Criminal

by Henry, Jane

  He’ll show them he’s broken me and fuck if he hasn’t done just that. I’m no fearful wilting violet who’s been mindlessly fucked and subjugated into submission, like he’d have them believe. But he has stripped me down. I can’t resist his possession. I’ve never wanted to please a man in my life, but when he whispers in my ear, “That’s my girl. Just like that, baby,” my tears take on new meaning. I’m desperate for his approval. I yearn for his closeness. He’ll have them believe he’s stripped me of my will, but he hasn’t.

  My will is mine. And I want him. Every bit of his bossy, brutal devotion.

  I can see it now. When everything that’s right and normal is torn away, I can see clearly. I need someone as fierce and wild as I am, and on this knowledge, I soar into my release at the same time he roars his own.

  But we have a show. He doesn’t hold me and take care of me but pulls out of me and dresses himself.

  “You’ll stay there while I finish business,” he says, loud enough for them to hear. “Your bare ass on display to remind you to obey me.” But before he leaves, he swipes the damp hair off my forehead, leans down and whispers in my ear. “Stay strong, baby. We’re almost there.”

  And then he’s gone. I hear him talking to the men in the other room. I slump against the pole as I hear him talking to them. One of the men says, “See? That’s how you do it boys. That’s how you train a girl. O’Connell’s the fucking master.”

  Colt silences them with a growl and demands details on the next shipment. He’s got them right where he needs them. They respect and fear him.

  Do I?

  * * *

  The men finally leave. I hear the door close behind them and hear Colt’s footsteps approaching me. He doesn’t say anything at first, and when I dare to glimpse at his face, it almost breaks my heart. He looks tired. Pained. But when his eyes meet mine, they soften. He reaches for my cuffs and unfastens them, then takes my wrists between his fingers and massages the chafed skin. He lifts me up and my arms encircle his neck. I drop my head to his chest.

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper. “My head got away from me.” I can’t tell him what really made me snap, though. I can’t say it out loud. How do I tell him that what I really fear is that his devotion to me is just for show?

  “I punished you, Sonya,” he says, his voice both gentle and firm. “You paid your price, and we convinced them I’ve broken you. We put that behind us, now, and move on.” He’s walking me to the bathroom. “But don’t you ever do that again.”

  “I won’t,” I promise. “I hate that I’m so impulsive.”

  His lips curl up in a smile that makes me tighten my arms on his neck. “I can help you with that,” he says.

  “I bet you can,” I say. We’re in the bathroom now. He stands me on my feet and removes my clothes. I let him. It feels nice.

  “You can’t do that again,” he says, turning on the tub and testing the water. “Ever.”

  I nod. “I know.”

  “Today was one thing. I had to prove I trained you. Tomorrow, the stakes are much, much higher. Dangerously high.”

  “Yeah,” I say, my mind racing. What exactly will happen tomorrow? How will we play this? He points for me to get into the tub, then holds my hand to steady me as I lower myself into the warm water.

  “I won’t be able to show them I trained you. Either I’ve broken you and you obey, or they kill you and dispose of your body. There’s no training a woman at that stage. There is no second chance.”

  I swallow and nod. He unbuttons his shirt and takes it off, folds it, and tosses it into the laundry basket. He kneels in front of the tub, the white t-shirt stretched taut against his muscled chest and arms. Leaning in, he cups water in his hand and trickles it over my head. Massaging the fragrant shampoo in my hair, he washes it, washes my body, then rinses me off, and towels me off, all in silence. He’s a million miles away. I let him take care of me as I know now that he needs to do this. It’s part of who he is. It’s likely why he took on this role to begin with, and why he’s so adamant about my safety. He’s born to protect and nurture. It must destroy him to see the way these women are treated.

  He carries me to bed and dresses me, still in silence.

  “Is it hard for you?” I ask.

  He looks to me and frowns. “What?”

  “Seeing the way they treat women.”

  He scowls, and a pained look twists his face for just a split second before he masks it. “Fucking kills me,” he says.

  We don’t say much more. He feeds me, and I eat what he gives me. Both of us are thinking about what happens tomorrow. Both of us need to recover from what happened today. He makes some calls and I’m lost in a world of thought. I don’t berate myself for what I did. He says he forgives me, and we’ll move past that. I do go over every potential scenario in my mind and plan on how I’ll react. How I’ll deal. I mentally practice overcoming my anger and playing my part. I won’t ruin this operation. I won’t let him down.

  And when he climbs into bed beside me, he curls his body against mine as if we were created for this. In silence, I turn to face him and cup his face in my hand. He bends down and kisses me.

  “Go to sleep, Sonya,” he says. I close my eyes and try but my mind races, a million thoughts and fears keeping me awake.

  “I can feel you thinking,” he says.

  I laugh. “That’s impossible.”

  “It isn’t. I can practically hear your brain whirl.”

  I smile to myself. “Yeah?”

  “Yeah.” He squeezes my side. “What’s on your mind?”

  I shrug. “What if we can’t do it? What if they see through us?” The stakes are high. If they know who he really is, they’ll kill him. I’d rather die myself than see that happen.

