The Secrets We Carry

by Jessica Sorensen

  The really shitty part about our encounter is that I discovered how observant she is. She called me out on watching her, which I have been. I can’t let her know that. And if she finds out the real reason I crashed into her today—that I’ve been watching her for a while—this case could crumble. And that can’t happen. Too much is riding on me succeeding in this case .

  However, as I watch her run away across the communal area away from me, I have the strongest urge to rush after her and make sure she’s okay. She seemed so upset when she took off; her big, beyond gorgeous eyes filling with tears. She was also pissed off, for sure. But under the anger was a sea of sadness and internal agony that I know a thing or two about. I’ve drowned in my own sadness before. It’s part of the reason I broke apart that day. I was depressed back then and too stuck in a dark place to see it until I fell apart. After I broke down, I got help. Doesn’t mean I don’t still struggle. I do every single damn day, especially when the guilt catches up with me .

  Guilt over my father’s death .

  Shoving the thought aside, I force my feet to move in the opposite direction of where Wynter took off, heading down the hallway, out the east exit doors, and across the grass toward the parking lot .

  A handful of people greet me with waves or smiles, but most don’t even glance my way. That’s exactly how I want it. To exist, but not really be seen. Honestly, I can’t even remember the last time someone saw me, except for Reece and Holden, but even they don’t see everything. That’s mostly my doing .

  I put up a wall the day my father died. My ability to not reveal my true emotions is part of the reason I made it this far in my job, why I do what I do so well. I wonder if one day someone will see past the walls. See past the falseness I portray. Is there really someone out in the world who possesses that ability? Who is stronger than my gift of never letting anyone see what truly lies inside me? All the brokenness and pain? All the anger? All the guilt I struggle with every single day? So far, the answer is no. And maybe it’ll always be that way. Maybe I’m doomed to live a lonely life .

  Quickly shoving those thoughts away before I get too worked up, I dig my phone out of my pocket. I wait until I reach the parking lot and climb into my car before I make the call .

  “Hey, it’s me,” I say as the engine of my 2015 Dodge Challenger roars to life. “I made contact with Wynter today .”

  “Good,” Doug, my supervisor at the bureau, says. “How’d it go ?”

  “I think she hates my fucking guts.” I steer out onto the road. “But she may have been just having a rough day or something. From what I’ve read about her, the way her friends talk about her, and from personal observation, she’s usually pretty nice .”

  “Don’t jump to that conclusion yet,” he warns. “Wynter Porterrsen may have been a participant in what happened. Considering who her father is, we can’t dismiss that theory. Plus, the man’s a real con man and she could’ve easily picked up that trait from him. For all you know, she could’ve been playing you today .”

  “Yeah, maybe.” Doubt rings in my tone .

  Wynter may have been a bitch to me today, but there was too much sadness reflected in her eyes for me to easily believe she was playing me. I have my suspicions something awful happened to her. According to her files, though, she’s lived a life the exact opposite of mine; lavish with slightly neglectful parents and a con man for a father. But files usually only tell the basics. Observing from a distance is a much better way to figure out a person, though not nearly as good as getting to know them .

  From what I’ve seen, Wynter is a beautiful person inside and out, who cares about her friends but also carries around a hell of a lot of sadness. It’s part of the reason I started spending more time gathering intel on her than I was supposed to. I want to understand her; find out what makes her look as though she’s suffering .

  Doug doesn’t need to know about that .

  “The first rule to what we do is that you can never, ever get facts based on assumptions. You need evidence. Truths. Until then, everything has to be looked at as a lie.” He sighs as if I’m a great annoyance, but that’s typical for him and every other agent who’s been in this line of work for over three decades and who probably needs to retire. “I know you’re fairly new to the bureau, and if I could’ve thrown someone more seasoned onto this case, I would’ve. Unfortunately, we need a person who is young and can blend in with the college environment. And luckily for you, you fit that profile .”

  “Thanks for the boost of confidence,” I mumble .

  Honestly, I can’t blame him. I’m not even technically done with my training yet, nor have I attained my bachelor’s degree. Still, a handful of people who are simply average people and who have the right personalities types have been recruited as federal agents .

  My golden ticket was my father, who was a well-respected agent before he died. He had a ton of connections, and because of that, I was accepted into the training program when I was twenty. I’ve been training for about a year now, yet I don’t have much experience working in the undercover field, just a few minor jobs here and there. The only reason I scored this case is because I’m the right age to enroll at the college where we suspect a frat is doing some severely illegal activities and are connected to the mob, ranging from drug trafficking to a series of assaults and rapes that have been covered up. I’m also from Fairs Hollow, so I know my way around and already have connections .

  No one here is aware I’m an agent. Even my family thinks I’m taking a break from training. My mom might suspect differently, but she was married to an agent, so she knows the drill on keeping her lips sealed .

