by Emma Cole
Except for the people here that were patrons, and those that were able to move freely, they really can't comply as they're mostly bound. And the patrons and guards have zero intent on being detained. The resulting pops of discharging firearms echo in the space, nearly deafening. The group in gear is being more discriminating on who they are firing at; the bastards on the other side not so much, using human shields as needed.
I assume the armored people are some type of law enforcement by their actions, but they don't have any discernible markings, and Rex and Emmett aren't trying to get their attention. No, Rex is busy freeing the nearest bound slaves along with Brent while still protecting our corner as best they can.
Robert, seemingly ignoring the threat in his fury, is still on a path to get to Apollo. His screaming obscenities can be heard over the cacophony of the melee. He flips his jacket aside as he strides forward, the dull black glint more than clear in the light.
Apollo, of course, wasn't allowed a firearm since he was part of the entertainment.
Revenge and the urge to flee war within me. Brade yells for Emmett to get me back while he and Brent try to help Rex. Marcus had been helping clean up after the burly guard who had passed out and is fighting to get closer to my, or probably Apollo's, position.
It's all happening so fast that it's hard to take everything in. Escape doesn't seem a current possibility, so standing my ground is what is happening. Ignoring Emmett and Braeden, I zero in on Robert, who remains oblivious to my intent. As soon as he gets within reach, my whip snaps out, coiling around his throat.
Being a good deal larger than me doesn't matter when I have surprise on my side. Twisting the length above the handle around my forearm I pull with both hands and feet planted, bringing him crashing down to the floor, unable to breathe or keep his grip on the gun he'd freed from its holster. It spins out of reach, and I take advantage of having the upper hand.
Shock registers on his face when he realizes what I've done. I start backing up to keep the coil taut, making Robert unable to get it loose.
Unfortunately, the invaders have different ideas about me ending the asshole. One of the helmeted bodies forcibly yanks the handle from me while another secures Robert’s hands with zip ties.
A cry escapes me as my hand is wrenched, earning the interlopers Braeden and Emmett’s immediate attention and ire.
While they're distracted, the guard that had caused me agony during the branding, also the one that still sports some yellowed bruises, decides to take his opportunity to get back at me. The impact of a fist to my cheek snaps my head back, pain blossoming immediately.
My disorientation allows them to cart me and a bound Robert off. Groggily, I hear a yell, then I'm dropped unceremoniously onto my bottom on the floor. I take in the scene, and even without it being directed towards me the sight is fearsome. Several more guards, more must have shown up from somewhere, and Apollo and Marcus are engaged in a full on brawl. My guys aren't taking any prisoners. The snap of a neck takes a moment to place until the body hits the floor, limp with eyes staring sightlessly.
I'm shocked to find that Braeden is the culprit. His eyes full of ice and determination, he forces his way to my side.
"You okay, Birdie?" He grips on to my forearms, pulling me to my feet.
I start to nod my head yes when the throbbing in my face reminds me not to make the motion. "Yes," I reply instead, cringing involuntarily. Braeden helps me further away from the fight, placing me behind a table.
The chaos is beginning to die down as the group in black gains control of the room’s occupants. Some people have obviously fled as there seems to be a good deal less than there had been.
One person that didn't escape is Robert, who is being handcuffed, right along with Apollo and Marcus and the other still conscious guards.
Looking around the room, I find Rex, Emmett, and Brent all sitting against a wall, hands bound in front of them in a line of others. Everyone is being secured and detained, it seems.
Braeden tenses as a gun toting armored person comes toward us, motioning for our hands. A second person in black has a handful of zip ties, and a tinny masculine voice coming from a speaker on the helmet directs us to hold our wrists out together, and we’re led to join the line on the wall
Mine aren't too tight, but I won't be easily slipping out of them either. I cause an issue when I try to check on Marcus who is now unconscious.
