Worry seeps into Aria’s voice as she looks at me. With a sigh, I lean back in the chair, folding my arms in front of my chest and one ankle over the other under the table. The thoughts of that man keep appearing, and I don’t like it.
“He’s still surveilling the house.” I look up at the ceiling, brows narrowed. “He’s trying to find anything after his search of the house failed. I’d rather not have to kill an agent, but if I have to, I will.”
“It’s not like you’ll go to prison for it.”
“No, but I’d rather not get cops on my back. Unfortunately, they’re hard as fuck to shake off.”
“That’s true,’’ Niko chimes in. “What if we throw him the bone in the wrong direction?”
I lean over the table. “Go on.”
“We have lists upon lists of… rivals, shall we say? Just send him the tip.”
“That’s even worse,” I roll my eyes. “Do you have the mental capacity to go through another war? Because I sure as hell don’t.”
“I’ll do it.”
I lift a brow. “Alright. Go on, then. Be my guest, just don’t come asking for help if somehow your diner burns down.”
“It won’t.”
“Let’s go back to the mole, guys,” Aria claps her hands. “It’s one of the most important things to do right now, because if we don’t deal with it soon, it’ll be a bigger issue down the line.”
The tone of the room shifts. Everyone’s more on edge and paying close attention. Even Freya, who up until a minute ago seemed rather uninterested in the developments, is now listening closely.
Aria opens her mouth and continues talking. However, Ican’t seem to focus. Something feels fucking off, and I hate that I can’t put my finger on it. The air around us is thicker, the tension higher than ever, and even the way everyone’s talking, moving, and breathing is different. I’m not entirely sure it’s in a good way, though.
The small hair on my neck stands up, and the thought hits me. It’s different than anything that I’ve felt before. It’s eerie, and the paranoia slowly spreads its poison to my brain, to the point of me being unable to shake it off.
Because my gut feeling has never been wrong. And right now, it’s telling me that the mole is sitting at this very table.
THIRTY-THREE
I wake up with a quiet scream.
It’s all I can muster, my throat tightening as I try to take in a deep breath. My chest is heaving, my vision blurry, and body’s trembling. Gasp after gasp leaves my mouth, the memories slowly resurfacing.
The way their hands felt all over my body, their menacing assaults, their degrading words. Some memories are old, amongst the first times Paul ever raped me. Then, it slowly morphed into the recent events, ones that I forgot happened entirely.
Nausea overwhelms me, tears pouring out of the corners of my eyes. The disgust I felt toward myself for years starts coming back in waves, and it explains the trembling state of my body.
All of this is too fucking much.
It takes me a couple of minutes to realize that I’m in the bathroom. I’ve never fallen asleep in the bathtub before, and the water went cold a long time ago. With a trembling sigh, I reach for the edges of the tub, pushing myself up and stepping out.
The soft towel doesn’t warm me up nearly enough, and I’m quick to dry off and change into the clothes I brought with me. Before leaving the bathroom, I take a moment to look at myself in the mirror.
The fear and the pain I’ve endured are etched on my face. I’m not even sure what Arlo sees in me — because physically speaking, I’m nothing special. Brown hair, brown eyes, a few freckles here and there.
I’m not one of a kind; I’m not unique.
And Arlo? He’s one in a million. That kind of a man isn’t born every day. He has that something that makes his dangerous aura alluring. He’s handsome, kind, and despite what he does for a living, he has a soul of gold. The love he has for me is unconditional, filled with desire and the need to protect me.
I’m a very selfish person. Although I know he can do so much better than someone as flawed and as traumatized as me, I’ll never be able to let him go. The thought of him leaving me or being with someone else fills me with so much rage that I’m on the edge of bursting. Jealousy is a terrible look on me, yet I can’t help it. It’s as though it has been instilled in my very being that Arlo and I belong together, and anyone trying to tear us apart should be taken care of.
Somehow, I get used to the temperature, and I’m no longer as cold. Quickly, I skim through the cabinets of the bathroom, looking for the small packet of heroin I hid there a couple of days prior. Having full access to their base means having access to heroin. I’m riding the wave until someone finds out, and I’ll figure it out from there.
With a deep breath, I create a small line, holding one nostril while inhaling through the other. Over time, I got used to it. I got faster, too, but the feeling of the drug rushing through my veins is something I’ll never get over. Nothing could ever replace this feeling.
