MYVISIONTUNNELSAS I focus on the punching bag, pummeling it as images flash through my brain. Images of my parents’ caskets being lowered into the ground, of me holding my newborn sister as I stand broken, next to my Nonna. I lost my parents because of the underground trash that runs this city.
My city.
At only seven years old, I vowed to avenge their deaths. Thoughts too dark for a child that young, but I was blinded by rage and angst. I followed in my father’s footsteps and joined the FBI, then used my career to gather what I’ll need to take down the man who ripped apart my family. The Omen has most of the city’s law enforcement in his pocket, making things even more difficult. All the evidence I have is hidden away privately until I have enough to take to the right people.
Every punch ripples through me as they become quicker and more demanding. I focus on my breathing while letting out my aggression until a familiar high-pitched voice breaks through my concentration. I don’t want to deal with this bitch today.
“I love watching you work out,” she purrs.
I contemplate punching the bag and stepping aside, so it knocks her down, but I decide against it. She doesn’t do well with hints and would probably think I was flirting with her. Fuck my life. I take one last deep breath before facing her, unwrapping my hands to avoid eye contact.
“What can I do for you, Detective?” I ask in as neutral of a tone as I can muster.
This gym is for FBI
employees, but here she stands. Mona Bridges is just a basic police detective
with hearts in her eyes. She’s not bad to look at but not my best choice; a
drunken one-night stand that took Bridges from a crush to near obsession. I
hardly remember what happened, mostly just that it did happen. A shame, really.
She would make for an easy quickie in the shower room. But I’m not that
desperate.
Mona flips her straight brown hair behind her shoulder, showing off her long neck and cleavage. She has big, brown, doe eyes and silky ebony skin. Again, a shame. That might just be my dick thinking for me, throwing common sense out the window. I quickly shake it off, not wanting to fall down that rabbit hole of crazy again.
“I just stopped by to drop some files off –”
“And, what? You got lost on your way to the office and wound up here?” I cut her off. Annoyance flashes in her eyes, and I can’t help but chuckle. She hates when I don’t give her the attention she craves. One of those "maybe I can change him" types.
“Collins said you were here, so I was going to see if you wanted to go out for lunch,” Mona says, nearly bouncing on her toes. She’s so eager.
That motherfucker.
Bastian Collins, my so-called best friend, just set me up to deal with this bullshit. I bet he’s sitting in his office laughing his ass off. I’ll deal with him later. Prick.
“No, Mona,” I sighed. “For the I don’t even know how many times it is, not fucking interested.”
On a huff, Mona turns, and all but stomps her feet as she walks away without another word. She’s just lucky I’m at work, and I can’t say everything I want to. Not that cussing at her was very diplomatic, but it got me off the hook quickly and easily enough, at least for now.
I grab my water bottle and shirt from the mat and head to the locker rooms. On the way, I do a sweep to make sure that crazy bitch isn’t trying to get a peepshow while I shower; the locker room is more accessible than it should be.
Most FBI agents around here don’t use this large facility much, which means fewer distractions. Lockers line the walls with three rows on each side, the drab white and grey, prevalent throughout all the buildings, mirrored even here.
I go to my usual locker to strip, wrapping a towel around my waist before hitting the shower. Turning the hot water all the way up, I let it cascade over my stiff body while I rest my head against the wall. Images of my parents fill my head again.
With every year that goes by without justice, I become angrier, more vengeful. I’d trade in my badge and take a life sentence in prison just to put a bullet between Nathaniel Olin’s eyes. To watch as his empire crumbles under his demise.
But, right now, I just need to get wasted and laid. Sex is an excellent way to relieve pent-up aggression.
After my shower, I dress and head back to the office. I have to finish out my shift and have some words with my friend. It doesn’t take long to find him. His slicked-back white-blonde hair is neatly unmoving while he jokes around with a co-worker. I walk behind him and land a slap across the back of his head. Bastian whips around, confusion and irritation in his eyes, but sobers quickly when he realizes it’s me.
How much gel does he use, anyway? Not a single hair moved out of place. He stands a few inches shorter than my six-foot-three, and I scowl down at him with my arms across my chest.
Bastian’s the office tech guy. I grew up with him after my parents died since his parents went to the same church as my Nonna, and she always told me I “needed to make friends.”