"Lark, he's fine. Just a tranq dart from a guard." Apollo is quick to reassure me when the demands for me to sit on the wall go unheeded, and tasers are brought out to force my compliance.
I relent, trusting Apollo to take care of him. I don't want Braeden, who is threatening to shove the taser up the man's ass, to get hurt.
The thought of Brade actually trying is rapidly becoming more amusing than I can handle, and a giggle escapes me. Clapping my bound hands to my mouth doesn't help, judging by range of expressions from the people that don't have helmets on. Peals of laughter sound out, slightly hysterical in manner.
"Fuck this." Brade, bound hands and all, tosses me over his shoulder, ignoring the group currently in charge to stalk to the wall.
I'm finally able to get myself under control. I bit my tongue on the way across the room, and the throbbing in my face has gotten my attention. Then I realize my warrior princess ass is on full display in the faux leather briefs I have on, and I'm really ready to get down.
Finally settled, I tip my head on Braeden's shoulder. "Sorry, I lost it there for a minute."
In reply, he rests his on top of mine. We've sat this way many times over the years. Well, minus the cuffs, among other things.
"No talking. And separate." The gruff command comes from one of the helmets.
Stifling an eye roll, I comply. Hopefully, they hurry up with whatever they're doing. I'm ready for regular clothes and to get away from this nightmare. My not-so-terrified attitude is also making me think that rat ass Marcus slipped me something despite my refusal. Or I'm in shock— that's probably more plausible.
Turns out they really are law enforcement, a joint special forces team sent in when Apollo called for help. The liaison that went MIA was found dead in his apartment, spurring the immediate action to bust in. While a few of the trafficking ring escaped, it's still a win to shut it down.
We're eventually all moved to the upper levels and separated into groups to be processed at an FBI facility in the area. Several hours, a never ending interview, and many hoops of procedure to deal with later, we're all in multi-person rooms with bunks for temporary holding, or, in the case of victims who’d been held for years or from out of the country, much longer. I don’t know what is happening with the guys as I haven’t been able to talk to them since the initial separation when we left the spa. I tried asking, but no one would give me any answers.
Chapter Twenty-Three
I Have Rights, Asshole
Waking after a fitful night’s rest, I'm arguing with my assigned doctor and nurse that I won't submit to more than a general exam. They're trying to insist on a full panel of bloodwork and a rape kit. I refuse, explaining I'd rather go to my own doctor after I get home.
"Miss Jones, it's protocol in this situation to perform a full battery of tests." The middle-aged pleasant looking female doctor is losing patience after being called in by the nursing staff when I declined— repeatedly— to get into a gown or let them draw blood.
"I don't give a rat’s ass what your protocol is. I'm an American citizen with rights. One of those rights is to make my own medical decisions unless I've been deemed incompetent by a judge. If you don't have the document stating that, then I suggest you discharge me."
The doctor walks out, trailed by the nurse, lips pursed in disapproval.
I take the chance to walk out and find someone in charge that can tell me exactly why I'm not being let go. I'm a goddamned victim not a fucking criminal. Which is what I scream at the guard who tries to block me from leaving the medical facility— right bef
ore I cold-cock him and drop him on his ass for touching me.
“Well, I guess it was true when I was told you're a scrappy little hellcat that can hold her own." I whirl at the masculine voice behind me, prepared to further defend myself if necessary. "I come in peace— but please tell me it's true you actually threw batteries and smacked folks around with a whip. The reports coming across my desk are gruesome, and your shenanigans have at least been some comic relief in the sad story that is the Vitti empire.
Done with Mr. Suave and Disarming— who apparently knows a lot more about me than I do him— I carefully edge my way until my back is against the hallway wall, and I don't have to take my eyes off him or the dazed guard.
"I'd say it's nice to meet you, except it's not, and you haven't bothered to introduce yourself. Kindly, go fuck yourself— I'm leaving."
