Asa nods, but then the door swings open and several men swarm him, knocking him to the ground.
When Jon sees what’s happening, he scrambles toward the backdoor, just as it’s busted open and three men rush inside. Jon is immediately subdued and thrown to the kitchen floor.
It isn’t until this moment that I realize these guys won’t have any clue Dalton and I are undercover. I don’t even have a badge on me to prove it. They’ll just think we’re on Asa’s side.
The next several seconds are complete chaos.
More men appear through the doorway, guns are pointed at our heads, we’re on our stomachs, faces pressed to the floor, hands being cuffed behind our backs.
I’m lying next to Dalton and before they pull him to his feet, he whispers, “Stay calm. Wait until you’re alone before saying anything.”
I nod, but one of the agents notices us communicating. Dalton is jerked up by his arms.
I can hear Asa being read his Miranda rights as two men jerk me up off the floor by my arms. They’re barking orders, separating all of us into different parts of the house. I’m pulled into a spare bedroom off of the kitchen.
All I can think about is Sloan and how freaked out she probably is right now.
The door slams shut behind me and I’m thrown into a desk chair. There are two men in the room with me. One is taller than me with dark blonde hair and a beard. The other is shorter, stockier. Red hair and an even redder mustache. The red-head is the one who speaks first. They both pull their badges out of their jacket pockets and flash them at me. “I’m Agent Bowers,” he says. “This is Agent Thompson. We’re going to ask you a few questions and we’d appreciate your cooperation.”
I nod. Agent Bowers walks closer to me and says, “Do you live here?”
I shake my head. “No.” I start to tell them what I’m doing here and that they’re making a big fucking mistake, but the tall one interrupts me and says, “What’s your name?”
“Carter,” I say. I don’t say Luke yet, because I’m still not sure if Asa is even being arrested. The last thing I need is for the fucking FBI to blow my cover.
“Carter?” agent Bowers says. “You just have one name? So you’re like Madonna? Cher?” he bends forward, eyeing me. “What’s your fucking last name, smartass?”
I twist my hands behind my back, trying to ease the pressure cutting in to the circulation in my wrists. My pulse is pounding in my temples, partly because of the entire last few minutes and partly because I’m pissed that they’re about to end everything and get all the credit. Sure, they might be here to arrest Asa. And yes, I’m relieved that Sloan is now safe. But knowing the entire last few months were for shit and that I put Sloan in danger more than once really hits a nerve.
It grows quiet and I can hear Asa yell, “Fuck you!” from another room.
Agent Thompson kicks my chair, bringing my attention back to him. “What’s your last name, son?”
Little does he know I’m aware of how to conduct a proper investigation, and these assholes have already broken at least three rules. But the FBI, and even the police, aren’t really known to follow rules to the specifics in situations like these. I know that firsthand.
I open my mouth to respond to them, but I’m cut off by the sound of Sloan’s scream come from upstairs. I immediately jump up, but both of them shove me back down in the chair. “Fucking arrest me, or let me go!” I yell.
I have to get to Sloan. She’s probably scared shitless right now, not knowing what the hell is going on. I need to check on her before I fucking lose it, but they won’t let me out of the room. “I’m on your side,” I say to them, trying to keep my voice calm, when I just feel like screaming at them. “If you take the cuffs off, I’ll prove it and then get back to my fucking job!”
Detective Thompson stares at me for a moment and then looks back at agent Bowers and laughs. He points at me. “You hear that?” he says. “He’s a cop.”
Agent Bowers also laughs, and with a heavy dose of sarcasm, he says, “Our bad. You’re free to go,” he says, pointing toward the door.
I could do without the sarcasm. I also know I just fucked up by breaking cover, but I’m not sitting in here for another minute with these assholes. I’ll worry about dealing with Ryan later. “You’ll find my badge taped to the underneath of my passenger seat. It’s the black Charger.”
Agent Thompson’s eyes narrow and he looks at me like he might actually be entertaining the idea that I’m not lying. He looks at agent Bowers and nudges his head toward the door, silently telling him to go verify.
