My eyes dart to O’Brien’s face. “How do you feel about Dobroshi?”
The frown line deepens between his eyes, his lips part, but then he pauses, and it makes my stomach tighten.
“It’s only been three weeks,” I murmur, careful not to upset O’Brien. “If you’re already forming a bond with him, it’s going to be a problem.”
His eyes lock with mine then he shakes his head. “I’m not forming a bond with him.”
“Okay. What happened at the meeting?”
“I was given a test.”
My eyebrow darts up. “What kind of test?”
Letting out another heavy breath, he says, “I have to get money from a client that’s not paying.”
I read between the lines knowing he might have to use violence and beat the client up. Not able to break protocol, I pick up the phone and dial the only number on it.
“What’s up?” Eric answers.
“I need the chief.”
“Gotcha.” It takes a minute, and my eyes remain locked on O’Brien, who leans back against the couch.
“Yes, JJ?” Chief’s voice comes over the line.
“We need authorization for the possible use of violence.” O’Brien’s eyes meet mine.
“Circumstances?”
“O’Brien needs to get money from a client to prove his loyalty.”
“Cleared.”
“Thanks, Chief.” I end the call and set the phone down. “You’re cleared. Do you have the client’s details?”
We spend the next hour typing up the report, and as soon as I shut the laptop, O’Brien’s eyes search my face. “Off the record?”
“Okay.” I set the device aside and focus all my attention on my partner.
“I’m struggling with the sounds.”
My expression instantly softens, and being his partner takes a backseat to the woman who loves him. “What sounds?”
He hesitates, and I get the feeling he wants to talk, but he also wants to protect me from what he saw today. Getting up, I take a seat on the coffee table again, so I’m closer to him.
“I can handle it. Let me help you carry this.”
O’Brien takes a slow breath, his eyes not leaving my face. “Grunts and disorientated groans. The girls are all drugged.”
The memory of O’Brien laying into me about what would happen should the Albanians get their hands on me flashes through my mind. My heart constricts, knowing the same thing’s happening to the girls, and I start to feel the guilt weighing on O’Brien.
“It’s disgusting,” he mutters. “Fucking depraved, and I just walked by as if none of it mattered. I just left them there.”
Leaning forward, I place my hand on his knee again, not even considering it’s inappropriate. My need to comfort him outweighs anything else right now. “It’s for the greater good. If we send in a team to free the girls, we risk everything we’ve worked so hard for. Keep your eyes on the end goal.”
O’Brien gives me a despondent look I’m not used to seeing on his face. He’s always determined and sure about everything.
I scoot to the edge of the table until my knees press against his and move my hand to his forearm. “Daniel.”
His eyes snap to my face, surprise and something else flashing over his rugged features from me using his first name. I’ve never done it before, but I need him to hear me.
“What you’re doing and risking is incredible. You didn’t fail those girls. We need you to gain the syndicate's trust, and we knew you’d be forced into situations where you’d have to cross the line. It doesn’t define who you are. Nothing you do while undercover changes who you are.”
The guilt in his dark gaze starts to ease a little, then he nods. “I’m going to need you to remind me of who I am.”
“I will. Every damn day if I have to.”
O’Brien shifts his arm until his hand takes hold of mine, giving me a squeeze. “Thanks, JJ.”
“That’s what I’m here for.”
O’Brien
After recharging with JJ last night, I’m ready to carry out my test, and this time I’m prepared for anything.
“He owes us a month’s worth of visiting the massage parlor. Two thousand four hundred,” Joseph tells me even though the information is in the folder I was given. “You get nothing less than that amount.”
Nodding, I shove the driver’s door open and climb out of the car.
He’s nothing more than a rapist. He deserves to have the shit beaten out of him.
With the guilt from leaving the girls behind still swirling like a bitter cocktail in my gut, I shove the door to the travel agency open and ignore the protesting secretary as I stalk into Glen Middleton’s office.
His gaze flies to me with surprise, and then all the blood drains from his face. I must fit the role of an Albanian soldier perfectly that I don’t even have to tell him who I am.
“I’ll pay. I just need another week,” he says, panic lacing his words as he scrambles to his feet.
Not having the patience to chase the fucker down, I lunge over the desk, planting my foot in his chest. He staggers back against the wall, his arms splaying wide as he tries to regain his balance. Thinking of the girls the fucker has used as if they’re nothing, I throw the first punch, the crack of his nose offering me zero satisfaction.
I couldn’t give two shits about the money, but knowing I can’t return without it, I growl, “You’ll pay right now, or I’ll kill you.”
The fucker tries to give me another pleading look. Grabbing hold of his bleached stained shirt, my fist connects twice more with his face before I give him a look filled with warning. “I’m not going to tell you again.”
I wait three seconds, then pull back my arm, and it has him squealing, “Left drawer! Left drawer!”
Shoving him hard against the wall, I stalk to the drawer, and opening it, I find a cash box. “The fucking key.”
He scrambles to retrieve it from his pocket, holding it to me with a trembling hand. Ripping it from his grip, I unlock the box and take all the cash from it.
“I only owe two thousand, four hundred,” he starts to protest.
Judging by the stack of dollar bills, it’s easily over five thousand. “Consider the rest interest.” When he opens his mouth to protest, I shove him up against the wall and deliver a brutal punch to his side that has him crumbling like a sack of shit the moment I pull back. “Don’t fucking show your face again at the parlor.”
Stalking out of the office, I shove the cash into my pocket, feeling a glimmer of relief that I at least got to beat up one of the fuckers raping the girls.
But the relief isn’t nearly enough to make a dent in the guilt.
When I climb into the car, Joseph glances up from the back seat. I pull the cash from my pocket and hand it to him.
“You kill him?” he asks.
Not even bothering to hide my emotions, I grumble, “No.”
Joseph counts the money then lets out a satisfied chuckle. “I knew you wouldn’t fail me.”
Starting the car, I ask, “Where to?”
“Jezebel’s. I want to rub the money in John’s face and celebrate.”