16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

IZEL

We are riding back home in Richard’s car with that sick piece of crap now safely handed over to a uniformed officer.

“You do know that he’ll be charged with a misdemeanor, right?” I say, staring out the window. “We don’t have enough evidence to put him away for long.”

Without a word, Richard pulls his phone out of his jacket pocket, taps a few keys, and hands it to me.

I glance at the screen, and my eyes widen as I read the headline: Local Man Tied to International Drug Cartel, 2 Kilos of Narcotics Found with Vincenzo’s Signature Logo.

There’s a picture of the guy we just handed over to the cops. The same guy I was convinced we had nothing on.

I blink, my mind stuttering to catch up. “How...?”

Richard keeps his eyes on the road, a casual smirk still tugging at the corner of his lips. “I planted them in his warehouse.”

“You—what?” I twist in my seat to face him fully. “Why? How the fuck did you even get a hold of them?”

“A year back, I made contact with a girl who was selling for the Vincenzo cartel. I bought the product from her, two kilos of pure, uncut coke. Kept it stashed at a house I own but isn’t in my name.”

I blink. “So... you bought it from her? Then what? You just let her walk?”

“She was selling out of desperation. She needed money for school.”

I snort and start laughing. Like really laughing. My hand slaps the dashboard as I lean back in my seat, shaking my head. “Jesus Christ, Richard, you got played.”

“No, I didn’t.”

I wipe at my eyes, still grinning. “Oh yeah? How do you know she wasn’t lying to you?”

“Her eyes said it all. I could see the desperation. She wasn’t lying.”

I shift in my seat to face him, raising an eyebrow. “You’re telling me you can tell whether someone’s lying just by looking in their eyes?”

“You’d be surprised how much you can learn from someone’s eyes alone.”

“Alright. Let’s test that theory.” I unclip my seatbelt and lean closer. I inch toward him until my face is just inches from his, close enough to catch the scent of his aftershave, something woodsy and intoxicating. My gaze flicks to his lips for half a second before I look back into his eyes, “I like you.”

He doesn’t blink. “You’re lying.”

My bottom lip slips between my teeth, and I can’t stop my gaze from dropping back to his mouth. My body gives me away—the little slump in my shoulders, the way I shift awkwardly in my seat. I don't just like him.

I'm falling for him, hard, and he can see it.

“That’s because I hate you,” I respond with as much conviction as I can muster, straightening in my seat and looking away.

He chuckles softly, and warmth rises in my cheeks. “No, you don’t.”

I can’t respond. The silence stretches uncomfortably between us as I stare out the window, watching the scenery flash by, wishing I could focus on anything else but him.

Finally, I break the silence. “So, what’s going to happen to that guy?”

Richard doesn’t look at me, just keeps his eyes on the road, but I catch the way his fingers drum against the steering wheel. “Given the drugs we found, he’s going to be questioned. The FBI’s involved now since it’s cartel-related, and because I was the arresting officer, I’ll get dragged into it, but that piece of shit won’t admit to anything.” He gives me a sideways glance, that smirk creeping back. “Which means I’ll have to use some... off-the-book methods to make him talk.”

My eyes widen at that, and a grin pulls at my lips before I can stop it. “You’re going to torture him?”

“If there’s one category I despise more than serial killers, it’s fucking pedophiles. Scumbags like that deserve whatever they get. Besides...” He pauses, glancing at me like he’s deciding how much to tell. “There’s more at play here. This whole thing will connect him to the Vincenzo cartel—specifically, a woman named Lucia Ricci.”

The name clicks in my head. Lucia Ricci. The notorious Italian mob boss who’s been on the FBI’s radar for years. The woman who’s practically untouchable.

“She’s Italian, but her empire stretches from Guatemala all the way to the U.S. She’s got her hands in everything—drugs, weapons, human trafficking, you name it. It all started small, but over the years, she’s built something massive. She operates through Guatemala mostly. That’s where she laid her roots. It’s a perfect spot—right between South America, where the drugs come from, and Mexico, the gateway to the U.S. She uses the chaos down there to her advantage. The local gangs? She doesn’t just partner with them, she owns them. The Maras, MS-13, all those big names... they don’t make a move without Ricci’s blessing. She’s smart. She doesn’t do the dirty work herself, not anymore. She’s got layers of people between her and the ground-level ops. That’s why it’s been so hard to get to her.”

