But still, I let him accompany me. As we move through the bustling office, he lays a meaty hand between my shoulder blades. I shudder at the sudden contact, but Bruno doesn’t flinch. Instead, I feel his fingers creep up the back of my neck, his grip tightening just enough to be disconcerting. My stomach tightens with every step we take. Something is very off, here. But how to find out what without catching hell for showing up at the Devil’s Playpen?
We step into the elevator together, and ride to the ground floor in utter silence. I breathe a sigh of relief as Bruno removes his hand from my back. But my dread is redoubled as we head out into the parking lot together. Away from the prying eyes of our coworkers, I watch as Bruno’s face transforms entirely. His features crumple into a mask of rage and contempt, and his thick fingers close around my upper arm like a vice.
“Get your hands off me, Bruno,” I spit, as he drags me across the lot. The hard sun beats down on us as he pulls us into the space between two parked trucks. We’re totally shrouded, hidden from the rest of the world.
“Gladly,” he snarls, slamming me up against the side of an armored truck. My head slams into the unforgiving surface, and bright sunbursts of pain light up my vision.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing, Bruno?” I hiss, shoving at his burly chest, “I get it. You’re pissed that I showed up on your turf. That doesn’t give you the right to manhandle me, you prick.”
“You’re right,” he sneers, planting his hands against the truck on either side of my body, “If I had my druthers, I’d be beating you to a bloody pulp instead. But you know how it is at the Bureau. Too much red tape when it comes to assaulting a fellow agent.”
“Are you out of your mind?” I breathe, staring up at him incredulously, “You just threatened me—”
“No,” he cuts me off, jamming a finger into my chest, “This is a threat: Stay the hell away from my investigation, or I’ll fucking kill you.”
“Excuse me...?” I say, my voice low and ragged.
“You heard me, you prissy little bitch,” Bruno spits. “I saw you at the Playpen, hanging all over your pet monster. I’ve been working on this case for months. I’m this close to taking these assholes down for good. And you’re off playing house with a fucking criminal. You could derail everything. I’m giving you fair warning to step the fuck off. Go home, fiddle around on your computer, and report back that you have nothing more to contribute to this case. Pack up your things, kiss your grimy boyfriend goodbye, and go back to California.”
“But I’m not through with my part of the case,” I tell him, “And once I tell Mitchell about this, he’ll—”
“You won’t breathe a word of this to Mitchell,” Bruno growls, catching my throat in his hand. I gasp for air as he tightens his fingers around my windpipe. His breath is stale, his red face maniacal and swollen. “Make no mistake, little girl. I will snap your goddamn neck if you fuck this up for me. In fact, it would be a pleasure. Don’t. Push. Me.”
He shoves me roughly away, and I scramble to put distance between us. “Or what?” I sputter, clutching my throat. “Don’t push you or what?”
“Knowing that I’ll hunt you down and kill you isn’t enough?” he laughs cruelly. “Fine. You don’t say a word about this to anyone, or I make sure that your man and all his friends get shipped off to prison. I’m sure it wouldn’t be too hard to pay off a few thugs on the inside...I could have them kill off every single member of Dante’s Nine and the Devil’s Wraiths the second they set foot behind bars. I have friends in very low places, Collins.”
“What the hell do you expect me to do with this, Bruno?” I breathe, staring at the maniac before me.
“Run, girlie,” he barks. “Run fast. Run far. Or you’re through.”
He turns on his heel and marches away from me, whistling a happy tune as he disappears back into the FBI field office. I stare after Bruno, my chest heaving. My entire world has been knocked off kilter, every organizing point demolished by this act of violence.
On shaky legs, I make my way back to my beloved Mustang. I slip into the driver’s seat and burst into baffled, furious tears. I feel more helpless than I have since the day Brandon was killed, and just as confused. Good and bad, wrong and right, law and outlaw...no single binary makes sense anymore. I have no idea where I stand.
The only thing I know is that I need to get to a safe place. I need to protect myself, figure out my next move. With barely contained panic coursing through me, I head back to my barren apartment. Or rather, my foxhole.
Chapter Fifteen
Hey Red. Heading to the 45 club. Need a lift?
I stare at the text from Brooks, my knees pulled into my chest. I’ve been sitting on my borrowed bed, all alone in the drab FBI apartment, for hours. Every cell in my body is crying to spring into action, but I’m paralyzed with indecision. This morning’s events have left me totally at a loss.
At the FBI Academy in Quantico, I was trained to defend myself against those who would do me harm. But I never expected the threat of harm to come from another federal agent. I joined the FBI because, in my mind, the feds were the good guys. Fighting the righteous fight out on the streets to protect people like my little brother. But after everything I’ve seen this week, and Bruno’s behavior today, I’m starting to see things in a whole new light.
Never before has the idea of going rouge occurred to me, during this operation. I’ve been assuming, this whole time, that I would put in an effort, dig up some intelligence on Kassie and Kelly, and head back to San Bernardino. I’m supposed to do my job and keep my mouth shut...but for what? For the sake of an organization that harbors lunatics like Bruno in its ranks?
I shudder, despite the warm night air wafting in through my cracked window. Bruno’s furious face looms before me each and every time I close my eyes. His attack this afternoon was unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. And I just don’t know what to do in the wake of it.
Bruno has been at the FBI far longer than I have. If I reported his actions to Mitchell, we’d just be playing a game of he-said, she-said. And everyone knows how those games tend to turn out. Bruno would say I was lying, I’d probably be let go from the case. There’d be no one working on Operation Inferno who knew the extent of his mania. The Devil’s Wraiths and Dante’s Nine would be at the mercy of an agent who’s clearly gone off the deep end. And I just can’t let that happen.