  The problem with Fairs Hollow is, while we suspect illegal activities are taking place, we haven’t been able to find enough evidence to bring everyone involved down. The citizens are very hush-hush about the dark things that take place during the late hours of the night, either out of fear or their own involvement. That’s why I’m here. To go undercover, make the right connections, and find out who the guys at the frat are working for—who the head honcho is in the mob circle—and then get enough evidence to bring everyone down and make arrests .

  “I’m not here to stroke your ego, Averysen,” Doug says. “I’m here to make sure you do your job correctly and solve this goddamn case that’s been going on for way too long. These assholes need to be put behind bars once and for all.” He huffs an exasperated breath. “Now, can you do that without letting assumptions and emotions sway your judgment? Or should I start looking for a guy to fill your position ?”

  The last thing I want is for that to happen. Being a federal agent has been my dream since I was six years old and accidentally discovered my father was one. My mom was the only other person who knew about his double, undercover life due to the risk of the wrong people finding out .

  At first, he had been angry when I overheard a phone call that revealed what he truly did for a living—I had been eavesdropping when I shouldn’t have. Then he had taken me aside and calmly explained the importance of secrecy .

  “If anyone finds out what I really do, it could be bad, okay?” he said. “No one can know .”

  “Why?” It had been my favorite question back then .

  He looked me dead in the eye. “Because if the wrong person finds out, then the bad guys could find out I’m not really on their side .”

  I blinked in shock. “You pretend you’re on the bad guy’s side ?”

  He nodded. “But only so I can catch them doing bad things .”

  “Then what do you do ?”

  “Then I put them behind bars where they can’t do bad things anymore,” he told me, taking a drag of his cigarette .

  “Whoa.” I smiled. “You’re kind of like a superhero .”

  He chuckled, putting out his cigarette. “I guess that’s one way to look at it .”

  The truth was, my dad really was a superhero. Sadly, the world never knew. I did, though .

  It was also that heroicness that
led to the end of his life. I would know. I was there .

  I swallow hard at the reminder and make a mental note to swing by and talk to my therapist. Knowing my background story with my father’s death, seeing a therapist was a stipulation Doug made when he agreed to put me on this case .

  “I just want to be certain you don’t lose your shit,” he said. “I know this case hits pretty close to home .”

  “All right,” I agreed, knowing he was right .

  Knowing that, even now at times, stress can trigger the guilt to resurface .

  “Now, while I want you to keep an eye on Wynter Porterrsen,” Doug says, tearing me from memory lane, “I want you to make contact with the next person on the list. And make sure not to mess this up. The entire case might rely on making friends with this son of a bitch .”

  “I know that,” I assure him. “And I’m planning on officially meeting him Friday at the party. Tonight, I’m also going to drop by that club they like to hang out at. Just as long as I can get in, anyway. I’ve heard it’s exclusively for the rich and you have to have the right last name to get inside, something I definitely don’t have .”

  “What’s the name of the club ?”

  “The Silver Glass Box . Why ?”

  “I know a guy who works there. He might be able to get you in. But you’re going to have to be careful about what you tell him. He can’t know what I do or who you work for .”

  My jaw ticks. I hate when he reminds me of simple rules I learned in week one of my training. But it was another part of our agreement when he put me on this case—that I listen to all his orders .

  Yes, Doug likes to think of himself as my father sometimes. And sometimes, I wonder if he promised my father he’d take care of me if something happened to him. They were partners once, so it could be possible. Doug’s never said anything about it .

  I make a right onto the road that leads to my apartment complex. “I figured as much .”

  “Good.” He gives me the guy’s name and tells me he’ll contact him beforehand and let me know if we’re good to go. Then he asks, “So, this party on Friday, you got invited then, I take it ?”

  “Yep.” I try not to sound too cocky, but I’m kind of proud. Getting into any of these frat parties is nearly impossible unless you have the right name or are some rock star on the football team. “This girl from one of my literature classes invited me. I think she’s the younger sister to one of the guys throwing the party, which means she should be able to introduce me to them without it seeming too strange .”

  “Good. Make sure to report back to me tomorrow. And keep your distance from Wynter Porterrsen for a couple days. I want to look into a couple things; see if there are any reports of her aiding in any of her father’s jobs .”

  “Okay.” The word is harder to utter than I thought, and I have no idea why .

  Sure, she’s fucking gorgeous. Blonde hair, big blue eyes, legs that go on for miles but she rarely shows. She’s the exact opposite of the girls I usually date. Plus, after our lovely—insert sarcasm on my part—first encounter, I should want to keep my distance from her and her bitchiness. And that sadness … I want to understand what’s causing it. I want to see her, even if she told me not to. Maybe even more so because she told me not to, as fucked up as that might make me. My mom always did say that I had a soft spot for those who were hurting .

  However, since Wynter seemed to have no desire to see me again and with my boss warning me not to go near her for now, I figure I’ll keep my distance. At least, that’s what I tell myself. Before I head into my place, though, I find myself taking out my phone the moment I park in front of my house to send her friend Beck a text .

  Huh. Guess my mom is right .

