Criminal

by Henry, Jane

  This is driving me insane. Every second I sit here is another second Brava has Sonya. I should be out there. I should be hitting every safe house I know he has. I should be finding his guys and making them tell me what they know. Someone will know where she is. And I’m in the mood to do basically anything to make them talk.

  “I need to get out there. I need to join the search.”

  “You need to stay here and debrief. We’ll find her.”

  “I’ll find her,” I say, standing up. “Then I’ll answer whatever questions you have.”

  “Sit down, O’Connell,” he repeats. “You’re out of control. This isn’t like you. Attacking wounded men? Get yourself together.”

  I am together. Perfectly together. I just don’t care what happens outside this.

  I don’t care if I get fired. I don’t care if I never work again. I don’t even care if I die, just as long as I get her back from Brava. Rico doesn’t understand, and I don’t have time to make him understand. I head for the door.

  “Last warning, O’Connell.”

  I don’t listen, until 50,000 volts shoots through my back.

  I collapse, writhing, juddering onto the ground, letting out groaned curse words. He fucking tased me. What the hell? I can’t believe this shit.

  Rico stands over me. “I don’t know what the hell has gotten into you, O’Connell, but we have protocol here. And…”

  He trails off as I get up. Being tased is bad, but you can overcome it if you really want to. Drugs and adrenaline are both pretty powerful antidotes.

  “I will do it again, O’Connell! Sit the hell down, boy.”

  Boy. He hasn’t called me that for a good decade. I learned basically everything I know about being an agent from Rico. He was one of the very best in his day. I respect him more than anyone. But I’m not going to let him stop me from getting Sonya back.

  “I have to go and get her. Brava has her. He’ll take her apart. You know what he’ll do.” I’m slurring my words and walking funny, but it doesn’t matter.

  Rico puts a hand to my shoulder and shoves me back into a chair. “I have fifteen men looking for her. We’ll find her. What I want out of you, is answers. This operation has been going sideways the last three days. I want to know why.”

  I can’t explain that. “I don’t know.”

  Rico looks me up and down.

  “Oh shit, O’Connell,” he exclaims suddenly. “What the hell happened to you?” He turns around and shouts out the door. “Can we get medical in here? Now!”

  I look down where he looked before he flipped. There is a barbecue taking place. On my shins. Well, hell. The hair and the skin has been charred like someone forgot me on the grill. It smells like, well, actually, smells pretty good if you don’t think about what it is.

  The medics come and make noises over my legs. Sure enough, they’re burned pretty bad. Bad enough that I didn’t really feel the burn right away. Those grenades put out enough heat and power to kill a man if they hit close enough. The medics tell me I’m lucky. I’m not lucky. I’m fucking cursed, and if I don’t get Sonya back, I’ll never forgive myself.

  “Just put a bandage on,” I say. “I’m going out to find her.”

  “You’re going to the goddamn hospital,” Rico snarls.

  That’s when things get really messy. I am not going to the hospital. If I do that, she’s as good as dead. I try to get up to leave. Rico pushes me down and calls for backup. An untold number of agents come to his aid. I try to fight them, but the odds of one charred agent against the might of the FBI are not good.

  The last thing I feel is a sharp prick as they shoot me full of sedative. I try to fight the drug, but I can’t. It reaches up, wraps around me and pulls me down into the darkness I am suddenly more afraid of than anything.

  I lose consciousness with her name on my lips.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Sonya

  I’m semi-conscious but awake enough to know that I’m in so much damn pain. My head pounds so hard my stomach rolls with nausea, and a line of red-hot pain flares down both my legs. What happened? Where am I? It takes me a minute to remember what happened, but I push through the fog and piece it all together. Brava. Colt. An explosion. Then my memory clicks into place and my heart sinks.

  Brava. He knew who I was. And fuck it, he knew who Colt was. Colt! I need to find him. I need to make sure he’s okay. If Brava knew his cover, Colt’s dead.