When Jon sees what’s happening, he scrambles toward the backdoor, just as it’s busted open and three men rush inside. Jon is immediately subdued and thrown to the kitchen floor.
It isn’t until this moment that I realize these guys won’t have any clue Dalton and I are undercover. I don’t even have a badge on me to prove it. They’ll just think we’re on Asa’s side.
The next several seconds are complete chaos.
More men appear through the doorway, guns are pointed at our heads, we’re on our stomachs, faces pressed to the floor, hands being cuffed behind our backs.
I’m lying next to Dalton and before they pull him to his feet, he whispers, “Stay calm. Wait until you’re alone before saying anything.”
I nod, but one of the agents notices us communicating. Dalton is jerked up by his arms.
I can hear Asa being read his Miranda rights as two men jerk me up off the floor by my arms. They’re barking orders, separating all of us into different parts of the house. I’m pulled into a spare bedroom off of the kitchen.
All I can think about is Sloan and how freaked out she probably is right now.
The door slams shut behind me and I’m thrown into a desk chair. There are two men in the room with me. One is taller than me with dark blonde hair and a beard. The other is shorter, stockier. Red hair and an even redder mustache. The red-head is the one who speaks first. They both pull their badges out of their jacket pockets and flash them at me. “I’m Agent Bowers,” he says. “This is Agent Thompson. We’re going to ask you a few questions and we’d appreciate your cooperation.”
I nod. Agent Bowers walks closer to me and says, “Do you live here?”
I shake my head. “No.” I start to tell them what I’m doing here and that they’re making a big fucking mistake, but the tall one interrupts me and says, “What’s your name?”
“Carter,” I say. I don’t say Luke yet, because I’m still not sure if Asa is even being arrested. The last thing I need is for the fucking FBI to blow my cover.
“Carter?” agent Bowers says. “You just have one name? So you’re like Madonna? Cher?” he bends forward, eyeing me. “What’s your fucking last name, smartass?”
I twist my hands behind my back, trying to ease the pressure cutting in to the circulation in my wrists. My pulse is pounding in my temples, partly because of the entire last few minutes and partly because I’m pissed that they’re about to end everything and get all the credit. Sure, they might be here to arrest Asa. And yes, I’m relieved that Sloan is now safe. But knowing the entire last few months were for shit and that I put Sloan in danger more than once really hits a nerve.
It grows quiet and I can hear Asa yell, “Fuck you!” from another room.
Agent Thompson kicks my chair, bringing my attention back to him. “What’s your last name, son?”
Little does he know I’m aware of how to conduct a proper investigation, and these assholes have already broken at least three rules. But the FBI, and even the police, aren’t really known to follow rules to the specifics in situations like these. I know that firsthand.
I open my mouth to respond to them, but I’m cut off by the sound of Sloan’s scream come from upstairs. I immediately jump up, but both of them shove me back down in the chair. “Fucking arrest me, or let me go!” I yell.
I have to get to Sloan. She’s probably scared shitless right now, not knowing what the hell is going on. I need to check on her before I fucking lose it, but they won’t let me out of the room. “I’m on your side,” I say to them, trying to keep my voice calm, when I just feel like screaming at them. “If you take the cuffs off, I’ll prove it and then get back to my fucking job!”
Detective Thompson stares at me for a moment and then looks back at agent Bowers and laughs. He points at me. “You hear that?” he says. “He’s a cop.”
Agent Bowers also laughs, and with a heavy dose of sarcasm, he says, “Our bad. You’re free to go,” he says, pointing toward the door.
I could do without the sarcasm. I also know I just fucked up by breaking cover, but I’m not sitting in here for another minute with these assholes. I’ll worry about dealing with Ryan later. “You’ll find my badge taped to the underneath of my passenger seat. It’s the black Charger.”
Agent Thompson’s eyes narrow and he looks at me like he might actually be entertaining the idea that I’m not lying. He looks at agent Bowers and nudges his head toward the door, silently telling him to go verify.
