I killed a man to save Demi, but I have no clue if I was too late. Was she hurt before I arrived? The relief in her eyes when I made a beeline for her after breaking the neck of my opponent has me skeptical, but I’ll never know if I stay here.
The fret in Agent Moses’s eyes when I grabbed him doubles as I end his bullshit with a handful of words. “I’m done. Whatever this is, was, or could have been is done.” I clutch his shirt for a few more minutes before I push him away from me with a grunt.
Like a fool not in fear for his life, he straightens his disheveled shirt and tie before he attempts to barter with me, “You need to think about this, Ox. My recommendation will get you in the door. If you don’t have it, you may not make it through the initial interview process.”
“It’s not like the Bureau hires murderers,” I mumble before I can stop myself.
Agent Moses replies, but I miss what he says since I’m heading for the door. Even with Arrow demanding for his colleagues to stand down, our exchange has gained too many onlookers for me to feel confident I’ll make it out of this bar without handcuffs circling my wrist. Considering Demi’s well-being is at the forefront of my mind, I can’t let that happen. Not even the manifestation of the badge he’s been promising me the past seven months can detract from that.
I work my jaw side to side when Agent Moses halts my exit with a snarled comment. “You either continue doing as requested or face life behind bars.”
“Life for breaking the buttons on your shirt?” I ask with a laugh. “Send me your tailor’s bill. I’ll pay for the repairs.”
“You wrecked more than a handful of buttons tonight. An entire family’s life was upended in an instant. Perhaps even more than one.”
I don’t need to spin to know what he’s referencing. I can hear the sickening details. The squeak that popped from Demi’s mouth when she was dragged away from the ring by her hair. The crack of Igor’s neck. His final breath. I hear it all, and it’s coming from the direction of the cell phone in Agent Moses’s hand.
“Where did you get that footage?” My voice is thick with anger. He could have only gotten that footage two ways. He was either at the event that changed me in an instant, or he knows someone who was. Either way, I’m pissed as fuck he has proof of how far I’ll go for a girl some may believe I’ve only just met.
“Where I got it from isn’t the issue.” He saunters my way, all pompous and shit. “WhoI give it to should be your sole concern.”
“Being in possession of such evidence and not handing it to the authorities is a crime in itself. If I go down for this, so the fuck will you.” I could be way off the mark, but I’ve got to try something. If I don’t, who will defend Demi when her uncle comes to?
When Agent Moses doesn’t bother with a reply, acutely aware he has me backed into a corner, I open and close my fists two times before asking, “What do you want?”
“The same deal we already have,” he replies without pause for thought. “Just on a bigger circuit.”
I scoff, confident my fists won’t make him enough coin he’s willing to lose himself in the process. There has to be more at play here than I’m seeing.
My inner monologue trails off when a disturbing thought enters my mind. He had images of Demi schmoozing men who lost their lives in the ring. That means he’s known of Col’s operation for months, and he’s done nothing about it. That makes him as corrupt as Col, and in a way, he’s partly responsible for my opponent’s death tonight. He has the resources to stop Col, yet he doesn’t. If that isn’t proof I can’t trust him, nothing will convince me.
Needing time to work out a plan of attack, I mutter, “You have my number.”
Agent Moses bobs his head like a bobble-head toy, unaware I’m not straight-up agreeing with his plans. “You made the right decision, Ox,” he shouts as I push through the swinging entry door.
Just as I’m about to round the corner I left Demi on, my path is blocked by a man I’d guess to be mid-twenties with blond hair, a wiry beard, and icy-blue eyes. The fact he steps back in my way when I try to move past him reveals he bumped into me on purpose, much less what he says next, “What happened to your knuckles? They look a little busted up.”
Even without him carrying a weapon, I know he’s an agent. They have a scent I plan to scrub from my skin the instant I get home. A smell that makes me as pissed as fuck Ieverthought I wanted to be a part of their operation.
“It’s nothing,” I reply with a smile, acting as if his narrowed gaze isn’t bouncing between my bloody knuckles and swollen cheek. “Some dude was sniffing around my sister. I told him to back off with more than words. I’m sure you’d do the same for your sister.”
He lets me sidestep him this time around, but I only make it two steps before a name stops me in my tracks. “Justine?”
After wiping the riled expression off my face, I spin back around to face the unnamed agent. I’m pretty good with faces. If I’ve seen his before, he must have had plastic surgery. That’s how unrecognizable he is.
I jerk up my chin as if my blood isn’t boiling. “How do you know Justine?” Since she’s the only common denominator we have, I work with it.
“I don’t know her,” he replies, way too cockily. While smirking at my stunned expression, he digs a photo out of his pocket like it’s a portrait of his family, then unfolds it. “I’m just surprised the guy you beat up doesn’t have a single mark on his face.” He waits for me to absorb Justine sitting across from Dimitri Petretti in an intimate setting before he adds, “If she were my sister, I wouldn’t have let him get that far.” When I snatch the long-range photograph out of his hand, he mutters, “You can keep it. I’ve got plenty more where that came from.”
He hits me with a cocky wink before he saunters away. As he breaks through the front entry door, I stumble upon Demi being held up by a tall man with a shiny head. He isn’t holding her up with any part of his body. He’s talking—a lot.
“I-I-I’m sure,” Demi stutters out when I join them next to my bike. “But thank you for the offer.”
I picture the horror on my mother’s face if she ever discovers what I did tonight when the man in a plaid shirt shifts on his feet to face me. He doesn’t say anything, but the look on his face reveals he thinks I’m responsible for the marks on Demi’s face. In a way, he’s right. If I hadn’t fallen into Agent Moses’s trap, Demi would have been uninjured, so every mark on her face is my fault.
The agent’s Russian accent is thick even with the gun on his hip being government-issued. “Enjoy the rest of your evening.”
Demi waits for him to join the other agents in the bar before she updates me on what their conversation was about. “He’s a federal agent, Maddox. He wanted to know who hit me and asked if I’d like to press charges.” After shoving a card for Special Agent in Charge Tobias Brahn into my hand, she scrubs a hand down her face like it isn’t battered. “Jesus. If my uncle finds out I spoke withanyonein the FBI, he’ll—”
