by Hype, Jenn
"So, you think my mom and Jack might be at Baybank somewhere?"
Grant's jaw ticked, his eyes never leaving the road. "I don't know, but it's the only lead we have. Once we meet up with the guys, we'll come up with a plan. Most likely, we'll have to bring in the authorities. Jack doesn't like to do that unless absolutely necessary since what we do for a living is pretty frowned upon by the government, but we can't go in there alone. Whoever is behind this obviously has a lot of manpower. Without knowing if your mom and Jack are near, we can't just go barging inside, so we'll need more men."
"When this is all done..." I wasn't sure why I hesitated. Rejection had never been a fear of mine, especially when it came to men. If they couldn't see a good thing when they had it, then screw them. Well, I also might not have really let people get all that close to me before, either, but still. Things with Grant were just... different. I'd told him I was falling for him, and though I hadn't meant to say it out loud, I didn't want to take it back either. When he didn't mention it, though, I wasn't sure what to think. Where was his head? How did he feel? What would happen once this was all over?
"We'll figure it out, Brooke."
Still not taking his eyes off the road, he removed one hand from the steering wheel and grabbed mine. His long fingers laced with my smaller, more delicate ones. The gesture was enough. I believed him.
"Are you ever going to tell me what you guys do?"
Grant gave me the side-eye. He surprised me by answering my question.
"I don't know Jack's backstory. He's pretty private about his life before we knew him, but I know something caused him to be jaded to the system. He doesn't trust the government when it comes to dangerous criminals. I was his first recruit. He found me drunk off my ass in a bar that vets frequent, and after drunkenly pouring my heart out to him, he sort of... adopted me. Guess that's a good way to put it. He'd been working alone. Trusting is hard for him. It took a long time for him to let me in on any kind of personal level."
I sat quietly, my hands folded in my lap. So many questions on the tip of my tongue. When Grant paused, looking out the windshield like he was lost in thought, I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from speaking.
"Once he started to trust me, it became clear that we made a good team. Despite his reluctance to trust, he's very charismatic. He would do all the tasks that required working directly with people while I handled most of the behind the scenes stuff. I'm okay with the computer, but nowhere near Trent's level. He was our next recruit. We needed someone with hacking skills. Trent was wanted by the FBI. I don't know how he did it, but Jack somehow negotiated him out of an arrest. Next thing I knew, our resident computer wiz was setting up shop in our office. It was a lot smaller back then. After we recruited Hunter, Jack bought the whole building. Turned it into something of a fortress. At that point we were making more enemies than allies, and the safety precautions became necessary."
I wondered if he knew he wasn't really answering my question. As anxious as I was to finally hear what their little operation was about, I figured the backstory must be important, so I bit my cheek a little longer.
"At first, back when it was just myself and Jack, we were more like private investigators than anything. Total waste of our skills, though. Jack was a Marine before joining the FBI. I had been a Navy SEAL. We weren't meant to run around spying on people, we were made for action. One of our jobs led us to Alice. She was actually one of the people we were looking into. That whole thing is her story to tell, but once we had her on our side doing the PI stuff and Trent handling all the computer business, Jack and I were really able to put ourselves into action. We stopped taking the fluffier cases and started tackling the serious ones."
My patience was wearing thin. Grant's smirk told me he knew it, too. Which earned him a punch in the arm.
"Sorry," he said laughing. "To your credit, you've been very good. Not interrupting me one time."
I punched him again. "Get to the freaking point, Masters."
His face sobered and he cleared his throat. "There are criminals in this world that mask themselves as honorable people. They use their wealth and power to get away with unforgivable crimes. Even if they do manage to get caught, they usually buy - or threaten - their way out of it. Actually getting one behind bars and keeping them there is damn difficult. Especially with all the red tape the government has to follow. Undercover operations can take years and more often than not end up being fruitless, just a waste of time and taxpayer money. We don't work for the law, so we do our investigating by any means necessary."
"So, you're like a modern day Batman." Grant chuckled. Making him laugh was almost as awesome as pissing him off. Almost. "Okay, so if you don't work for the government, then what happens once you find evidence? How do you guys make money?"
He nodded, as if to say I'd asked good questions. Go me.
"Jack has a ton of connections, both inside and outside of law enforcement. Sometimes he takes the information to the law officials directly and lets them handle it. Other times we make anonymous tips. Then there are the times that extreme measures are taken, but it's not often we have to go that route."
"Sounds ominous."
"Until you came into the picture, it really wasn't as exciting as it sounds. Yeah, we had pissed off some powerful people, but for the most part, our work is discreet. Since we don't take credit for the arrests, most people don't realize we're even involved. The only real enemies we've made were clients who didn't like the results of our work."
"Clients?"
Grant shifted in his seat. That he still felt uneasy opening up to me stung like a bitch, but he kept talking. I supposed that was what really mattered, not the hesitancy.
"Sometimes we work based on tips, but most of the time we're hired. Someone gets screwed over and wants revenge. We don't just take their word for it. They put down a non-refundable retainer that covers our investigative work. If we can verify their claims to be true and agree to take on the case, they pay half the fee. Only if we are able to accomplish the goal do they have to pay the remainder."