“So, how are you planning to get to her?”

A slow, dark smile spreads across Richard’s face, and it makes my stomach flip. “The thing about cartels,” he says, fingers tapping the wheel again, “is they always have rivals waiting to strike the second someone shows weakness.”

He pauses, letting the tension hang in the air as he shifts gears, the hum of the engine filling the space between us.

“Ever heard of Diego ‘El Tigre’ Santoro?”

I shake my head. “No, but I’m guessing he’s not exactly a nice guy.”

Richard snorts, glancing at me with amusement. “Not by a long shot. El Tigre runs a rival operation to Ricci. He’s a fucking savage. Grew up in the slums of Bogotá, started as a street kid pushing dime bags, and now... well, now he’s built his own empire. Drugs, extortion, murder—he’s got it all covered. The only difference between him and Ricci? He’s more of a blunt force kinda guy. Ricci’s got finesse. Tigre? He’ll blow up a block just to make a point.”

“So, what? You think Tigre’s going to make a move?”

“If Tigre knows we’ve got one of Ricci’s key players in custody, he’ll do everything he can to get to him first. And once he does, he’ll squeeze him for every bit of intel on Ricci. All we have to do is let him know.”

“So, you’re basically using the guy we just handed over as bait?”

“Exactly.” Richard says as a matter-of-fact. He’s gripping the wheel a little tighter now, his thumb tapping restlessly. “Tigre’s been looking for an opening to take Ricci down for years. He’ll come for this guy with everything he’s got.”

“And what about Ricci? She’s not just going to sit back and let Tigre make a move.”

“That's right. Ricci’s not stupid. She’ll come for him too. And in doing so, they’ll both make mistakes. That’s when I’ll swoop in and take them both down.”

I blink at him. “Jesus, that’s... impressive. Evil, but fucking impressive.”

He shrugs like it’s no big deal. “There’s a reason I’ve never lost a case.”

I roll my eyes, but there’s a part of me that can’t deny it—he’s good. Too good. My stomach twists, I'm not sure how I feel about this.

“And what happens to that guy? The one we just handed over?”

“Does it matter? He’s scum. He should have known better than to try and get his hands on a little girl. Whatever happens to him... he’s earned it.”

Something inside me loosens. Just like that, the pity I was feeling starts to slip away. Relief seeps into my body, but not for that asshole we just handed over—for Austin. I glance at Richard, watching him keep his eyes on the road. I’m so fucking grateful that Richard chose to believe Austin over that scum. My mind travels back to a time I’ve tried to bury deep. God, how different would my life have been? How much could have changed if only those officers had chosen to believe me.

“Hey,” Richard’s voice pulls me out of my thoughts, his hand brushing mine where it rests on my lap. “You okay?”

I blink, pulling myself out of my daze. My heart’s still racing, but I nod, forcing a small smile.

“Thanks,” I mumble.

Richard glances over at me and raises an eyebrow, probably wondering what has me all choked up.

“Thanks for what?”

“For not believing that man.”

“I wasn’t going to. But why didn’t you trust him?”

“C’mon, it’s no rocket science. That girl clung to you because maybe she’s been taught that officers are the good guys. Children believe that crap, you know?”

“What about adults? Do they still believe that?” Richard smirks.

I don’t answer right away, not because I can’t, but because I don’t want to. The truth is, I have a strong aversion to cops, something that Richard, for all his supposed niceness, is blissfully ignorant of. The last thing I want is to let him in on that secret.

By the time I finally do answer, it’s with a nonchalant shrug. “People see what they wanna see.”

Richard doesn’t push the issue, probably thinking that my evasiveness is just my way of avoiding a deeper conversation. He has no idea that there’s a dark reason behind my distrust of cops, and I intend to keep it that way. The less he knows, the better.

“You really did seem to connect with that little girl.”