  I’ve at least got the wherewithal not to move or open my eyes, so I can figure out where the hell I am. It’s chilly, for one, and uncomfortable. There’s something flat and cold against my back and ass, and my arms are painfully secured behind me. I decide I’m going to pretend to be unconscious as long as I can, but when a high-pitched scream fills the air, I involuntarily jump. Someone’s hurting someone else, and my need to make it stop makes me oblivious to the pain I’m in myself. I need to stop it.

  A dark chuckle so close to me it’s practically in my ear makes my eyelids fly open. At first, panic floods through me because I think I’ve been somehow blinded. Even with my lids wide open, there’s nothing but pitch black around me and I open my mouth in a silent scream, but then someone flicks a light on way a good deal away, and where I sit is cast into dark shadows. I recognize the silhouette with the thin, greasy hair, and I know the reedy, ruthless laugh all too well.

  Brava sits beside me in a chair, his hands clasped behind his head as he leans back, as if he’s about to watch a football game.

  “Scared you there, agent? Did I?” I don’t respond. I don’t know what his endgame is, so I need to be cautious. With my arms restrained behind me I can’t block any blows, or defend myself in any way, so I have to be sure I don’t provoke him. I look at him as my eyes adjust to the darkness around us, and shiver with cold. I cast my eyes around the dim room and realize it’s like a sort of cell. I’m in a prison of sorts, complete with bars caging me in, and Brava’s sitting next to me.

  “Looking for your boyfriend?” he asks in a sing-song voice.

  “He’s not my boyfriend,” I say through clenched teeth. The denial is useless, but I can’t help the need to put Brava off Colt’s case in whatever way I can.

  Brava shakes his head. “You think I’m stupid,” he says, his voice taking on an edge that makes my skin crawl. “Just like O’Connell. As if I wouldn’t see the writing on the wall. No man that works for me touches a woman the way O’Connell touched you. He broke a man’s hand because he touched you. He punished you and fucked you as show, but it wasn’t to break you. He did it like the fucking alpha of the jungle he thinks he is. To prove you’re his.”

  Even in the dark and in my hopeless position, his words ring true and inspire a glimmer of hope. His. I’m his. And I have literally no idea how I’ll get out of here or how I’ll save Colt, but I know that he’ll stop at nothing to find me. I don’t want him to save me. But I want my partner by my side.

  Another scream rips through the cold. The feeling of being helpless makes me angry, and I let myself imagine what it would be like to hurt Brava, but I can’t lose my focus. The sound of flesh hitting flesh, met with muffled cries fills the air. He’s taken me to a holding cell, and I suspect we’re here, along with women they plan on selling, and this is where they take them. The basement where Colt trained me seems like a paradise compared to this dismal, filthy place, but I’m smart enough to know why and how this works. They bring them here, beat them, rape them, and let them feel hopeless in the cold and darkness. Bringing them to a place like where Colt brought me gives them false hope, and the traffickers can ratchet down their methods and break them.

  Fucking. Sick.

  I don’t respond to Brava, and it seems he doesn’t like that. “Don’t believe me?” Brava asks me, turning to face me with a deadly calm that chills me. “Let’s see how long it takes your boyfriend to put on his cape and fly to your rescue. Neutralize his superior and unfasten his bonds.” A slow, wicked grin spreads across his face. “That’s, r
ight. Yes. Just enough rope to hang himself.” He hangs up the phone and swings his frigid gaze to me.

  He’s baiting him. If Colt responds to this, he’ll walk right into a trap. How far does Brava’s tyranny reign? And then the power Brava holds over me really sinks in. He not only has me prisoner but has control over the one person who could save me.

  “It’s almost too easy,” he says with mocking regret. “It’s too bad, really. I like a good, hard fight, and you two are making this child’s play.”

  I tense when he draws near. He spins his phone in his hand and props it up with a kickstand, then pushes a button. He stands and sets the phone on a chair.

  “Come on, princess,” he says in a mock drawl. “Showtime. Let’s show your boyfriend what he’s missing.” His phone is recording.

  Fuck.

  He’s going to taunt Colt. I can’t cave. I won’t let myself be used as bait. Brava stands over me and grips my head with his hands.