"So it's the clients you don't take on or don't pull through for that get angry."
He nodded, but his face had grown darker. His lips pulled into a tighter line. Jaw clenched hard enough to break a tooth. Hands fisted so tightly around the steering wheel I thought he might pop a blood vessel.
"You've never had someone come after you guys like this, though?" The question was rhetorical. He'd already told me as much. Hunter getting shot. Alice getting cut up at Wilson. Trent beating himself up over the safe houses. Grant putting his life on the line time and again to save mine. All of it was my fault.
"You're wrong." Whatever anger had taken ahold of Grant moments ago was gone. Tenderness taking up residence in its place. "It's not your fault."
I didn't even realize I'd spoken aloud. Or maybe I hadn't. Maybe he could just read my mind. It wouldn't surprise me. He was practically a damn superhero. Adding a couple superpowers to the mix would actually make sense.
He reached for me, but I pulled away. Tears burned the back of my eyes as I squeezed them shut. I just needed a minute. One second to pull myself back together before I fell apart again. Something I had done more times with Grant in the last week than I'd done in my entire life combined.
"I know that," I croaked once I felt like I could talk without sobbing. "I know that logically it's not directly my fault. I wasn't the one who blew up Wilson. I didn't pull the trigger to the gun that shot Hunter. I didn't do whatever it is hackers do to get into your computer systems. I didn't hurt my mom and throw her in a car and abduct her. I didn't make your Jack person disappear. I didn't ask for any of this..."
Grant stayed silent, completely still, while I composed myself again. When I looked up again, I twisted my body to face him as much as the seat belt would allow.
"I didn't want any of this, but I can't help but hate myself a little bit." Swallowing thickly, I forced out the words I could ha
rdly believe I'd admitted even to myself. "I hate myself because part of me isn't sorry. If none of this happened, I wouldn't have found you. And how twisted is that? People have died, my mom might be..." I shook my head, unable to finish the sentence. "It could get worse before it gets better. I don't know what will happen to you, the team, my mom, Jack, me... but despite all that, I can't help feeling like it was worth it. And I hate myself for that."
Grant finally tore his eyes from the road to look at me. Bright tears shining in my eyes blurred my vision, but I could still see it. It didn't make me feel any better to know he felt the same way. Knowing he was struggling the same as me only made me feel more guilty.
"Brooke, I-"
Something heavy and sharp pierced the passenger door, slamming into my hip. Violent screams tore from my throat as the SUV rolled. Once. Twice. Maybe three times. I lost count when my head whipped forward and connected with the dash, making my world go dark.
Chapter Seventeen
Scarface Returns
Brooke
"Brooke! Brooke! BROOKE!"
Grant shouting my name yanked me back into consciousness. My seatbelt had me suspended midair, hovering over Grant who lay atop the driver's side door. As my vision cleared, I took in the shattered glass strewn all over, blood splatters on almost every piece.
My eyes widened, searching Grant to find the source of the blood. When I saw the steady stream of blood dripping onto his leg, I realized the blood was mine. Other than some small cuts, Grant appeared to be unharmed. He was struggling with his seatbelt. It was jammed and pulled tight across his chest, effectively trapping him. My arms and legs, limp and heavy, dangled under me.
I tried to move, and when I realized I couldn't feel my limbs, panic shot through me like lightening.
Was I paralyzed? Should I keep trying to move? Was I better off lying still until help came?
The time to decide had come and gone. I felt someone reach through the broken window behind me and release my seat belt. Relief flooded me. Help was there. We would be okay.
But then Grant screamed my name again. He was fighting hard to squeeze out of the restraint holding him down, reaching for me. He didn't look relieved. He looked terrified and angry. My arms still wouldn't move, though, and as I was ripped out of the SUV with Grant slowly disappearing from my sight, my gut clenched. Any physical pain I was in paled in comparison to the agony of being torn away from Grant. Even the fingers digging into my wrists as I was dragged across the glass covered pavement barely hurt.
Whoever had me, wherever I was going... none of it mattered. What mattered was that I was going alone.
#
~
When I came to I was surrounded in darkness. As my eyes slowly adjusted, I was able to make out vague shapes, but couldn't actually figure out where I was. In a room? A closet? The fiery pits of hell? Who knew.
What I did know was that I could feel my arms and legs again. Though that wasn't really something to celebrate. I must have been in shock initially. I really wasn't sure if I was any better off having the feeling back. Every bone in my body felt broken, my muscles shredded and tender. Even my skin hurt, like it was stretched too tightly. The pounding in my head blurred my vision, making me dizzy any time I tried to move.
The good news? I wasn't tied down or restrained in any way. The bad news? I was in too much pain to even attempt getting up.
"Hey? Can I get some pills? In a lot of pain here. Think the least you can do is toss me a couple Advil or something!"
My shouts echoed, but no response.
I laid back on the cold cement. The hard surface was uncomfortable, but it was smooth and the temperature felt good against my skin.
