I can hear the pain in her voice. Not the physical pain, but one that has so much sorrow and empathy. Is the agent that hated my guts feeling sorry for me? Maybe she can now see that I would never let harm come to those I love and those who are innocent. Maybe the deceit she feels I gave was to protect not harm. We’re both on the same side here and we have to trust each other in order to survive. Maybe now, she will trust that everything that I do is to protect those who cannot protect themselves.
“Because saints don’t deserve to feel pain. If it wasn’t for me, you wouldn’t be here. Sam is slowly losing her humanity. I have none left.” My eyes flutter closed as exhaustion from the pain takes me into long-awaited sleep.
The image of my father appears for a brief moment. His hand cups my cheek with a loving touch. His smile is full of sorrow and regret. He kisses my forehead, lingering for a few moments. Am I dead? Does this mean that it’s my time to finally join myfather on the other side?
As if he can hear my thoughts, I hear, “I’m so proud of you, daughter. Keep fighting. It’s not your time yet.” He brushes my chin with his thumb before his touch, his form fades away.
CHAPTER THIRTY
ALARIC
“Instead of weeping when a tragedy occurs in a songbird's life, it sings away its grief. I believe we could well follow the pattern of our feathered friends.” - Willian Shakespeare
The busy voices and constant phones ringing in the office feels like the sound of nails on a chalk board. It’s never felt so off putting being in the office until now. The FBI should be able to track their assailant fast with the technology we have now, but this case has put us further and further away. Two dead and three captured under the same person we’ve been so tirelessly tracking.
I handed in the email I got from Oliver to the team once I got back into the office. Antonio wasn’t thrilled when I told him I had to give them something but I also had a job to do and working with both was going to get us closer to saving the girls. Whether he liked it or not, one of our agents was taken and it hadn’t gone unnoticed.
I push away from my desk, heading to the break room to get some shitty coffee. Grabbing aStyrofoam cup, I pour the hot liquid into the cup and down it, causing my throat to burn. I don’t flinch as it’s the only thing I’ve felt in days. It should hurt, it should make me spit the substance out but it’s the only thing that reminds me that I’m still alive.
“Slow down there. We can’t have you rushed to the hospital for burning your throat.” Beckett comes up beside me giving me a wary glance.
I grunt in response, stepping away from the counter, disposing of the cup in the trash bin. Looking up at him, I can tell he has something to say but he’s hesitant.
“Come out with it.” I sigh, crossing my arms across my chest.
“I understand the circumstance you’re in, we’re all in, but it’s like you’re hollow. You’re also two seconds away from a ticking time bomb. We haven’t heard anything yet from the boys nor have we found anything here. Let’s go down to the training room and spar,” he suggests.
“I’m good. A single email and nothing else has had me on edge and I can’t help but picture the things he’s doing to them. Every minute that goes by is another minute of whatever torture he’s doing to them.” I pause, looking around to make sure no one is around to hear. “It’s driving me down into a place I fought so hard to stay away from since I got out. I can feel myself slipping and when that happens, it won’t be good for any of us.”
I exhale a breath at my confession. Those who haven’t serve, don't understand the things we saw and did. They don’t understand how the nightmares, the flashbacks, and the self-guilt will drown you to the point of insanity. Then when a PTSD flare up occurs, they instantly think we’re insane. I don’t broadcast my problems or feelings as I don’t want to be a burden to others since they weren’t there. That’s why I left home, away from my family, and dove right into work. Work isthe only thing that has my mind reeling, distracting me from myself.
“Let’s go, bud.” He slaps me on the back as he walks past me out of the break room.
We head down into the training center, quickly changing in the locker room before emerging back out. Bare feet meet the cool mats as we circle each other to begin the spar. We slide on our gloves; securing them at the wrists I watch every step he makes as he makes his way closer to me to take the first strike.
He swings his fist aiming for my jaw but I make quick work to lean away, swiping his extended arm to the side. This causes him to lose balance, leaving his right side open. I swing, connecting into his ribs causing him to grunt. He quickly recovers, turning to face me again.
He charges again, this time going for a left side hook but I’m too quick for him, side stepping and swing aiming for his jaw. My gloves connect but he takes it like a champ and gears back up. I take the charge now and he shields his face while leaning in to protect his left side, assuming that’s what I’m going for, but leaves his right side open. I connect the side and he swings back at my jaw, getting me good.
We go a couple rounds like this until we’re on the floor and I have him in an armbar. I apply pressure, not enough to do any damage but enough for him to tap the mat before I release. We lay there as our chests heave up and down trying to catch our breath, drenched in sweat.
Beckett may be the brains and a total nerd, but he can get down and dirty on the mat. It’s been a while since we had any type of relief but it felt good letting go of the pent-up stress. He knew what was needed, maybe not all just for me but for him too. He’s been working just as tirelessly as I have, and the fact that he has to keep working with the Mafia down low, riskinghis job just as much as I am.
Finally getting up from the mat, I reach my hand out to him and he takes it, letting me help him up. Reaching to my collar behind my neck, I pull my sweat-soaked shirt over my head. I grab the throw towel and wipe my neck and forehead before grabbing a water bottle, downing the contents.
“You need to come down here more often, brother. Every hit had power with pent-up rage. Got me good, you asshole, but you seem a lot more loose.” Beckett picks up the other water bottle and downs it.
Even with gloves on, he has a blooming bruise forming on his face. We should have worn head gear but it’s too late now. Plus, the bruise gives him character.
“You favor your right. Not my fault you leave the left side open. Seems like you need to come down here and train more often yourself.” I wink at him.
“Asshole,” he mutters under his breath.
Back in the locker room, I open my locker grabbing the travel-size soap I keep for days like this and head over to a shower stall, turning the handle to hot. Quickly undressing, I step under the spraying water letting the warmth relax my body.
I think about Celeste and how much I yearn for her touch, her soft lips on mine. Her sass when I try to take the last of her popcorn during date night or the way she looks at me with longing and trust. The way that she had trusted me with her grief when she lost her father and felt herself drift into the dark, moving day by day like a ghost until she met me.
How she tried to break things off because she wasn’t good for me, that she would be my ruin. But the truth was, if I lost her and let her walk out of that door, that would be the very thing that will break me. I never believed in those rom com movies, the love at first sight without knowing theperson fully, but fate had a different plan and knew that we needed each other.
