Thumper by Marie James
Chapter 8
Thumper
I’ve never claimed to be completely sane. I don’t think you can join the FBI and volunteer for assignments that put you in danger of dying each and every day and have that claim hold water.
What I didn’t realize until this moment, as I smile at the video image of Cara stuffing beef jerky in her mouth, is I’m even a little crazier than I originally thought. Why does the sight of her eating something I solely offered to her bring me so much pride?
I’m not delusional. I know she doesn’t trust me. Hell, Lauren knows exactly who I am and what I’m here for and she doesn’t trust me. That’s why she demanded a bathroom break when I was paying attention to Cara. I can sort of understand Lauren’s reaction, and it has nothing to do with jealousy and everything to do with the men in her life, the ones she should be able to trust, hurting her over and over. I don’t have all of Lauren’s background because she only talked about it once after having too much to drink, and even then, it was cryptic and filled with holes, but I know she had a very troubled childhood filled with abuse and heartache.
It’s no wonder she chose a profession that puts her in danger. The woman has faced scarier men in her own home than the ones she comes into contact with on the job. She’s fearless, stupidly so, but it makes for a great agent, one willing to take chances to get the job done.
It did grate on my nerves to think that Lauren wouldn’t trust me alone with Cara long enough to escort her to the restroom, but those are her trust issues.
I spent two hours after she left that room yesterday wondering if she wouldn’t accept my apology for what I did to her because she doesn’t believe that I regret it. I still don’t have the answer. It’s very possible that Lauren expects all men to behave the way I did, and that makes me sick to my stomach.
I shake my head, clearing it of Lauren and watch as Cara folds the tops of the beef jerky and nuts down before stuffing them under the corner of her mattress. Smart girl.
I look down at the paperwork she completed before her exam yesterday, and I have no doubts that she lied on nearly every single question. The only thing I don’t think she lied about is her first name. She responded too genuinely when I spoke it to her. She acted as if just saying it out loud was a betrayal she wanted to slit my throat for. That fire in her eyes was gone a second later, but just the flash of it let me know just how strong she is.
I’ll get my answers. The truth is important to make this whole thing go as planned, but I hate the pain so many women have to go through in order for us to shut down this trade route.
Gonzalo Sevilla is a heavy hitter in these parts and rumor has it the man is so powerful that even the cartels don’t fuck with him. Thousands of abductions have been linked to him and the men that work for him, and I heard his name more than once in the months I was working with Cerberus.
With Cerberus.
Ha. Unlikely. More like betrayal.
I don’t understand why I can’t move past it. Maybe because they’re great guys, and I’ve never worked undercover infiltrating an organization where they didn’t turn out to be criminal deviants, even those operating under the auspices of religion or not-for-profit. There was always some wrongdoing to find. I dug deep into Cerberus and found absolutely nothing. They aren’t bad guys, and I was so adamant about that, my boss threatened to have me fired and accused me of lying for them.
They’re the only group of guys—including members of the FBI I’ve worked with in the past–that I feel could lay their heads down with entirely free consciences at night.
And I fucked up. I let them get to me. I let myself start believing in my ability to change the world, yet here I am in the office of a sex trafficking house watching a captured woman hoard nuts and jerky away like a squirrel getting ready for winter because she doesn’t know when she’s going to eat again.
They’re going to be set free, but at what cost. It’s not like I can just hand them an envelope with cash and send them on their merry way and they’ll be grateful. They’re locked in cages for fuck’s sake.
My mind is wandering when knuckles hit my office door. I know it’s Angel having brought one of the girls to me because if he were alone, he’d just barge right in like he owns the place.
“This is Lisa,” Angel says as he escorts the sniffling girl into the office.
She’s terrified, that much is clear in her pretty blue eyes. Her blonde hair is a matted mess, but giving these women more luxuries, like conditioner and a brush will only draw more suspicion on me. I’ve already been questioned why they have cots with mattresses and blankets. One of the other assholes that Angel brought with him asked me why we waste money on heating the basement. According to him, their pussies still stay nice and hot despite the temperature around them.
I nod at Angel, the only hint he needs to get the fuck out of my face, but he pauses for a minute, his eyes warning me that I better not hurt her before her buyer arrives.
I sneer back at him, but wonder, not for the first time, if he’s closer to my side of justice than I originally thought when I hired him. He looks back at the girl, his jaw clenching like he has more to say, but he doesn’t open his mouth before leaving the room.
“Would you believe me if I told you that everything is going to be just fine?”