“Yeah, I’ve always had a soft corner for kids. They remind me of what’s good in the world, you know?”

The next question slips out, even though it’s practically burning a hole in my mind. “Do you want kids?”

His eyes meet mine, and for a moment, I can see the sincerity in his gaze as he answers, “Yes, I do.”

I don’t know why I feel a pang of guilt at his response. It’s not like I want this Mr. FBI to be a part of my life, but for some reason, his answer hits me harder than I expected. I quickly look away, staring out of the window to hide the unexpected turmoil inside me.

We drive in silence for a while, and just when I think the conversation has taken a backseat, he throws my question right back at me.

“What about you? Do you want kids?”

I keep my eyes fixed on the passing scenery outside, pretending not to hear him.

August 12, 2005, at 2:45 PM

Tears stream down my face uncontrollably as mom holds the burning knife in her hand. It’s glowing sickly red, and I know I’m in deep shit.

“Mom, please, just let me go!” I scream. But my words fall on deaf ears as she doesn’t even seem to hear me. She’s lost in some other world of her own making.

“Mom! Listen to me! Let me go!”

She’s not hearing my pleas or my screams. The blade in her hand is a horrifying sight, and I’m trapped with a woman who’s become a monster.

I keep yelling, but it’s like shouting into a void. She’s not my mom anymore. She’s just a deranged stranger, and I’m just a helpless kid in a nightmare, praying for someone to wake me up. But there’s no one to save me.

I can’t believe what’s happening as I watch in horror. My mother drives the knife into my stomach. I can feel it cut through my skin, the pain searing through me like a white-hot poker. But I can’t even scream. All I can do is cry and plead for her to stop.

“Mom, please, stop! It hurts! I can’t take it!”

I can’t understand why my own mother would do something so cruel. The room seems to spin around me, and the pain is overwhelming.

“Mom, please, please, stop! It hurts so much!”

But she doesn’t. The blade continues its merciless path, cutting deeper and deeper into my flesh.

It’s hard not to dwell on how incredibly unfair this is. I’m just a little girl, and I should be playing with toys and laughing with my friends, not enduring this unimaginable pain.

My sobs grow louder as the pain becomes unbearable. “Mommy, stop, please! I can’t take it anymore!”

I can’t escape the agony, and I can’t understand why my mom is doing this to me. All I want is for it to stop, for the pain to go away, for my mom to be the loving mother I used to know.

The room starts to blur, and I’m growing weaker with each passing moment. My vision dims, and the world becomes hazy around me.

“Mom, please…” I murmur one last time. I don’t know if she can hear me anymore, but I can’t fight it. I can’t take the agony, and everything goes dark.

“Izel.”

“No,” I mutter, shaking my head as if I could shake away the memories of that awful ordeal.

I look away, pretending that everything is fine, just like everyone has pretended for so long. My mom disappeared years ago, leaving me with my grandparents. That’s the story everyone believes, the story everyone’s been told. No one ever bothered to dig deeper, to ask the real questions. They all bought the lie, and I’m left carrying the scars, both physical and emotional, in silence.

Richard and I walk into the house, and the weight of the unsaid hangs heavy between us. I can feel his concern, his worry, and his desire to help, but I can’t let him in. I’ve carried this burden alone for so long that it’s become a part of me, and I don’t know how to let it go.

I can’t stop thinking what will happen when the truth finally comes to light, when the secrets can no longer be contained, and when I’ll have to face the demons of my past head-on.

Richard suddenly pulls me close. It’s unexpected, and I can feel the heat of his body against mine. For a moment, I forget about everything that haunts me, everything that I thought I hated about him. He has this way of making me forget, of making me feel something other than the disgust that usually consumes me.

I raise an eyebrow, my usual defenses kicking in, but he doesn’t let go. His grip is possessive, and a bit dominating.

“Where do we stand, Izel?”

“Well, you’ve held me captive,” I say with a sass, “and right now, I want to break free of this damn house.”

He doesn’t let go, and his grip tightens a little. “Not happening,” he says. “Make a conversation.”

“What do you want to talk about, Agent?”

