. “What about him?”
He cocked his head toward a corner, and I followed him there, feeling numb and unafraid. The worst thing had already happened. Nothing else could faze me. At least, that was what I thought until he spoke.
“Hennessey is in trouble.”
I narrowed my eyes. “What kind of trouble?”
Lance wouldn’t meet my eyes.
“Shit. What did you do?”
He flushed. “I started digging, that’s all. I wanted to know more about him. Make sure everything was on the up-and-up.”
Oh God. Everything wasn’t on the up-and-up. Had Lance figured that out as well? That would save me from having to tell Brody. But I found, inexplicably, that the idea of Hennessey being caught horrified me. Carlos was one thing, an abstract evil who’d done everything in his power to maintain that image. But Hennessey was a real person. A man. And I loved him.
How was it possible? I didn’t know. How was it possible to kill and rape and steal and do a thousand other illegal things that Carlos had done? I didn’t have the answer to that either, but despite all that, because of all that, the biggest travesty still seemed to be loving a madman.
Lance was going on about the timetables lining up, and I cringed, knowing what was coming.
“So look. I’m really sorry, but there’s some pretty strong evidence that he’s been in Carlos’s pocket the whole time. Helping him evade arrest. Maybe even helping him kidnap you.”
He didn’t know. He thought Hennessey was just helping Carlos, which was pretty reasonable if he found some evidence linking them. He wouldn’t know they were the same man, though. We didn’t have enough surveillance to be sure of that. There were only grainy pictures that might or might not be him. Most of the people who had done business with him and seen him in person were dead now.
Except Mia.
No wonder he hadn’t wanted to go question her. It wasn’t because she wouldn’t have anything useful to say. It was because she’d know. She would recognize him.
“What evidence?” I asked Lance, stalling for time. Would I tell Brody what I knew? Combined with whatever Lance had already found, it would almost surely be enough for an arrest. And a search warrant, which might uncover the truth. Even as an accomplice, he was looking at serious jail time.
“Hennessey tipped him off about the raid. Both times, probably. But the second one we know for sure.”
“How?” Panic began a steady thrum in my chest.
He glanced toward the hallway and Brody’s office, but it was empty. His eyes filled with anxiety. “I’m not even supposed to be telling you this, but he’s going to be in that meeting with you and Brody. That’s when it’s going to come out. They’re going to pull guys in, in case he tries to flee. But it might get dicey. I didn’t want you walking in blind.”
Oh Jesus. “I appreciate you cluing me in, but you’re accusing my partner of flipping on us. On me. I need to hear exactly what proof you have, and I need to know it now.”
“Brody had me pull the cell tower records for the call you made while you were…”
“Kidnapped,” I said flatly.
“Right. The phone was a throwaway, of course, but we wanted to see if anyone else had called that number, maybe get lucky with a lead. There was only one number that had called. Repeatedly. Another throwaway, but when we called it last night…” Oh God. I remembered hearing the phone ring. I remembered him ignoring it. “We were able to locate the cell tower it was closest to. The one right next to Hennessey’s hotel. I had the address because I’d looked it up for you.” He cringed, looking guilty. “I showed it to Brody this morning. He basically shit himself, and he’s been on the rampage ever since. It’s going to be bad.”
Bad didn’t begin to cover it.
“It could be someone else,” I said lamely, but what were the odds that some other accomplice of Carlos was living in the same hotel? None at all. Besides, they would search him and find the phone. Further investigation might crack open the truth, that he was Carlos instead of just a man helping him.
Why was I so terrified? This solved my dilemma. Now Hennessey could go to jail, or worse, and I wouldn’t have a hand in it. Not really.
Except that I had led Lance to him. Despite his dislike of the man, Lance never would have looked up where Hennessey was staying if I hadn’t asked him to. When he’d seen the area pull up in the cell records—Montrose, not an area normally known for organized crime—he’d made the connection. Fuck. I’d already committed my betrayal last night, and I hadn’t even known the truth at the time. My pulse beat heavily, marking an uneven pattern. I didn’t want them to nail Hennessey. But it was out of my hands now.
The world rippled around me, underwater and surreal. Ignoring Lance’s questions, I walked to Brody’s office for my meeting. It didn’t feel real. I wished it weren’t. The beige hallway and the tightly woven carpet. The cluttered desk, as if this were just another day in the life of Special Agent Brody. As if he wasn’t about to make the arrest of his career. He was the one who’d get a commendation now. A promotion, a raise. He greeted me with grave eyes that hinted at concern.
“Samantha,” he said, more warmly than I’d ever heard him. “Are you sure you’re up for this?”
As if you care, I wanted to yell. He was throwing me into the middle of a gunfight just so he could make his arrest, but he was concerned for me. What bullshit. “I’ll be okay,” I said.
He smiled. “Good. Just a little bit longer. Then it will all be over.”
Asshole.
I sat down in the corner, my body still while my mind raced. What the hell was I going to do? Like staring at a train speeding toward me with only
enough time to save myself. And leave the person I loved standing in the tracks. Could I do it? I had to.
If things did go badly, it would get violent. I wasn’t carrying. My weapon hadn’t been returned to me since my kidnapping. That was part of what would happen at the meeting today. But I realized now that would never have happened. Even without this impending arrest, he’d been planning to dismiss me. Honorably, of course. No doubt the staff psychologist would find a way to spin it for him. PTSD or some other bullshit. As if anyone could see the things we saw, could do the things we were paid to do and not get fucked up.
Anyway, I couldn’t imagine Hennessey going quietly. He might protest the accusations, but if the evidence were compelling enough…if he knew he might get caught, his true identity exposed…he’d fight to get out.
Of course he would.
It would be self-defense.
I could rationalize anything, even a shoot up of my workplace. Unconditional love. But at least I wasn’t lying anymore. Silently, hopelessly, I told myself the truth. I loved both sides of him, the fierce man and the broken monster.
Hennessey knew something was wrong the second he entered the room. He hadn’t been expecting me in this meeting with Brody. He’d thought we’d be meeting separately, I could tell by the surprise he masked quickly, but that wasn’t the real problem. Instead, he felt the tension in the air, scented it like an animal. I could see the options running through his brain as he took in Brody’s expression and mine. Could see him lean toward the door and calculate his odds of making it out of an FBI office alive. Not likely. If he ran, they’d know he was guilty. That wasn’t an FBI directive; it was just animal instinct. Run and the predators would come after you, mindless in their violence.
He sat down, greeting us both. “Brody. Holmes.”