She nods her head, the tears still streaming down her cheeks, and I don’t believe her for a second. She doesn’t trust me, and she shouldn’t, but I can’t tell her the truth. I can tell her that after I blindfold her and walk her out to the truck waiting in front of the house that she’s going to be taken to safety.
People talk, and if she leaves not looking scared or heaven forbid grateful for the news, the entire operation could go down in flames.
Lauren—Lola—is my only ally here, and she’s down in the basement in a fucking cage.
“I won’t tie this tight,” I say as I approach her with the blindfold.
She squeezes her eyes closed, her body instinctively angling away from me, but she holds her ground.
Lisa is a little liar. Like I suspect all the women downstairs are. Her real name is Catherine, and she isn’t from San Francisco like she claims. Her family is from Colorado, and she took off with her boyfriend to California when her parents tried to get her to break up with him. She’s also seventeen, not twenty-two like she answered on her paperwork.
My handler has been trickling in the information as he gets it, but I knew we had to get her out of here first. If Berto or anyone from his gang found out just how old she really is, we would have bigger issues on our hands. The younger they are, the better price they pull, as fucked up as that is.
Her breaths are harsh, blowing in and out erratically from her nose as I tie off the bandana around her eyes.
“I’m going to help you,” I assure her. “One foot in front of the other.”
She whimpers, a heartbreaking sound I could go a lifetime without ever hearing again as I turn her around and lead her with a hand on her arm out of the office, down the hall, and out the front door.
“Slowly,” I say. “There’s a step. And another, and another.”
“Who bought me?” she asks.
“You’ll see soon enough.”
God, it’s right on the tip of my tongue. I want to ease her worry, but I can’t. Angel watches from the front door, his huge arms crossed over an equally muscular chest.
“Is this my sweet Lisa?” the man asks as he climbs out of the truck. “Turn around, girl. Let me get a good look at you.”
This is all for show, and I’m well aware that it is. The buyer is another undercover agent, but this show is for Angel’s benefit and whoever else may be lurking in the shadows. Some of the best advice I’ve ever been told when working these types of jobs is to never break character. I could’ve blown it in the bedroom yesterday with Laur—Lola. I shouldn’t have even had her brought back up from the basement, but the guilt was eating me alive. It still is. Her assurances did nothing to calm that pain in my chest, that echo in my head telling me I’m a bad man who has become the thing I’ve spent my entire adult life fighting against.
“Nice, nice,” the agent says as his head angles toward Catherine, but his eyes dart all over the front of the house. “Got anything younger? I might be in the market for more than one.”
“She’s the youngest I have,” I explain, my way of telling him that we don’t have enough information on the others yet to get them out of here safely.
I know it seems kind of counterproductive, but men are selling their daughters, nieces, granddaughters, you name it at an alarmingly increased rate these days, and we have to make sure the families we’re sending them to are healthy ones. Otherwise, we have to find alternative arrangements.
“That’s disappointing,” he says with a nod before pulling an envelope from his pocket. “Maybe next time.”
I count the cash he’s handed over, noting with a nod that I see the tiny chip inside.
“Until next time, Javier.” The agent gives me a soft salute before escorting his new purchase to his truck.
He buckles her in, handcuffing her wrists to a bar attached to the dash before making his way around to the driver’s side. The women and girls didn’t used to be handcuffed because they were being taken to safety, but they don’t know that and more than once, they’ve tried to jump from a moving vehicle just to escape.
“One down, five to go,” I tell Angel as I walk past him, giving his back a little smack with the money. “I’ll get this cash sorted and give you your cut in the morning when you bring that pretty redhead to my office.”
He follows me inside, hot on my heels. “Why?”
“Why what?” I ask, dropping the envelope to my desk like being handed a couple thousand dollars in one transaction is no big deal before sitting down in my office chair.
“Why do you need her in here?”
Testing him, I give him a wink before moving the mouse on my computer to wake up the screen.
“We talked about this,” he hisses, giving more credit to my idea that he’s closer to my side of the law than he is men like Gonzalo Sevilla.
“You said not to break their spirits. Do you know how much it takes to put out the fire in a redhead? Plus, I’ll fuck her mouth and leave her pussy alone.”
His jaw flexes, and I feel his pain. My stomach twists and turns with my own words. I’m fucking disgusting. I don’t want to be the good guy pretending to be bad to catch the criminals. For once in my life, I want to be the good guy all the time.
I look back at my computer screen before he can read the anguish in my face.
“I want her here at nine in the morning, Angel. Not a second later.”
He stands tall for a second longer before turning around and cussing at me in Spanish.
“I guarantee I’m going to burn in hell,” I mutter after he slams the office door closed.