Mr. Suave chuckles, but his joviality isn't hiding the shrewdness in his dark eyes. His salt and pepper hair and slight paunch won't make me hesitate to smack him if he touches me. I've had enough of being touched.
"Please, excuse my rudeness, I'm Assistant Director Chappel of the FBI, ma'am. If I could just take a moment of your time to get a signature, I can get you on your way real quick like." He aims what he probably thinks is a disarming smile at me.
Fuck you, buddy.
"If it's all the same to you, I'd rather not. Feel free to mail it and I'll return it. Buh-bye now." It's unsurprising when I don't get very far, but hey, it was worth a shot.
He finally drops the good ole' boy routine, letting some steel enter his tone. "Miss Jones, I'm going to have to insist. If you'd please accompany me. Or I can call for assistance as you're obviously still under some strain. Maybe a sedative and some more rest would be beneficial—"
I cut him off. "You son of a bitch. I fucking dare you. I'll have your ass slapped with lawsuits from now until the next decade, and it's self-defense if I damage any of your 'personnel'. Get me someone I know. Preferably, three someones, and I'm sure you can figure out who they are considering you're the big man on campus." I take a breath and continue my tirade. "Not one person has bothered to give me any information. Not even the fucking date. I was kept in captivity with a very loose sense of time. I'd imagine it's a weekday with all the personnel swarming over this place, except it's got to be the bust of your career, and I'm sure it's all hands on deck."
I'm unsure what exactly my rights are in this situation, but they can't just hold me indefinitely while treating me like a damn criminal lab rat.
Seeming to relent, the man reaches for a radio clipped to a belt under his jacket. "Get me Agents Baelor and Lancer in my office immediately, please. Oh, and send someone to assist the guard at the East exit in the medical ward." A voice responds in the affirmative, and the Assistant Director clips the radio back in its place. Offering his arm with a "Walk with me?" he waits expectantly.
I decline the arm but walk toward him until we're even with as much of the hall between us as I can get. I follow him down the corridor and past the nurses’ station where the disapproving doctor and nurse stand watching with matching lemon sucking expressions. Bet the bitches tattled on me. I flip them off before we pass through the double doors into another corridor.
"Well, now, that wasn't polite."
"You really going tell me they didn't report me for being uncooperative?" His non answer is all I need for confirmation. "Thought so."
***
After a few more turns through cloned hallways, we finally stop at a door. Upon entering, I find myself in a reception room with Rex and Emmett standing at the secretary's desk. Emmett is watching the door while Rex appears to be chatting up the secretary.
Before the Assistant Director can stop me, I launch myself at Emmett. His arms are open before I even make it to him, and he scoops me up in a bear hug.
"Fuck, hellcat. They said you were okay, but it's good to see you in the flesh." I don't get a chance to ask for an explanation since the Assistant Director demands us to separate.
"Agent Lancer, if you would please remove yourself from Miss Jones, it would be much appreciated." Phrased prettily but not really a request.
Emmett reluctantly lets me go, and I move back to keep the empty corner of the room behind me. I ask my next question— well, demand is more like it.
"Where's Braeden?" Rex looks guilty. So does Emmett. I panic and yell at the Assistant Director, "Where the fuck is he?"
"Lark, baby, calm—"
"Miss Jones, in my office." Rex and his apparent boss speak at the same time.
I stomp past them and the wide-eyed secretary at the desk to push my way into a room through the only other door available. I ignore the decor besides the fact that it has a window, chairs, and a desk. Whirling to wait impatiently, I stand with my back against the window.
The men don't dawdle, but they're not moving fast enough to suit my panic. Thankfully, the AD doesn't make me wait long.
"Miss Jones, would you like a seat?" I shake my head no and he continues. "Braeden Bancroft was released to go home this morning. He put up a fuss about waiting on you, but as we are overtaxed at the moment, we had to insist he do his waiting at home. Agents Baelor and Lancer have been busy themselves with debriefing and routine medical tests. The same tests you just refused, and we still have your debriefing to handle."