I must have dozed off, because a sound jarred me, bolting me upright. The world around me spun and I pushed my hands flat against the ground as if to steady it. As soon as the nausea and dizziness subsided, some asshole flipped a light switch and blinded me.
"Hey! Give a girl some warning! You're going to melt my corneas. Geez."
My headache had only intensified while I was out, so I barely heard the laugh over the ringing in my ears. It wasn't a happy laugh. It was a mocking laugh. Apparently the man approaching me wanted to get a kick in the nuts.
"Nice of you to finally join the land of the living, Brooke."
Peeling one eye open at a time, I slowly allowed my eyes to adjust to the onslaught of someone suddenly aiming the freaking sun at me. When I could finally see the face of the asshole mocking me I was hit with disappointment when I didn't recognize him.
But then he turned away slightly, glancing at someone else entering the room, and that's when I saw it... the scar. The same jagged scar I'd seen on the guy who tried to drug me at the bar. He looked completely different now. He'd traded in his casual threads for an expensive suit. It was odd that he didn't fill it out, though. The arms and legs hung loosely. Why would someone pay that much money for a suit that didn't fit?
"Hey, Scarface." He turned back and leered at me. I noticed once again that he was actually pretty good looking, especially now that his shaggy hair had been cut and styled. His eyes were dark, his cheekbones high and the light scruff gave what would otherwise be a pretty face a more rugged look. The scars were more pronounced, though. Whether it was the lighting or the change in his appearance that highlighted them, it was clear that he could have easily passed for a model prior to having his face marred.
That would probably make me snarl at people, too.
I almost felt a little bad for him. Then I remembered the whole drugging thing.
"You sure went through a lot of trouble to get me on a date with you. You should really work on your confidence, too. Drugging women wouldn't be necessary if you put a little work into not acting like such a creeper. How are your eyes by the way? Bet that stung like a motherfu-"
He cut me off with a slap across the face.
"You talk too much."
I twisted my neck from side to side, cracking it and stretching my jaw. My cheek hurt like a bitch, but it detracted from the headache, so that was a bonus. I could function with a stinging face, but the dizziness was enough to knock me on my ass.
"Yeah, I get that a lot," I deadpanned. Like hell would I give him any satisfaction by playing the wounded victim. "So listen, this has been a blast, but I think I'm gonna head out now."
He didn't even attempt to stop me when I stood up. It was enough to make me hesitate. Why go through all that work to get me here - wherever here was - and then let me walk out the door? It was then that I noticed we were inside a warehouse. Not sure what kind. The walls were lined with metal shelves that went as high as the tall ceilings, and whatever was on them was wrapped in plastic. The rest of the room was pretty bare, except for a large window behind Scarface. The glass was too dark to see through.
I took one tentative step backwards, and watched as he flipped a switch next to the window. When the light kicked on on the other side of the glass, I was able to see through it to the other room. A room that had two people tied to chairs.
"Mom!"
Scarface looped his arm around my middle, holding me back when I tried to run towards the glass. He was stronger than he looked, but I was barely trying to get away from him. All I could think about was the fact that my mom was alive. She was bloody and beaten, her head hanging, but her chest was rising and falling. That was all that mattered. She was breathing.
I couldn't see the face of the other person, but I could tell it was a man. He looked in worse shape than my mom did, his face swollen and red. No way to know for certain, but I guessed it was Jack.
My thoughts immediately shifted to Grant. What happened to him after I was taken? I hadn't had a chance to think about him until then. Was he alive? Did they leave him alone once they had me? Every cell in my body ached for that to be the case. I still had no idea why I was involved, but Grant's well-being eclipsed everything else. He had become more important than my own life, and even my mom's.
&n
bsp; I loved him. Flailing and screaming for my mom while being held back by someone determined to hurt me and the ones I cared about, the only thought I had was that I loved Grant.
The realization that I loved him and might not ever have the chance to tell him drained all the fight out of my body. I knew I should keep fighting. That there was a possibility that I'd see Grant again. To keep pushing until all the questions looming over me were answered. The whys, the hows and the what-the-hells.
The more I focused on all my unfinished business, the more strength I slowly gained.
Wrenching myself out of Scarface's hold, I lifted my arm and clenched my fist, fully prepared to knock his ass to the ground. I would have had him, too, if I hadn't hesitated. Motion in the other room drew my attention away long enough for him to seize my wrists. He used much more force than necessary, as I'd quit fighting again. All my focus was on the person looking over their shoulder, directly at me.
Familiar blue eyes locked onto mine, though they were unfocused. I couldn't tell if he actually saw me or was just looking in my direction by coincidence. Making sense of anything at all was damn near impossible. It was like staring into the face of a ghost. I was staring into the face of a ghost.
"How?"
The word came out inaudible, more of a sob than a question.
"Oh, goody. He's awake. Let's go pay a visit, shall we?"
I was too numb to stand on my own. Scarface had to practically drag me behind him. A big metal door opened and a very, very large man appeared behind it. I'm talking Hulk sized man. If I hadn't been so damn stunned I would have cracked a joke. Instead, I stayed silent while I was pulled out of the warehouse and into a short hallway.