Instead of letting the guys beside me build anymore courage, I turn my head and glare at them, giving them a look that doesn’t leave any room for discussion. Neither of them has a chance, and they’d be fools to even try. I’m not above hurting a guy’s feelings. I’m not politically correct. I’m not going to giggle, sweep a lock of hair behind my ear and tell them thanks but no thanks. It’s not my style. I don’t have it in me.
One guy darts his eyes away as quickly as he can. The other lets his gaze linger before his throat works on a rough swallow. Suddenly, his beer becomes more interesting than me.
“Put your teeth away,” Drake says as he approaches. “Do you need another Coke?”
I grin at him. He isn’t intimidated by me, but as I look him up and down, I know he’s also not capable of giving me what I need.
I have no doubt the man could please a woman, or a man, considering I’ve seen him flirt relentlessly with both, but he’s not the kind of thrill I’m looking for.
Coming from pleasure and coming from force are two very different things. One I have no interest in and the other I seek out to my own detriment, which is kind of the entire point.
“I’m good,” I tell him as I pull a five from my pocket and drop it on the bar.
I do my best to ignore the breeze on my lower belly from my busted zipper. Thinking of it makes me think ofhim, and as I walked away tonight, I told myself I’d leave that entire situation alone.
“Need me to call you a cab?”
I huff. “I had a Coke.”
“It’s dangerous out there,” he counters. “Maybe one of the guys can give you a ride back to the clubhouse.”
I narrow my eyes at him. I’ve hung out here with Cerberus before. I’ve arrived with them and left with them, but I’ve never had a conversation with Drake about any of it. He’s either assuming I’ve been staying there, just going off what he has seen, or someone is talking about me. The hairs on my arms stand up with the thought. I fucking hate my name in other peoples’ mouths.
“I’ll be fine,” I say as I stand.
I don’t bother looking back at the table of Cerberus guys before walking back outside.
I don’t know what bothers me more. Is it that he assumed I’d want to leave with Cerberus or that I can’t handle myself in the damn dark alone?
I focus on those two things as I walk toward one of the motels in town because thinking of what my head wants to focus on isn’t an option.
I’m done with Angel. He gave me what I needed… twice… and that’s enough.
I shoot off another text to Alan, but at this point, I’ve gotten used to those going unread. I can’t ask for another handler because it would bring up too many questions. Alan gives me a little more leeway than I imagine anyone else in the Bureau would. He knows the dangers I put myself in, but he also doesn’t question me. He knows it would be pointless, so he no longer bothers to warn me. He gives me the facts about the case and lets me make my own choices on how to handle those situations. He’s willing to leave certain things out of reports, and I’m grateful to him for it. I’d have to undergo another round of psychological testing if they knew what I really go through. Condoning the assault of an agent isn’t something the FBI would ever want to be accused of, so going above Alan’s head isn’t going to happen, and he damn well knows it.
The guy behind the desk at the fleabag hotel leers at me like I’m fresh meat as I pay for my room. But when I stare back at him, he cowers and apologizes.
Since when did men become such pussies?
I’m agitated, irritated beyond measure, as I lock the door to my room behind me.
Despite knowing I’ll be more exhausted in the morning than I am now, I force myself into the shower before climbing between the itchy sheets.
Maybe tomorrow I can head out of town. A trip back to Kansas may be in order. It’s been a very long time since I visited my hometown. My skin starts to itch again with thinking of the pain that place causes me.
It may be exactly what I need to get back on an even keel.
Chapter 13
Angel
I haven’t gone far from Farmington in the last week.
Tracking a ghost might seem impossible, but there are ways to get it done.
Without William Varon using credit cards, I’ve had to resort to old-fashioned hunting. It draws more attention to myself, and I’m not fond of that aspect of it, but you can’t really wave a picture around town without people taking notice.
He’s here, but for some reason he hasn’t made a fucking move.