Thumper by Marie James

Chapter 12

Thumper

Two days I’ve stayed away from the basement.

Two days I’ve spent pacing and tapping my fingers on random shit.

Two days I’ve kept myself busy without pulling up the video feed from her cage.

Two days I’ve spent riddled with guilt for what happened to Megan.

Two days knowing that no matter the outcome of this, that woman will never be the same.

None of them will.

I’m not their savior.

I’m the catalyst for their abduction.

I can reason with myself that if I hadn’t purchased them, someone else would’ve, but that does nothing to ease the guilt.

It does nothing to prevent me from wanting to burn the world down.

To take on Gonzalo Sevilla on my own, and I know that I would if I knew where that evil fucker was hiding out.

I’d cut his fucking head off, plant it on a pike in front of his house and shoot down anyone who approached.

I’d rain hellfire down on every person I even suspected as having ties to a trafficker.

This isn’t the right job for me. There’s no satisfaction to being a cog in the wheel of this fucked-up machine. I’m as much a part of the problem as I am part of the solution, and it makes me physically sick to be playing a part at all.

Looking back, if I had a choice, I would’ve joined the Marine Corps which would have made me eligible for being a true member of Cerberus rather than a piece of shit who infiltrated their organization in hopes to get some dirt on them so the feds could shut them down.

I press the palms of my hands into my temples, but it does nothing to eradicate the throbbing pain there.

If it weren’t for the headache, I would probably be able to stay away from her for longer than two days, but I can’t focus. I can’t get shit done because somehow that redheaded woman is the only thing on my mind. I’m not focused on her because I want to get her under me. I have no right to those kinds of thoughts. I want to comfort her. I want to confess my sins and beg for forgiveness. I want her to look at me without seeing that evil man who didn’t stutter before fucking Laur—Lola over the hood of that fucking car. I don’t want her thinking I raped her again in the room and broadcast it to all the other women because I knew real traffickers do that sort of thing to get them scared and afraid to cause trouble.

I don’t want her looking at me and seeing a monster.

It’s selfish to want any of those things because I am a monster.

And I know in her eyes I always will be. But as sure as my blood runs through my veins, I have the constant pull to try to make her think differently.

I clear my throat and rush around my desk, dropping in my chair like I’ve been there all along rather than pacing.

“Come in.”

Angel shoves the door open, Cara right behind him, and I’m surprised he didn’t have to carry her in here like he did last time. I also know from the look in her eyes, that she’s no more willing walking in on her own than she would be if she were carried.

I point to the same sofa she sat on last time, needing to keep up the charade that I’m an uncaring bastard in front of Angel. I’ve caught him looking my way as if he’s still trying to feel me out the last couple of days, and as time goes on, I start to really consider the possibility that he’s here in some way for the same reasons Lauren and I are, but I haven’t pulled the trigger on that yet.

He watches me as Cara heads to the couch to sit. I can feel his eyes on me, and I read loud and clear the warning on his face before he walks out and closes the office door.

Just the presence of her in the room somehow manages to calm me, so I leave her alone, pretending to work on my computer as she sits in silence.

I sense her looking around the room, and it makes me wonder if I should offer to let her get up and roam around, but I don’t want her to run. It will mean I have to chase her and despite the brutality I displayed with Lauren when they first arrived, I’m not that man. I don’t get thrills out of chasing and overpowering. For me, there’s nothing sexier than a woman coming to me to get what she needs. I’ve never had any desire to make a woman feel forced into something sexually. It was one of the main reasons things didn’t work out with Lauren for very long. That’s something that she needed, and I was uncomfortable giving it to her.

So, I don’t offer her the opportunity to look over the bookcase to find something to read.

We just sit… in silence.

Well, near silence. I’m aware of every move she makes—when her hips shift or her fingers twitch on her leg.

I can tell she wants to speak, and I don’t know if it’s anger or fear that’s keeping her mouth closed, but so long as she’s with me in the room, I can wait her out. It’s when she’s locked downstairs that I seem to struggle.

Time ticks by. I watch the minutes roll by for an hour before she finally caves.

“You killed that man.”

“I’ve killed a lot of men,” I mutter, trying to not let it show just how thrilled I am that she’s voluntarily speaking to me.

“You’ve hurt a lot of women.”

It doesn’t come out as a question, and as much as I’d like to argue with her, I feel like I did hurt Lauren even though she denies it and hurting one woman is one too many. There’s no justification for it, on any level.

My jaw aches with how hard I keep my mouth clamped closed. I have serious doubts that she would believe me if I fell to my knees in front of her and explained what was really going on.

Actions speak louder than words. That’s a fact, not just a saying.

I fire off a text to Angel, demanding that Lola be brought to the office, and I don’t say another word in the fifteen minutes that it takes for them to arrive.

Pissed, Angel doesn’t bother to knock before shoving my office door open.

Lauren almost smiles until she notices Cara sitting quietly on the sofa. Her eyes suddenly find mine. We may not have seen each other for years, but this woman is one of the few that can read me. She knew me long before I was able to school my emotions and only show people what I want them to see, but none of that matters because the look on my face makes what I’m feeling perfectly clear.

My eyes beg with her. Please let me tell her.

She gives me the most imperceptible shake of her head.

Denied.

I plead again, my throat working on a swallow.

Another denial.

“Boss?” Angel asks, but I don’t feel the need to explain anything to him.

“Lola, why don’t you have a seat over there by Cara.”

Lauren complies, but she doesn’t look happy.

Angel doesn’t leave, and I’m grateful with his insistence to stay.

Lauren knows the truth. I want Cara to know the truth.

If he walked out of here, I know I’d open my mouth.

Since I don’t fully trust Angel, he prevents me from ruining two different missions.

I’ve been trying to wrap my head around the fact that although it’s pretty fucked up, there are a lot more lives at stake than just those in this room and the ones in the basement. Stopping Sevilla means taking out a huge chunk of the trafficking business. I just hate that we’re part of the sacrifice needed in order for that to happen.

The silence grows thick and heavy, becoming something toxic with Lauren in the room whereas it was calm and tranquil before I had her brought up.

Lauren is an expert in her aloofness, but I can feel anger and irritation rolling off her.

“Angel, please take Cara back downstairs,” I mutter.

Angel doesn’t move. He knows what I’ve done with Lola in the past. Hell, they all do.

Eventually, after looking between Lauren and my eyes twice, he nods and holds his hand out for Cara to take.

I bite back a smile when she walks toward the door, refusing to put her hand in his. She seems timid and broken most of the time, but it’s moments like that that I can still see a spark of the fire inside of her.