He shakes his head.
“I-I d-don’t know who that is,” he splutters, meeting every eye in the room, looking for help he’s not going to get. “Please, Director, I don’t know who he’s talking about.”
The director looks at Deavers with disgust for a moment before turning to the bookshelf and reaching his hand under the empty third shelf. Something clicks behind it, and it groans before sliding to the left. I’d seen something similar in The Omen’s office and I wonder if this was put here for him to move unnoticed in and out of the building to meet with the director.
I shake my head as a dark hallway lights up, showing a hidden elevator at the end of it. The director turns back to face us and jerks his head to the hidden hall.
I have so many questions, starting with what the actual fuck is happening?
He smirks as Oren comes to stand next to me, reaching down to gather Deavers’ arms and handcuffs them behind his back. Deavers collects his jaw from the ground as terror fills his brown eyes.
“Get your girl back, Brenner,” Director Rene says. “No one will know you have Deavers no matter how much he screams.”
Well, alright. One less problem to deal with.
Oren throws me a roll of tape then kicks off his shoe and I give him a questioning look. He smiles up at me and pulls off his sock. I wrinkle my nose when he shoves it into Deavers’ mouth, forcing his jaw closed as he gags behind it. Oren looks at me and I get the hint he wants me to tape it on. I do as I was silently instructed, and thrill runs down my spine when Deavers retches again after I seal the dirty sock in his mouth.
“He might vomit and choke on it,” I say, but the malicious smile on my face belies the implied worry.
Oren chuckles and shoves Deavers forward so he starts moving.
“Your girl might like the screaming and crying, but I can’t say I’m a fan.”
“Are you telling me we won’t be having kids in the near future, O?” I taunt.
He turns to me with a look of mock horror.
“Mal would shank me for stealing her man and ruining her chance at the both of you creating the fucking anti-Christ,” he jokes.
I chuckle half-heartedly. “Who’s the devil in this scenario?”
Oren looks at Deavers, pushing him toward the elevator. “To be determined,carnal.”
The radio blares through the speakers of another cleaner van that was waiting in some secret part of the bureau’s basement. When I asked about the van we left in the above-ground lot, Oren told me the director would move it to the basement in place of this one. Seems the vans are swapped out after dirty jobs like this. I can’t even begin to make sense of how entangled the worlds of “good” and “bad” have become.
We locked Deavers in the back of the van, the crying and pleading for his life muffled by the sock stuffed in his mouth. Apparently, not muffled enough for Oren, though. He’d had enough of Deavers’ whimpering within two minutes; thus the ear-splitting music. Where our ride to the bureau was mostly quiet with small talk, our return was nothing short of a heavy metal concert.
Tuning out the screaming vocals and powerful instrumentals of the music, I found it easy to get lost in my thoughts. Oren’s words back at the bureau, seemingly playful and innocent then, began tugging at the recesses of my mind until I was able to give it my full attention.
I’ve never thought about children. No wife, no family aside from my sister and whatever children she might have one day. With my mind always preoccupied with retribution and bringing down the entire Olin empire, I never thought beyond that. Until now. Until Malia.
That train of thought only makes me that much more desperate to find her so we can pick up where we left off. The two of us have lost so much time, being separated when my parents were killed, then the shitshow of a mission Malia was sent on to reinsert herself into my life.
If there were such a thing as star-crossed lovers I’d say our ill-fated start was some sort of ominous foreshadowing to an inevitable failure. And, while that should have me turning my back on Malia and high-tailing in the opposite direction, I can’t bring myself to do it.
I love her. And I’ll fight like hell to keep her.
I pinch the bridge of my nose as tension begins to settle behind my eyes. Oren takes notice and turns down the music just enough to keep Deavers’ cries from reaching us. I drop my hand and lean against the door, my body already drained and exhausted, and our day has only started.
The first step to a future with Malia is earning the respect of the men she loves the most. I need to push through this to the best of my ability and not bitch out in the eyes of Lion or The Omen simply because I took a little damage. Not that I’d ever show them weakness if I did have their respect. I couldn’t care less what they think of me personally, but I know what they mean to my Little Warrior. They matter to her. And that’s all the reason I need to prove myself to them.
To have a future with her, I need their acceptance. To make her my wife the second she’s back in my arms, I need their blessing.
We pull up to the mansion, the drive back seeming shorter than our drive to the bureau. Maybe getting lost in my own head helped speed things up. Fucking hell, I’ve turned into the world’s biggest simp for this girl; it’s almost pathetic.
I snort to myself and Oren looks over at me with a raised brow after he throws the van in park. I just shrug and open my door, rounding the van with the intention of laying into Deavers right-the-fuck now. Before I can open the back, Oren places his hand on my shoulder to stop me. I narrow my eyes on him and pull at the handle.
“You need to tell Nate and Lion we’re back,” he says, slamming the door shut. “They deserve to be here and they’re more experienced with getting answers.”