TORTURE ME_ The Bandits MC(9)

“If we’re doing this, we’re doing this MY way,” the text message read. It was Fiona. It had to be. She was probably at work and away from her computer.



“What does that mean?” Gage texted back quickly, without thinking.



“It means you listen to me when I tell you not to push me on this shit. You respect my boundaries or this isn’t happening. Don’t try to fuck with me,” she replied back in less than a minute.



There was so much unspoken subtext underneath her harsh words, but Gage knew what she was saying immediately. Don’t try to get back with me, his brain translated as he read her words. Don’t tell me that you want me. Don’t tell me that you love—



Gage cut off his own thoughts, rapidly typing out a response on his phone. “Of course. I understand.” He stared down at the small screen of his phone for a long minute, tapping his foot impatiently as he waited for an acknowledgement text from Fiona. But nothing came



He groaned and put his phone back into his pocket, closing his laptop roughly and shoving it into his desk drawer before grabbing the photograph that the Greenwoods left behind a half-hour earlier. Gage stared down into Tori’s wide, hopeful eyes. “I’m going to find you,” he said out loud but was met only by the chipper noises of the birds outside finally waking up. “I’m going to save you, if it’s the last thing I do. I promise.”



# # #



Fiona’s work day passed by annoyingly quickly, the hours flying by even as she prayed for them to slow down. She was dreading the conversation she knew she had to have with Carl after work. More than anything, she wished she could avoid it. But she had no real choice in the matter. Carl would figure out what was going on sooner or later, and it was better for all of them if she went ahead and told the whole truth rather than dancing around it.



When Fiona walked into the apartment at dusk, Carl was already sitting on the couch in their living room, which still had boxes lining the walls. Fiona had moved in several weeks earlier in preparation for the wedding, but she still didn’t have room for everything, despite the apartment’s numerous closets and drawers. Somehow, things just refused to fit.



Fiona put her bag down on the floor, slipping out of her shoes but keeping her tights on for the time being. She couldn’t give herself permission to relax yet. She still had a lot of work ahead of her. She inhaled deeply, willing herself to be strong, before she opened her mouth to speak. Carl was staring down at his laptop, typing away furiously. He still hadn’t looked at her since she’d walked in. Fiona wondered if he noticed that she was here at all.



“I have to talk to you about something,” Fiona said slowly.



“Sure thing, honey, come sit next to me,” Carl said without looking up from his laptop, his eyes laser-focused on whatever work situation he was currently dealing with. He worked a lot, even during the evenings and on weekends, but Fiona had gotten used to it by now, even just six months into their relationship.



Fiona walked over to the couch, stiffly plopping herself down next to Carl without touching him. That was a personal problem that she had sometimes. When she was stressed out or bothered or annoyed or even just a little bit anxious, she couldn’t stand to be touched by people. Through years of therapy, various psychologists had all informed her reaction was perfectly normal and natural and even expected after surviving something like what Fiona had experienced. But not a single one of them could offer her a solution for it.



“I, uh, I got a request for an out-of-town job today,” Fiona said, choosing her words carefully to start with. Carl knew about Gage, or at least knew of him, and even though Carl wasn’t really the jealous type, Fiona hesitated to mention Gage’s name right away.



“Oh, yeah, what kind?” Carl asked, his eyes glued to his computer screen as he continued to type.



Fiona hesitated for a long moment, unsure of how to phrase this delicately. For the whole time that she’d been with Carl, she’d only worked mild cases, cases involving only minimal to moderate violence. She usually didn’t deal with rape, even if she did still have to contend with trauma every day. As such, Fiona worried that Carl might not quite understand the type of work that she used to do, the ways she used to be mired in the muck of murder.



“Um, well, it’s closer to the criminal profile work that I used to do, um, in the city.”



“Oh, yeah? That’s interesting, honey,” Carl replied, but his tone was so bland, so unengaged that Fiona couldn’t help but feel like he hadn’t really heard her. So, naturally, she felt herself grow irritated, much too quickly for her own good. That was another bad habit she had, lighting her own, rather short, emotional fuse.