His eyes bore into mine. “How about you start with how you got that scar?”

The question hits like a punch, and I break free from his grip, turning away and heading towards my room. My heart races as I put distance between us, the walls of the house suddenly feeling too close, too confining. His footsteps follow me.

“Izel,” he calls after me. “Talk to me.”

I want to push him away, but there’s a part of me that’s tired of running, tired of being alone with my secrets.

I stop at the threshold of my room with my back to him. “I can’t have kids.”

Richard’s silence is deafening, and I can feel his presence behind me, closer than before. I turn to face him and he steps closer. His hand reaches out to trace the scar through my clothes. His touch is gentle, almost reverent, as if he’s afraid of hurting me more. “How did it happen?”

“A knife,” I mutter, at least that’s the truth.

He raises an eyebrow, clearly waiting for more. I swallow hard, forming the lie on my lips.

“I was a kid. I... I did this to myself.”

His eyes narrow slightly, not convinced. “You did this to yourself?”

I nod, the lie bitter on my tongue. “Yes. I was playing with knives. I sneaked into the kitchen, opened the drawer, and took out the biggest knife I could find. I started waving it around, pretending I was a pirate or a hero from one of my storybooks. But then, I slipped. The floor was wet from the rain I’d tracked in, and I lost my balance. I tried to catch myself, but the knife was still in my hand. It sliced through the air and caught my stomach.”

Richard frowns, his hand still tracing the length of the scar. “Izel, that doesn’t make sense. How could a kid do something like this to herself?”

I pull away. “This is why we can’t have a conversation, Richard! Your nature of interrogating gets in the way. You don’t know when to stop.”

He looks taken aback, but he doesn’t back down. “I just want to understand. I want to help.”

“I don’t need your help,” I snap, turning away. “I don’t need you to fix me.”

“Maybe not,” he says softly. “But I want to be here for you. I want to know what happened so I can support you.”

I feel the tears welling up, but I know they won't fall. “You can’t support me if you don’t trust what I’m telling you.”

“It’s not that I don’t trust you. It’s just... I know there’s more. I care about you, Izel. I really do. I just need to understand what you’ve been through.”

“Why do you care?”

He hesitates, his gaze softening. “Because I lo... like you.”

Was he just about to say what I thought he was about to? I shake my head, refusing to believe it. There is no way he can love me. But he did say he likes me. Nobody has ever said that to me before.

“You... you like me?”

He nods, his eyes full of sincerity. “Yes. I like you. A lot. More than I probably should. I care about you. And I want to help you, if you’ll let me.”

For the first time, I wonder if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. But one thing’s for sure: I’m not as immune to him as I thought, and maybe, just maybe, that’s not such a bad thing after all.

I never thought it would come to this. In an instant, I find myself kissing Richard with a fierce, aggressive hunger that I can’t control.

He doesn’t hesitate; he kisses me back with an intensity that matches my own. The kiss is a battlefield, a war of wills, and I can feel the heat rising between us, making me forget the past, the pain, and the secrets that have kept me captive for so long. For a moment, it’s just him and me, and nothing else matters.

He’s strong, and he lifts me effortlessly, his arms wrapping around me as he carries me toward his room. The world spins as he presses me against the dresser.

The aggressive kiss between Richard and me is interrupted by the loud crash of a manila folder falling to the floor, its contents spilling out. My eyes catch the details – documents, photographs, everything about me, where I’ve worked, my life since I moved to Virginia.

“You said I was here for protection,” I tear my gaze from the scattered papers as I look up at him.

Richard’s eyes give me an apologetic look for just a fraction of a second before he quickly covers it with a business-like demeanor. It’s infuriating how easily he can switch from one mode to the other.

“You are here for protection.”

“This is not protection, Richard. This is an invasion of my fucking privacy! What gives you the right to dig into my past like this?”

“I had to make sure you were safe. It’s my job.”

I can’t believe what I’m hearing. “Your job? Is your job to violate my trust and my personal life? To treat me like some sort of criminal?”