  Me: Hey, I just ran into your friend Wynter and she seemed pretty upset about something. Just letting you know in case you want to go check on her .

  His response is almost immediate .

  Beck: Thanks for letting me know. I was already planning on checking up on her after class .

  I’ve heard Willow and him whispering about their concern for Wynter a couple times while we were hanging out. I wish I could tell them what I know about her. About what her father is mixed up in, what he really does. What Wynter may have gotten mixed up in, too. I don’t know why Wynter hasn’t confided in them, other than maybe she is part of all the illegal shit. Beck and Willow seem like good people, and they’re close to her, it seems like she should’ve told them something. Maybe Wynter is like me—likes to keep her personal life to herself. Either that or her father or someone else has scared her into silence .

  I wince at the thought. Shit, why didn’t I think of that before ?

  I make a mental note to look into it then hop out of the car and head upstairs to my place to attempt to take a nap before I go to this club tonight .

  As I strip off my shirt and jacket, I do my best to ignore the elevated scars covering my chest. If I pay too much attention to them, I’ll end up thinking about what caused them. Still, as I lay down and shut my eyes, the nightmares creep up. The screaming comes first. Then the pain and the flames .

  As my skin breaks out in sweat, I get out of bed and turn on the computer, beyond frustrated and exhausted .

  After I type in my password, I click open the file labeled C Files . I don’t open the case I’m currently working on, instead opening the one my father was working on when he was killed .

  The two cases are related, with similar criminals involved. However, my father was going after their fathers. He never succeeded, and the men got away with what they did. Now I’m trying to take down their sons, which I fully plan on doing. It’s why I worked so hard to be put on this case .

  If I can bring these bad guys down, I may be able to finally get my father some justice, along with all the people these guys have hurt .

  And maybe I can finally be completely free of my guilt .

  Five

  Wynter

  I have this list of names tucked underneath my pillow. The names consist of every person I can link back to the night of that party. Every night before I fall asleep, I take it out and read over the names. Repeatedly .

  Each letter is branded into my mind like the scars they left on my back. I see the names when I shut my eyes and when I open them .

  Beside each name, I have a vague list of details I’ve scourged up about each one of them. The details are limited since I haven’t been able to get close enough to any of the suspects to find out more about them. If I approach people who know Travis and his frat buddies and started asking questions, I’d probably be viewed as a stalker. If I approach the guys personally … If I can even manage to do that without vomiting … they’d assume I was up to something and make good on their threat of destroying me and everyone I care about. They have the power to do so. Just like they have the power and money to make every bad deed and crime they’ve ever committed disappear. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to allow them to keep getting away with hurting people—I reach around and trace my fingers along my back where vertical scars brand my flesh— hurting me .

  As I lay on my bed with the list in my hand, I try to come up with the best way to get revenge without getting myself killed. Revenge can be dangerous. And maybe I shouldn’t be thinking about it because it’s dangerous and risky and may not be the right thing to do. But I can’t stop thinking about making them suffer like I am .

  “If you so much as tell a single soul,” he whispers in my ear. “I’ll fucking end you and every goddamn person you care about, got it? And you know I can, Wynter. Just like your father, I’m capable of just about anything. Unlike your father, I can get away with it.” His lips brush my ear, his scent nearly drowning me. “And you want to know why? Because I’m a fucking god around here .”

  Tears spill from my eyes, blood running down my back and legs. I feel broken inside. I feel helpless. I want to die .

  Then, deep in the back of my mind, another emotion sparks to life. An emotion I ne
ver felt before. I want to fucking end him. Rip his life away with my bare hands …

  I blink from the memory as tears burn my eyes. When they were hurting me, I imagined, if I survived, tracking them down and killing them one by one. I soon learned I’m not a killer, though, and don’t possess killer instincts. So I settled on revenge .

  Revenge .

  Revenge .

  Revenge .

  The word consumes my mind so much that I barely think about anything else. I just wish I could figure out a way to find out more about these guys. Since I haven’t come up with a solution to that yet, I decide to start by finding out who this Maci is so I can warn her to stay away from Travis Marilellie .

  Collecting my phone off my nightstand, I go to type Ari a text. Normally, I’d call him, but lately, like with Beck and my other friends, he’s sensed something’s been off with me. If he hears my voice, he may ask if everything’s okay and I don’t think I can hear that fucking question again today .

  My mind wanders back to when Everette asked me that question. How he smiled and winked at me, as if I wanted him to flirt with me .

  “Stupid fucking asshole. He’s just as bad as them,” I attempt to convince myself, but the truth is, Everette didn’t really seem like Travis or the rest of his shithead, psychopathic friends. In fact, I’m pretty sure he’s just a nice guy who tried to cheer me up. And what did I do? I acted like such a bitch .

  I frown as I remember how big of a bitch I was .

  “Fuck, I need to stop thinking about him. Who gives a shit if I was a bitch to some guy I’ll never see again? I have bigger things to worry about. Besides, just because he seems like a nice guy doesn’t mean he is .”