The guys grumble but pull out their wallets, pulling out an extra five-hundred dollars. Scott counts through it quickly and then hands it to Misty, muttering curse words. She calmly takes the money, stuffs it in the garter around her leg, and then proceeds to start removing her corset.
I turn around to leave, knowing my work is done.
“You should stay and watch.” I hear Misty, and my head swivels back her way. “Scotty-boy here is pretty drunk, and I’m not feeling exactly safe with them. You should stay… you know, to make sure things don’t get out of hand.”
I can’t help myself. This time, my nose crinkles up in disgust. “You’ll be safe,” I assure her with confidence, and then pin the men with a direct stare. “These guys will be extra gentle, right?”
They both nod quickly, although their eyes are immediately pinned to Misty’s ginormous boobs that pop free from the corset.
“Good then. You guys have a fun time,” I say, turning away once more.
“That’s too bad,” Misty says in a mocking tone. “I know you’d enjoy watching me work, Raze.”
“Not my thing,” I say without even looking back over my shoulder. Walking out of the door, I shut it softly behind me.
God, I fucking hate this part of the operation. Peddling ass to sleazy men that are here cheating on their wives in order to ride the next big thrill. It’s fucking abysmal, so I keep reminding myself that the end goal will save numerous women.
When this sting is over, I know I’m probably going to bath in Clorox just to get the slime off me. I also know that after this, my undercover days are over.
Chapter 2
Andrea
I wipe my sweaty palms on my slacks, thankful the black material won’t show the wet trail I’m leaving behind. Taking a deep breath, I knock on the SAC’s door and let it out slowly while I wait for admittance.
“It’s open,” I hear the gruff voice say from within. Squaring my shoulders, I turn the knob and push the door inward.
FBI Special Agent in Charge, Dale Lambert sits behind his desk, which is covered with stacks of files and empty, paper coffee cups. His silver hair, though, is sharply styled and his dark, charcoal-gray suit is pressed to perfection.
He looks up and gives me a blank look. “What can I do for you, Somerville?”
“You wanted to see me, sir?” I ask as I clasp my hands behind my back, legs slightly parted to stand at attention.
“Right,” he says distractedly and starts digging through the stacks of files on his desk. “Take a seat. There’s something I want to discuss with you.”
My heart starts racing, and I try to maintain my rigid posture as I stride around one of the chairs that sits opposite of his desk. I sit down, perched on the edge, with my back ramrod straight. I clasp my sweaty hands in my lap and pray that he has the news that I’ve been dreaming of getting.
Four months ago, I applied to the Behavioral Research and Instruction Unit of the FBI or, because the FBI loves its abbreviations, the BRIU. I asked my SAC, Dale Lambert, for his recommendation, and he gladly gave it although he said he’d hate to lose me in the Pittsburgh field office where I’ve been assigned to him for the past two years. I’ve been through the interview process with the BRIU—three to be exact—and while I know it’s a long shot—I can’t help but keep my hopes up. I’ve never let anything stand in the way of my goals before.
Even at the cost of sacrificing something very important.
The reason it’s a long shot for me to get accepted is because I’ve only been a special agent with the FBI for going on two years now. I’ve worked in the Criminal Investigative Division at the Pittsburgh field office since then and while I’ve done some pretty boring shit like background checks for new federal hires, I’ve also been a part of some interesting investigations ranging from violent to white-collar crimes.
Lambert pulls a file out, flips through it briefly, and then hands it to me. “The Raleigh field office is doing a joint investigation with the local police of a potential sex slavery ring. They need a female agent to go undercover.”
I take the file from his hands even as dejection courses through me. Definitely not what I had wanted to hear. Not that this couldn’t be a great opportunity, but I was really hoping he was going to tell me I was on the way to Quantico instead.
“There’s been no word from the BRIU so get that forlorn look of despondency off your face,” he growls at me.
My eyes snap to his, and I smooth out my facial features. I don’t address his most recent statement, asking instead, “Don’t they have an agent in Raleigh that can do this?”