He says nothing as if he doesn’t owe me an explanation. I push against him with all my might, but he doesn’t budge an inch. His grip only grows stronger, and it’s like I’m trapped in a clenched fist. My attempts to break free are futile, and I’m growing more frustrated by the second.

In a last-ditch effort, I try to kick him in the balls, hoping to catch him off guard. But he’s too quick and catches my foot mid-air. His grip on my neck loosens, but it’s only to reposition me. He pushes impossibly close, his chest against mine, and I can feel the heat of his body radiating through our clothes.

“Richard, let me go,” I demand with anger and desperation.

“I’m not letting you go,” he says. “You’re mine .”

I let out an incredulous laugh. It’s a bitter, mirthless sound that betrays the turmoil inside me.

“Yours?” I scoff. “All that earlier… was a lie. You never wanted to know about me or my scar. You were interrogating me.”

“I won’t lie and say I wasn’t, but I wasn’t just interrogating you because of the case. You know that. Don’t pretend like you haven’t felt it, too.”

“Bullshit,” I snap, my eyes blazing with anger. “You wanted to control me, to keep me under your thumb. You think just because you’re law enforcement, you can play god with my life?”

He tightens his grip on my neck, just enough to keep me in place. “I did what I had to do to keep you safe. You’re in more danger than you realize.”

“And you think manhandling me and prying into my past is the way to do that?”

Richard’s eyes soften slightly, but his grip remains firm. “I am sorry, okay?”

I look at him, not giving a fuck about his apology. “You don’t really want me, do you?” I ask, almost to myself. “You want the truth. That’s what you’re after. You’re just using this to get in my head, make me talk. But guess what? You can’t manipulate me like that.”

“You think this is manipulation?” He leans in even closer, his breath hot against my ear. His fingers hook under the thin strap of my camisole, pulling down with a sharp yank that rips the fabric clean through, tearing through the straps and exposing my tits. “Let me show you what real manipulation looks like.”

I blink, my mouth opening to question him— What the hell is that supposed to mean? —but before I can form the words, his head dips, and his breath fans over my exposed nipple. The sensation stops me cold, stealing the air from my lungs.

“Wha—” The word dies on my lips as his mouth closes over me. The sharp sting of his teeth sinking into my flesh makes me yelp but then his tongue follows, soothing the ache, drawing slow, torturous circles around my aching nipple. He sucks and nibbles, increasing the pressure, the sensation flipping between sweet agony and unbearable pain.

A low moan escapes my lips, and I’m left gasping for air. My voice is reduced to incoherent gasps and pleas as his mouth works its wicked magic.

“Do you want me to stop?” he murmurs against my skin, his lips brushing over my nipple as his tongue flicks one last, devastatingly slow circle.

I can’t answer. My brain feels fried, short-circuiting under the onslaught of his touch. My mouth opens, but no sound comes out except a desperate, choked whimper.

He smirks against my skin, the curve of his mouth sending another shiver racing down my spine. “I’ll take that as a no,” he says, towering over me.

With a ferocious hunger, he claims my mouth, drawing blood from my lip in the intensity of our kiss. I can feel the metallic tang, and I know that I’ve provoked him. I bite him back, deliberately knowing that he’ll hurt me for biting him back, but I can’t stop myself.

His other hand travels down to caress the length of my scar, the rough touch sending shivers down my spine. His hand slides lower, slipping inside my pants, and I realize I’m wearing way too many layers. My jeans were his idea, and I see the regret in his eyes as he snaps the button, letting them fall to the floor. The dresser digs into my back, but the sensation of his fingers finding my clit makes me forget the discomfort. Richard is anything but gentle. He pulls at my clit, tugging it roughly before using his thumb to draw slow, sinful circles. I’m dripping wet, making a mess on his fingers.

“Fuck,” I moan pushing myself closer to his hand. I want this as much as he does.

Richard’s fingers leave my clit, and I feel the slick wetness they’ve collected as he moves them, probing at my entrance. It’s a teasing, agonizing touch, and I arch my back, silently begging for more.

But he isn’t pushing his fingers inside like I want, and the frustration is maddening. I press my hips down, craving the feeling, but Richard’s hold keeps me just where he wants.