  “Hmm,” he says with sickening cruelty. “Haven’t fucked a girl’s mouth in a really long time. You fuck her mouth, O’ Connell? It’s a beautiful little mouth.” Nausea wars with fury and my body literally trembles with the need to hurt him. I’m not scared of him assaulting me. I want him near me so I can do whatever I can to draw blood. The bastard humps his clothed crotch against my cheek and I give him a grin, baring my teeth. It’s not what he expects. He releases my hair, but then it’s as if he realizes I just fucked with him. He clenches his jaw, rears back, and slaps my face. “See that, O’Connell? Nothing like a blow job when the girl’s got a fucking bloody lip.”

  I grin at him again. “Go ahead,” I tell him, even though the thought of him unzipping his zipper makes me want to vomit. “Do it. Too much of a wimp? Too scared that when Colt gets his hands on you, he’ll murder you?” I let my voice drop to a dare and growl, “Fucking do it.” Someone screams again outside the cell, and my senses heighten. My mind whirls with what I need to do. I need to free my hands and get a weapon.

  “You’re a fucking bitch,” Brava says. He shoves me over and I fall, my head cracking against the concrete floor. He comes near and I kick out, catching him in the shin. I won’t go down without a fight. He kneels over me and both his hands come to my neck. I can’t breathe and can’t push him off as my arms are restrained. I writhe and try to move him, but it does no good. He makes a strategic error, though, when he moves his hand. I whip my head around and catch his finger, biting hard and fast until I taste blood. He howls with rage and punches my jaw. It hurts, but I ride that pain, allowing the adrenaline to flood my senses and empower me. I won’t be held back. I shove my body up and he rocks back but then he slaps me again and I’m momentarily subdued.

  Brava takes out a knife from a holster on his hip. “I’ll teach her to watch her tongue, O’Connell. I’ll cut the tongue out of her fucking mouth.” He leans over me and I see the gleam of metal.

  There’s a sound down the hall, shouts and gun shots ring out. Brava freezes, listening. I use the opportunity to rock my hips and set him off kilter. As soon as he wobbles a little, I push with everything I have until he goes sprawling. He comes at me with the knife but there’s the sound of footsteps pounding in the hall and then Brava’s lifted straight off me. I see Colt’s furious, angry face for a split second before he goes into action. He grabs Brava by the neck and slams him back. I can’t look, can’t watch as Brava regains his strength and hits Colt so hard his head snaps back. But Colt’s stronger and less impulsive, he takes the blow, ducks, then tackles Brava to the ground.

  The knife is next to me. If I can get my restraints over it, I’ll be able to move. I wriggle over and position myself over the knife, but there’s not enough tension. I lift the blade between my fingers and it’s so sharp I feel it slice me open. Blood drips and the knife is slippery, but I ignore the pain, and rub the knife against the zip tie. My hands fly open, and I spring into action. I lunge for Brava’s gun and grab it between my bloody hands. I aim it at Brava but Colt’s in the way.

  “Move!” I scream. “Get out of the way, Colt!” He looks at me, and it’s just long enough that he loses his focus on Brava. Brava grabs the knife from the floor, lunges at Colt, and I pull the trigger.

  It’s like in slow motion. The knife falls from Brava’s hand and clatters on the concrete and Brava’s body slumps like a flat tire, crumpling to the ground. I pull the trigger again and hit him in the center of his chest, then again. His eyes are vacant, face already pale. Blood oozes out of his body, but I can’t watch as the sound of pounding feet come our way.

  “Get out,” Colt says, grabbing my hand and tugging. “Let’s get out of here. Now!” But there are other women in cells around me and I can’t leave them.

  “No,” I tell him. “I’m not leaving until they’re freed.”

  “Fucking move, or I throw you over my shoulder and fucking carry you,” he says, reaching for me.

  “Colt! Let me—”

  His voice gentles. “They’re down, baby. The feds are swarming this place. They’re over.” Then his tone hardens. “Now go before you regret not doing what I fucking tell you.”