I don't understand. Not a fucking bit of it. If the guys were obviously taken care of last night and at the butt crack of dawn, why am I still here? I voice my concerns out loud, earning surreptitious glances from them that don't include me.
"Fucking spit it out. I'm sick of this shit. I haven't done anything wrong, and you're keeping me here."
I'm apparently wearing on the AD's patience. "Miss Jones, I'm going to have to insist that you calm down."
Rex agrees with him— the dick— while Emmett looks torn and confused as well. I just want someone to explain things.
"Miss Jones, I'm going to bring in an agent to record your statement and female Special Agent Medic to catalogue any physical records."
The brand. Son of a bitch. That's what the nosey ass females wanted earlier.
I'm evidence.
The AD steps out to speak with his secretary, giving me a chance to talk to the men I'm really having some trust issues with at the moment.
"What the hell, Rex? Why am I getting the special treatment? It's as straightforward as you two and Brade. Or isn't it?"
"Lark, I'm sorry, but I'm not at liberty to discuss an ongoing investigation." His expression is shuttered, and I feel the last corner of my heart that held affection for him crumble with his words.
"You knew— you fucking knew this would happen, didn't you?" He doesn't answer, and Emmett looks pained. "Fuck you, both. You let this happen. This is your fault, Rex! Get. Out. I don't want to see either of you again." I'm so raw emotionally it's taking everything I have not to collapse in a blubbering heap.
"Lark, please—" Emmett beseeches me.
I turn my back on them, waiting until I hear the door open and close again. Sinking into one of the chairs, I sit until a knock precedes the door opening.
"Miss Jones, if you could come with me, please," a dark haired man close to my age with a crossbody bag on beckons from the open doorway.
I get up from the chair, moving in a fog of surreality to the reception room. To find the AD speaking in hushed tones with Emmett, and Rex leaning over the desk chatting up the secretary. Rex and the woman look up as I pass in time to catch my scathing glare.
Like his dick hasn't had enough action for a month at least.
Emmett doesn't even attempt to look at me. I put my head down and follow the agent down the hall to a conference room and settle into a chair at the table.
He introduces himself, but I'm not really paying attention. I'm just done at this point. I do vaguely hear him say he's going to record the session, and he asks me to sign paperwork to that effect. I try to decline signing anything as I'm in no condition to be doing so, but I get the spie
l about being stuck here until I comply.
While I'm attempting to explain I'm not randomly signing anything, a woman comes in the room carrying a large case. She lays it out on the other end of the table and begins taking equipment out. A camera, blood draw supplies, a gown and blue chuck pads, and the list goes on. She goes to a door at the other end of the room I hadn't noticed when I came in. She comes back out and disappears into the hall.
The agent is trying to direct my attention back to the papers he wants me to sign when some intuition is telling me to go investigate what's behind that open door.
Despite the man's protests, I get up and walk over to it. It's nearly deja vu. An exam table— complete with stirrups folded in their little cubbies— sits in the middle of the room. Horror overtakes me as I retreat back into the conference room. The woman has returned, carrying another case.
Intent on her mission, she grabs a few of the supplies off the table and enters the room I can still see into. She sets the case on a counter and repeats the laying out of items onto a surgical tray. The usual things needed for a full female exam.
Fuck. This.
I grab the papers off the table and start skimming past all the legal mumbo-jumbo crap. On the second page I find what I'm looking for. Consent to a full debriefing and subsequent physical examination. I jerk my head up to glare at the agent.
"Do you know what these papers say? Of course, you do. And you're sitting here trying to badger me into signing them. Go fuck yourself.” I rip the packet into quarters despite both personnel protesting.
I dart out the door and go back to the hall I think I remember the AD's office being in. I find the plaque and storm in right past the surprised secretary and into the AD's room.
Rex and Emmett. Hadn't counted on them still being here.