“Do you want me to make you come, baby?” he growls. I nod, because I am pretty sure my need is evident in my eyes.

He slightly tips his finger inside, just enough to make me gasp, before pulling it back. “You know what I want to hear,” he says.

I don’t respond with words. Instead, I forcefully try to move under his grip, pushing my hips to impale myself on his hand, but Richard is unyielding. The frustration is building, my body aching for more. He’s playing with me, teasing me in the most agonizing way.

He teases me further, just the tip of his finger sliding inside, and it makes my walls clench around him almost immediately. But the pleasure is short-lived as he pulls it out, denying me what I crave.

In incoherent words, I beg, “I want your fingers inside me, Richard.”

A wicked grin spreads across his lips. “That’s my good girl.”

He pushes two fingers inside me, and the sensation is like a shockwave of pleasure. I can’t hold back the moans as he fills me, stretching and pushing me to the brink.

“Feel that, baby?” he whispers, his voice a seductive purr. “Feel how fucking tight you’re gripping me.”

I can’t respond with words. His fingers move with a rough rhythm, each thrust pushing me closer to the edge. His thumb finds my clit again, rubbing and pressing, making me squirm and writhe beneath him.

He continues to praise me with dirty words, igniting the fire inside me. “You’re so fucking wet for me, Izel. You love it when I make you scream, don’t you?”

“Please,” I beg, “Richard... I can’t... take it...”

He smirks, his grip on my clit tightening even further. “You can take it, Izel. You can take all of me.”

I moan louder, unable to deny the truth in his words. He’s pushing me to the edge, and I can feel the orgasm building, a storm of desire that’s about to consume me.

With one final, cruel tug on my clit, I shatter. My moans turn into cries of pleasure, and I clench around his fingers, unable to control the waves of ecstasy that wash over me.

Richard unzips his pants, and his cock springs free, an imposing presence that captures my attention. It’s the most beautiful cock I’ve ever seen, long and hard, with veins pulsating beneath the skin. My breath quickens as I take it in, my eyes fixed on the monstrous thing in front of me.

I’ve never taken something this big, not that I’ve paid much attention to sizes, but it’s like some innate instinct, a girl thing that tells me what I can and cannot handle. And this... this is something else entirely.

I can’t tear my eyes away from it, and my breathing becomes erratic.

“Impressed?” Richard comments.

He places his cock at my entrance, and just as he’s about to push forward, I blurt out, “Stop.” It’s a word I’ve haven’t used in a long time because saying “stop” has never actually stopped anything. But this time, something’s different.

I look into his eyes, a desperate plea in my own. “Richard, please... stop.”

To my surprise, he does. His grip on my waist loosens, and he steps away from me, his cock still fully erect.

Richard plants a soft kiss on my cheek, and I’m about to speak, but he places a finger on my lips, effectively silencing me. He leans in, rubbing his still-hard cock against my pussy, and I can feel the delicious friction, a temptation that’s hard to resist. I want him, I really do, but the memories of those monsters that have haunted me for so long loom in my head, and I can’t ignore them.

“I’m not a very patient man, but I will wait for you.”

With that, he stuffs his cock back into his pants and removes his shirt, extending it towards me. But I’m not taking it just yet. Instead, I’m busy staring at his hard muscles, the veins that travel from his arms to his neck. I want to leave my mark on him just as he’s left his marks on me.

“If you look at me like that for a second longer, I’ll pick up where we left off, and no amount of begging will make me stop.”

I snap out of my trance, taking the shirt from him. The silk fabric hugs my body, and I can feel his heat lingering on it. With a murmur of gratitude, I turn and walk in the direction of my room.

“Good night, Izel,” Richard says with a smirk.

My response is barely more than a faint, “Good night.”

In my room, as I lay in bed, I think about the risky situation I’ve just walked into. It’s a complicated mess, one that I’m not entirely sure how to handle. But in this moment, I feel a sense of empowerment that I haven’t felt in a long time. I'm grateful that he’s given me something I’ve never had before - a glimmer of respect and a taste of what it feels like to be treated with care.