  “We’ll do it,” he says. “I won’t allow anything else to happen.”

  It’s a lofty promise, and I wonder if he can really keep it. But I take it for what it is.

  “Trust me,” he says. But it isn’t him I don’t trust. It’s me.

  Chapter Twelve

  Colt

  We’ve almost got this asshole.

  My orders are clear. We take him down tomorrow. Having that shipment of women caught at the border gave us almost enough evidence to put him away. We got conspirators. We got witnesses. We got everything we need. Brava has less than twenty-four hours left as a free man. Tomorrow, a tactical team will descend on this place and everybody here will be taken in, including Sonya and I. Have to keep that veil of plausibility up in case I’m needed in the field later, though I have to admit to myself that I’m fast losing my appetite for this kind of work. It’s sick. Every day it gets a little harder not to kill every man I meet in this world. If I give into that temptation, I won’t be on the side of the law anymore. I’ll be one of the criminals I’m trying to take down, and I’ll be treated that way by the men and women I call my colleagues.

  I don’t sleep well. We have to stay in the basement tonight. Have to be on site for the operation tomorrow, have to keep up appearances for Brava and his crew. Sonya is holding up well. Maybe better than I am. This is her first real field assignment and I have to say I’m impressed with her fortitude. That fucking I gave her earlier settled her down enough to get some rest. While she sleeps, I lie awake through the night, holding her in my arms, listening to every little sound the house makes. God, I hate this place. This is a house of horrors, and nothing good happens to anyone who stays here too long.

  I’d sound paranoid if I said it out loud, but evil has a way of getting into your bones. I’ve been undercover for six months now. I’ve seen things, done things I never wanted to do or see. Sonya is like a lifeline to my real world, my real self. She’s evoked a protectiveness, and a goodness I was starting to think was leaving me forever. I cuddle her close and just enjoy having her soft body curled against mine so trusting. She feels safe with me. The gift of her trust is one I never want to squander.

  * * *

  Morning finally
comes. This exchange is happening relatively early, so there’s no time to lie in. I smack Sonya’s butt to wake her up and smile as she groans and wriggles around next to me, her curves so delicious I could take her all over again if I didn’t know the net was already closing.

  “It’s time?” She murmurs the question against my lips in a soft kiss which makes warmth well through my body. God, the things this girl does to me.

  “Mhm.”

  That’s all she needs to hear. She leaps up from bed, then realizes there’s not really anything to do except pull those clothes she looks so sinfully good in back on. They’re totally inappropriate, and if I see her in them or anything like them after we’re done here, she’ll be going over my knee, but I can appreciate the view for now.

  I get up too and get dressed. There’s time for coffee, so I grab some. None for Sonya. She doesn’t need it. She’s so keyed up for this operation, it’s hard to keep her calm. She’s dancing around me, tippy tapping those cute little feet of hers in eagerness to do something.

  “Do I need to spank you to settle you down?” I raise a brow at her as she shreds a piece of toast between her fingers and eats precisely none of it.

  “No! I’m just ready to actually, you know, get this fucking guy,” she whispers against my ear.

  “Uh huh. Calm down. Nothing is over until it’s over.”

  “He’s going away,” she hisses, confident. “He’s never going to hurt anyone ever again.”

  I hope that’s the case, but realistically, I’ve been in this position too many times to be excited about it. Guys like Brava get good lawyers, intimidate witnesses, and sweet talk parole boards. The only way Brava doesn’t ever hurt anyone again is if he’s dead. For some reason, guys like him don’t ever seem to get what they really deserve.

  A heavy bang at the door brings our conversation to an end. It’s go time.

  “Stay here,” I say. I don’t know why. There’s nowhere for her to go, and even if there was, we both know she’s not going anywhere until Brava goes down.

  I go to the door and open up. It’s Brava, steaming gently in the early morning cool just like the piece of shit he is. He spits and walks in, followed by the rest of his crew.

  “The back up girls here yet?”

  “Not yet. I’ll call for them now.”

  He grunts. I make the call.

  Brava and his goons settle in down in the basement. He says something to Sonya. I don’t hear it, but I see the expression of disgust on her face. To her credit, she keeps her mouth shut. Good girl. Today is not the day for mouthing off.

  Within minutes, six young women are led into the basement between two guys who Brava thinks are my thugs.

  Much like the guys, the “girls” in this sting aren’t captives. They’re agents. Brava and his guys are surrounded by law enforcement, and they have literally no idea. Now it’s just a matter of making the transaction, solidifying the case. They who sit at the top of the chain of command want to make sure this arrest is rock solid. There are hidden cameras on my guys and secreted around some of the girls as well. We’re going to have footage of Brava trying to buy women. That should make this as open and shut as any judge or jury would need it to be.

  “How much?” He looks at them critically. They’re all good-looking young women. None of them should have to be in a position like this, but this job is dirty and getting dirtier all the time.

  “Ten thousand each.”

  “They’re a bit old,” Brava sneers. “The price will have to come down for that.”

  “There’s not one of them over twenty-one.”

  “Bullshit. They’re starting menopause,” he cracks. “I want to see some tits. Get their tits out.”

