Page 77 of Debt of My Soul

Although what he says next makes me take every thought back. “I could just arrest you. Make you tell me where this compound is.”

“I don’t know where it is. Have only heard about it. Only his trusted circle and some warehouse workers reside there. I couldn’t tell you,” I say, my mouth dry with the lingering taste of bile on my tongue. “But I could find out.”

Agent Wilson’s eyebrows lift slightly. “We need someone in there. Darrin’s group is one we’ve been watching for a while. We’ve picked up a few of his dealers but more keep taking their place. He’s part of a much more extensive network across the nation. His shipments feed into others.”

“Why don’t you arrest him? Take down the operation in Ruin?” I’m growing frustrated the more I sit here. I came here to escape this life, not learn more about it.

“It’s not about cutting off an arm. It’s about killing the whole thing. Taking out Darrin would leave room for another kingpin to take his place. We need information. We need someone deep cover for the long haul.”

I hate the way he’s staring at me.

“With your law enforcement training and your”—he pauses, sizing me up—“your personal investment in ensuring your brother’s safety, I think you know what our position is going to be.”

That was my original plan. To follow in my grandfather’s footsteps. Becoming a cop was going to be the way I honored him. Instead, I’ve become the very person I vowed to take down.

“We’ll set up protocols and procedures for dead drops. This is dangerous work. They treat undercover cops and agents worse than any other nark in their own group. My partner was killed three years ago. They removed his head and sent it back to the agency in a box.”

I flinch at the pit forming in my stomach, and I want to wretch all over again. I’m going to die doing this.

“I tell you this to make sure it’s clear. Deep cover means you are on your own. There’s no Hail Mary. No cavalry called in. Nothing. Don’t have a wife and kids, do you?”

I shake my head.

“Good. Don’t get involved.”

This assignment, this mission, it could be my redemption. I just don’t want to lose my soul before I get there.

Chapter 31

Fleur

An ache in my neck stiffens any potential movement when I wake. I don’t open my eyes. Instead, I clench them, trying to take stock of the gnarly position my head is in. Twisted to the right side, my face is buried in between the back of the couch and where the seat cushions meet it. My shoulders, unfortunately, face the other way.

I need to move. I know I do. However, the thought of peeling myself away from this uncomfortable orientation feels like too much effort.

Adding to the twinge radiating in my neck and between my shoulder blades, my head pulses with a dull throb. It’s most likely from an emotional night.

When Liam dropped me off at the cabin, I told myself I was going to rest and stay calm. Unwrapped and glaring at me, my wrist had other plans. What am I going to do with this mark when I finally get free? Cover it up? Wear long sleeves forever?

I stared at it for minutes before letting more tears fall.

I’m not sure how long I cried. Stopping only long enough to brush my teeth and pull on some pajama bottoms. Last thing I remember is forcing my face into my pillow to muffle myweeping. Liam must’ve been out late because he wasn’t home when I finally fell asleep.

It takes me another five minutes to lift myself off the couch, grimacing with each crack of my stubborn spine. I rack my brain for a few stretches and yoga positions from years past and awkwardly attempt those for some sort of relief.

When I get back to a normal life, I need to get in shape. This is embarrassing.

Sufficiently limber, I pad to the kitchen, stopping short when a dark residue on the round kitchen table grabs my attention. I narrow my eyes at the gray-speckled dust and drag a finger through it. Between my finger and thumb, I rub the substance together, watching the fine soot-like material settle in the ridges of my prints.

Huh.

In the kitchen, I wash my hands and pour myself a glass of water, my eyes scanning the cabin. It’s eerily quiet, and when I pull aside the window’s curtain, there isn’t a soul moving about the compound.

Figures. Probably a late night for everyone.

My thoughts drift to Liam, and after using the bathroom, I tiptoe to his room. The door is cracked, and with ease, I push it farther open. A large form lies under the blankets moving up and down with the steady rhythm of his breaths. I linger; creepily so. And even move to see his face smushed into the pillow between his balled-up fists.

He’s on his stomach, torso bare, giving me an unobstructed view of his fully tattooed sleeve and a huge horseshoe welt on his ribs. I snarl at the thought of Darrin marking so much of his skin—the pain. A sigh escapes him, blowing a fine strand of hair out of his face then back over his mouth.

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