  He’s already wrapping me up in his arms and half-carrying me out the door. But when I hear what he says, truly hear it, I don’t fight anymore. This is over. They’re done. Colt hauls me out into broad daylight, and drags me to the street, where he’s got a car parked.

  “Where did you get this?” I ask. It’s not a fed car, and nothing he owns.

  “Get in the car, ask questions later,” he says. And Jesus if it doesn’t feel good hearing him say that. Hearing him tell me what to do. I tell myself I’ve got nothing better to do than do what he says. I fold myself into the car. He reaches in and buckles me in and I let him, because he needs to do this. He needs this as much as I do. He slams the door and gets into his seat.

  Even though he looks murderous, when he reaches for my hand, his touch is gentle. “You alright?” he asks.

  “Yeah,” I say, enjoying the feel of my hand in his.

  “Good,” he says, his voice tight and controlled. “I don’t know what I’d do if anything happened to you. God, you’re impossible, but I love you.”

  I smile to myself. It’s an unorthodox declaration of love, but this is Colt, and our relationship is anything but orthodox. “And I love you,” I say. It feels nice to say it. Right.

  He drives away in silence, and I don’t even know where we are going and I don’t care. We did it. This operation is over. Now, we deal with the fallout… our bosses. Our injuries.

  Us.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Colt

  “Do you think they’d let me come back if I apologized?”

  “No.”

  “Do you think they’ll bring me back if I sent them a really nice fruit basket?”

  “No.”

  “Do you think they’ll let me back if…”

  I look down at Sonya, who is sitting at my kitchen table, looking miserable and throwing out evermore unlikely suggestions to sway the bosses at the bureau.

  “They’re not letting you back in. And I would never allow you back into the field again anyway.”

  “No shit.” She cuts her eyes at me. “You’re no help. You’re glad I got canned.”

  It’s been a week since I pulled Sonya out of Brava’s lair, and a lot has changed. Mostly for the worse.

  After the relief of rescue came the cold hard consequences of our actions. The bloodbath in the basement and the one that followed at Brava’s lair are yet to be atoned for by either of us. I’ve been put on leave pending review. Sonya was more or less fired on the spot. She says it’s not fair. According to her, either we both should have been put on leave or we both should have been fired. Unfortunately, life isn’t fair, and seniority matters. I’ll have a blemish on my record for sure, but I know how these reviews go. They’re internal and they’re judged by men I’ve known for a decade. Men who owe me their lives. It’s a possibility they’ll fire me, but I’ll be surpr
ised if they do.

  It’s not like I’m not in trouble myself. The medics knocked me out to get me to the hospital, but once I woke up, I discharged myself, took a car, and started hitting locations. The first one was empty. The second one had some people, but no Sonya. I convinced the guys there to tell me where Brava was, and I left my own trail of pain and destruction in my wake. Then I found Sonya. The rest is bloody history. We were supposed to bring Brava down, not put him in the ground. The administration is furious. Frankly, I’d expect to be fired—if it wasn’t for my record.

  That leaves us at my place, recovering from what happened, and getting on each other’s nerves. She’s been staying with me since the incident. Not having a job means she can’t even afford the shitty little apartment she used to live in. She’s staying in the spare room. Not because I don’t want her in my bed, but because after all she’s been through, I want her to come to me if she wants intimacy. A lot has been forced on her. I played a role with her that wasn’t strictly legal and wasn’t strictly right. She and I have a lot to work through now. Sometimes I wonder if we can overcome the aftermath of that much trauma, pain, and fear.

  She pushes the paper she was checking the want ads in off the table and onto the floor. I sweep it up and roll it into a swatter but refrain from whacking her with it.

  “You’ll find another job, Sonya.”

  “Will I?”

  She’s in a petulant, rotten mood. Do I blame her? No. Am I going to tolerate it? Hell no.

  “Yes. You will.”

  “Are there many jobs for FBI rejects who also kill people?”

  There’s no getting around the fact that she killed Brava to save me. His death makes the world a better place, but her being at a loose end with blood on her hands isn’t a good thing. She needs help getting through this.

  “It was self-defense,” I remind her. “And defense of me. It was the right thing to do.”