  Brava’s an asshole, but he’s not usually this aggressive, or brazen. Something is wrong. It’s almost like he’s testing us. It might be working. If these girls were really mine, and if I were really a scumbag, I’d strip them down. But they’re all essentially colleagues, and that’s not on the agenda.

  “I’m not going to take their tops off for you, Brava. You’ll have to unwrap them later. After you buy them.”

  His eyes slide over to me. Something passes between us as his smile grows a little wider. “I don’t think I’m interested.”

  “No?” I try to keep my cool. If he doesn’t go through with this purchase, we might not be able to go through with the arrest.

  “Nah,” he says. “These don’t make up for the girls we lost. Tuna doesn’t make up for caviar. That’s what you got here. A whole lot of saggy tit tuna. Except for your girl. Sure you don’t want to sell her? I’ll pay fresh prices, even though she’s used.”

  He’s definitely trying to piss me off right now. I don’t fall for it. He’s up to something.

  “She’s not for sale to you, Brava. She’s worth a whole lot more than you can afford to pay.”

  “I bet she’s not. I bet there’s not a single one of these girls for sale.”

  “What the fuck are you talking about, Brava?”

  “I’m saying you fucked with the wrong guy, O’Connell.”

  I’m suddenly aware of something metallic and shiny in his hand. A gun? No. It’s not a gun. It’s a goddamn…

  BANG!

  Sound and smoke fill the basement as Brava’s flash bang grenade detonates far too close to my feet. The world is noise and confusion and pain. I can’t see. I can’t hear. It takes a good twenty, maybe thirty seconds before I realize that there’s gunfire.

  “Sonya!” I roar her name, run for the place I last saw her standing. I grope in the smoke, but I can’t find her. There’s screaming. There’s chaos. When the smoke clears only the wounded and the dying are left.

  Sonya is gone. And so is Brava.

  Time slows to a shocked crawl. Some of the girls need help. They’re terrified and crying and a couple of them are bleeding from shrapnel. Nobody on our side is too seriously harmed. Brava wasn’t trying to kill us. He was trying to take something. I help get the agents up the stairs and out of the basement. Sirens are going off. The cops we had on standby are coming in, far too late.

  Over the next minute or so, we’re swarmed by feds and cops, all arriving just that little bit too late to be of any use. I go back down to the basement, hoping that maybe, somehow, I missed Sonya. Maybe she’s hiding under the bed. Maybe she got into a cabinet. Maybe. Maybe. Maybe… no. I know she’s gone. I can feel her absence.

  I ball my fist and slam it into the wardrobe. The wood splinters, but it doesn’t make any difference. She’s gone.

  “Fuck, fucking hell, God fucking damnit!”

  Usually I only swear like this as part of my cover. Right now, it’s real. Brava got the jump on us somehow. He must have used counter-surveillance, or maybe someone tipped him off. Whatever it was, he took Sonya as revenge.

  I feel cold rage as my mind retroactively goes over everything he must have been doing right under my nose in order to get away with this. She was a distraction. I knew she was, but I let myself be distracted anyway and now he has her.

  I know Brava. I know what he’s going to do to her. I know he’s going to destroy her long before he kills her.

  Snarling, I look around. A few of Brava’s men are down. The female agents were armed. I’m guessing they were the ones who opened fire. They’ve killed a couple guys. But not all of them. One of the henchmen still looks conscious. I stride over and grab him, backhand him across the face.

  “Where is Brava taking her? Tell me!”

  The guy gurgles. Maybe he’s been shot too badly to answer questions. I don’t know, and I don’t fucking care. I’ll raise the dead and interrogate them if I have to.

  “Where. The hell. Is he taking her?!” I thunder the question down at the ashen faced man.

  “Quit that shit, O’Connell!”

  My boss yells my name. Damn. Somewhere in my rage addled mind, I register that this must be bad. I haven’t seen Rico in the field in years. His big, powerful frame has been locked behind
a desk for the better part of a decade. The man is built like a linebacker. He was one, in his day. College football star. All-American kind of guy with piercing blue eyes under a brow ridge you could use to crack nuts on. When I was a rookie, he was the guy who kicked my ass when it needed kicking. If he’s here, this must be a real clusterfuck.

  “They have her!”

  “Calm down,” Rico says, pulling me away from the gangster on the ground. Damon Rico is older than he was when he trained me, his once jet-black hair is touched with gray now, but he’s still strong enough to get through to me even in my focused rage. “You can’t beat the suspects.”

  “They have Agent Lee, you understand,” I growl. “I’ll torture whoever the hell I have to torture to get her back.”

  “You won’t do a thing,” Rico insists. He outranks me. I respect him. But right now, I’d go through him and anyone else I had to in order to get Sonya back. “Do I have to have you cuffed, O’Connell?”

  “No,” I say, taking a deep breath. I have to get myself together. She’s counting on me to do that.

  “We know he took her. We’ve got every spare cop in the city looking for her. We’ve got satellite footage to analyze. We’ll find her. And soon. Right now, I need answers from you.”

  “What? Why? What’s going on?”

  “Come with me.”

  I follow his order, and him. He leads me out of the basement and up into the house above. “Sit down, O’Connell.”