Page 82 of Rooster

No one chuckles or assures me that it isn't as they take their own seats. From the corner of my eye, I can see Robert settling into his desk chair, most of his body hidden by the massive row of computer screens. It feels staged and intentional that I can't fully see him, and it makes me wonder if the anxiety I'm starting to feel by not being able to watch him or look him in the eye is part of their plan to make me anxious.

"Tell me about Henry Stewart," Bandera says, more than a slight hint of demand in his voice.

My brows draw together. "Like what?"

"Like everything," Whiskey suggests.

I look to my right, trying to see Robert, but he has shifted his body, hiding completely behind the screens. I want to growl at him and accuse him of being a coward for letting this happen to me, but the insidious thought that he got close just to manipulate me begins to ring as alarms in my mind.

I swallow, trying to force away the pain and disappointment I'm feeling as I stiffen my back and make a point to look each man at the table in the eye. Twisted is the only one who looks even a little uncomfortable about this confrontation, but I know better than to think the man would be on my side in anything. Not when it's a choice between his teammates and me. I have no delusions about where I stand with them as they all glare at me like I'm hiding something.

"The first time you met him," Bandera prods.

"Was outside of the Thai restaurant," I respond. "Like I told you the first time I was asked."

"You were there with another man," Whiskey clarifies. "And you took Henry's number outside?"

"Correct," I all but growl.

"And then, within an hour, you were already sending him nude photos of yourself," Whiskey continues.

There's not much in life that I have felt shame for. I've always been a live-and-let-live type of girl, but the way he says it with that high-and-mighty inflection in his voice makes me question my life decisions. That, in turn, really pisses me off.

"I'm an adult," I snap. "I don't have to justify my consensual actions."

I sense Robert shifting his weight in his chair, but I refuse to look over at him. He's clearly not the man I thought he was if he's going to sit there silently and let these men treat me this way.

"And you were intimate with him less than twenty-four hours after the phone number exchange," Bandera says.

"If you know everything, then why am I sitting here being grilled about it?" I ask, my eyes once again sweeping over every man in the room except Robert. "You just want more details? Want me to tell you that he was a selfish lover? That he didn't make me come? That his brother did more with his fingers last night than Henry did with his entire body? Slut shaming, is that what this is? Because I have better things to do with my life."

"I want to know when you really met Henry Stewart and what the real plans were for infiltrating Cerberus," Whiskey says, his voice sinister and full of warning.

His mood doesn't block the confusion that hits me right in the chest.

"What?"

"I didn't stutter," Whiskey says. "Why are you here?"

"I was brought here!" I yell, my emotions taking over. "I didn't ask for this. I said I wanted to go home, but I was urged to stay. Don't turn this shit around on me."

"You're a plant. Someone Henry put here for a reason, and we want to know what it is," Bandera says, his voice so even it scares me.

I rub at the cold chills racing up my arms, but it does nothing to make them go away.

"I'm not," I argue. "A plant? Are all of you insane? In what world? This isn't a fucking Jason Bourne movie or something."

Not one man at the table looks as if they believe me. Twisted still looks uncomfortable as hell, but he's no closer to speaking up in my defense than Robert is.

"Explain the text messages," Whiskey demands.

"You have access to them," I remind him. "I'm sure you all got a good look at the pictures I sent."

"I want to know about the deleted ones," Bandera says.

"What? I didn't delete text messages."

"Really?" Whiskey says. "Explain these then."

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