Page 114 of Pucked Around and Found Out

“Anyone else want to be a hero?” Fiona asks pleasantly, surveying my men. “No? Good. You're all free to go. Tell whoever's waiting for Mr. Devlin that he's been detained for questioning. We'll release him when we're done.”

“Bullshit!” Gauge shouts.

“I can do whatever I want,” Fiona says. “I'm the Deputy Director of the CIA, and you're all associates of known criminals. So I suggest you leave before I decide to detain all of you.”

She turns away from them and climbs into the SUV where they've shoved me and Cas.

The door slams shut.

“Drive,” she orders.

The vehicle pulls away, and I watch through the tinted window as my men stand there surrounded by federal agents, helpless to do anything.

Then we turn a corner and they're gone.

I'm breathing hard, rage coursing through every vein, the handcuffs cutting into my wrists.

Beside me, Cas is in a similar state, cuffed, bloodied from the takedown, his casted leg stretched awkwardly in the cramped space.

“This is the dumbest thing you've ever done,” I tell Fiona, my voice cold and deadly. “And you've done a lot of stupid shit.”

“Have I?” she asks calmly.

“Yeah. You have.” I lean forward as much as the cuffs allow. “Because now I know exactly who to kill when I get free. And I will get free. These federal charges? They won't stick. My lawyers will have me out in forty-eight hours. And then?”

I smile, and I know it doesn't reach my eyes.

“Then I'm coming for you. And trust me, what I did to Steven Kellar will look like mercy compared to what I'm going to do to you.”

“Interesting,” Fiona says, unmoved. “Because I was under the impression you were too busy angsting over Toren Kellar to be making death threats.”

“Don't say her fucking name,” I snarl.

“Why not?” Fiona challenges. “She's the whole reason you're in this mess. The reason you've lost focus. The reason you're making mistakes.”

“The only mistake I've made is not killing you sooner,” I shoot back.

“Well, let me show you another mistake you've made,” Fiona says, opening her laptop and turning it toward us.

“I don't give a fuck about your⁠—”

The words die in my throat.

It's surveillance footage.

The house where Toren is staying.

The timestamp shows last night.

And there, clear as day, is Toren sitting on the sofa with Carnage De Santis.

I watch as he reaches up to cup her face. Watch as his thumb strokes her cheekbone. Watch as he leans closer, his eyes dropping to her lips.

Watch as they stay frozen there, foreheads touching, in a moment so intimate it makes something in my chest crack open and bleed.

“What the fuck is this?” I demand, my voice low and dangerous.

“Evidence,” Fiona says simply. “Of what really happens when you're not around.”