syntheticavenger - Tumblr blog

syntheticavenger · 10 days

Text

Thank you 🥺.

Redemption - Ten

It's been a year since I wrote anything for Redemption. We've seen Ransom's struggles but this is probably the most honest look at the Reader's feelings thus far.

Definitely teared up writing some pieces so you may want to get some tissues! Labrinth's "I'm Tired" was inspiration for this chapter.

Redemption Series Masterlist

Word Count: 3K

Warnings: 18+ ONLY. Heavy angst, language, emotional breakdown, mentions of past cheating, fainting, mentions of past drug use.

Summary | Ransom Drysdale thought you made a clean break from him after your failed marriage. After a run in at a coffee shop, it appears that it wasn’t as easy as he thought.

There’s a handful of times Ransom has been a praying man.

Once to get clean, staring at his reflection in the mirror after a particularly hard night, nostrils bright red and dark circles underneath his eyes, his mouth feeling like it was packed with cotton. He’d lost count of how many days since he had gone on a binge, empty liquor bottles strewn across the hotel bathroom floor. He’d prayed hard that morning, gripping the sink, fighting to remember what to say to whatever higher power would listen.

Another time to bring you back home, his fingers pressing against the fabric of his pants when he was sitting in the parking lot of your job. The vivid scene of your chest rising and falling, the soft whimper of your distress when he’d tried to calm you down from another letdown, another egregious sin that he had committed against you. You could smell the unnamed woman on him, lamenting that you would never measure up to whatever he was chasing, even as he lied to you and told you that you were enough. He’d prayed hard for the guidance for you to come home, to be enough to help him fight his demons.

A feverish prayer of gratitude when he finally woke from what seemed like years of sleep, only to find out he was under tubes, ventilators and the watchful eye of a team of doctors who were watching his every move.

Making a deal with whoever would listen when he first saw the twins. He didn’t pray for sleep that night after he saw them, replaying Leah’s wide-eyed wonder at the man who stood behind her and his son who had a touch of cynicism about him, even at his young age. He’d prayed that his children wouldn’t grow up like him, bored of a life that he didn’t take advantage of, turning to the vices that made him the shell of who he had become before he had come into their lives.

His solace isn’t a church.

Not now, anyway, not with the shadows that creep into his mind that could lead him to think the worst of himself and the pathway to feeling better is one that could find him on the precipice of a relapse.

His place of refuge is a coffee shop, his pastor a man a burly man with a beard and kind eyes.

“California isn’t a short trip,” Ari quips, pouting a dash of creamer into his coffee mug. “I assume it was a mutual decision?”

“Sure,” Ransom answers, watching the condensation on his glass of water form into droplets that slide down and onto the coaster. “ I didn’t have much of an excuse to say no, you can’t let my children go across the country to Disneyland.”

“It’s more than that.”

Ransom shrugs, trying to ignore the needling feeling that he should admit how he feels, especially to his sponsor.

“Go on.”

Ransom hates the way Ari can make a conversation seem so simple.

“Makes it real, I guess. She and Steve are getting pretty serious.”

“Sounds like.”

“But that didn’t stop her from letting me come over the night prior.”

“Ransom,” Ari sighs. “In what context are we talking about?”

“There was a lot of emotion.”

“I’m sure there was,” Ari agrees. “But that’s not what I asked. Did you sleep together?”

“No,” Ransom rushes out, his face hot with embarrassment. “But does that matter?”

“It does when you want me to think that you had some emotional, physical aspect to you going over to her apartment. It means you’re still not looking at the truth. I appreciate the candid conversation but let’s be honest here, you could have told her no, that the agreement is that the kids stay local. You didn’t do that. Why?”

“If I said no,” Ransom begins, twisting around his signet ring. “She would have asked why and I didn’t have an answer. I can’t tell her that I’m jealous that she’s seeing another man that isn’t me. We’ve had some nice moments. Doesn’t feel like I should fuck that up by telling her she can’t live her life.”

Ari nods in agreement, Ransom blowing out a hard breath.

“Happy?”

“No,” Ari denies. “Are you?”

“I feel like shit. More than anything, I want to call her, I want to talk to the kids, but I don’t know if they landed and -”

“You know they landed. I saw the flight tracker on your phone. Be honest with me, Ransom. This is a safe space, I’m not here to judge. Unless of course, you want to continue blowing smoke up my ass.”

“I fucked up,” Ransom says quietly, reaching for his coffee cup. “That’s all I can say. Sometimes, I’ll dream about her, and the kids and it feels so goddamn real and then I wake up and it’s…”

He exhales a shaky breath.

“If I have to do this every day for the rest of my life, then I will because it means I still see another day and I get a chance to be around my kids. But I’d be lying if I said waking up from that dream doesn’t fucking hurt every time,” he finishes, trying to will away the tears that well up in his eyes.

“You’re going to get through this. I don’t know where the cards lie for you and her, Ransom, I can’t see the future. But what I do see, is someone who is taking his sobriety seriously and is a loving father to his kids. That part isn’t a dream. That’s real.”

“Yeah.”

Ari leans forward, placing his hand over Ransom’s. It shouldn’t matter but Ransom lowers his head, holding back the tears.

“It’s okay not to be okay, Ransom. We’re our worst enemies sometimes. Be a friend to yourself for once. You deserve that.”

Leah and Carter sleep side by side, the other bed untouched while you take them in. The hotel suite is massive, almost the same size as your apartment. It had been too quiet after a while, hearing them play before their voices had faded out.

When they babies, you used to have to place them side by side, each one reaching out for the other until they made contact. Usually it was arm and arm, a confirmation that the other was present, both waking up when you moved them to a more comfortable position. While too young to know what jetlag is, you know their signs of their exhaustion well, covering them up with a blanket after kissing their foreheads.

The sun is a hazy pink and purple from the balcony, the breeze rushing against your skin as you close your eyes. Miles away and you’re still yearning for something, nameless and indescribable, even if you’re in a Southern California paradise.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Steve says behind you, stepping outside.

“It is,” you agree. “The view is pretty.”

“I meant you, but I’ll agree to that,” Steve says, wrapping his arms around you, your back against his chest. “Are you happy you came?”

“Yes,” you answer quickly, reaching up to bring him closer. “I’m still trying to process that I’m away from… everything.”

“Doesn’t happen often, I know,” Steve says, kissing your cheek. “But you and the kids deserve a break. It’s been a lot of learnings, a lot of big emotions for the kids.”

Me too, you think.

“Tomorrow I’ll be gone for the majority of the day, but you and the kids are more than welcome to explore, and I can have a car take you wherever you want to go. I get about an hour for lunch if you want to come down and hear all about the advancements in pediatric medicine.”

“Lunch sounds nice.”

“Really?” Steve sounds happily surprised, your face turning toward his. “Then, it’s a date.”

“Thank you for this,” you reply, brushing a stand of his hair off his forehead. “We needed this.”

“We all did,” Steve agrees, leaning forward when he kisses you gently, your fingers going to the collar of his shirt as you pull him closer.

An unexpected cold snap takes hold in Anaheim, the temperature dropping at least fifteen degrees that catches you off guard, Carter slightly shivering when he runs back inside, declaring that is too cold.

The layers of clothing work well to keep them comfortable, both of their hands in yours while they tell you what they plan to do when they finally reach their coveted destination of the theme parks that they’ve been watching non-stop. If you follow their plans, you won’t have a single moment to sit down or eat but you listen carefully, asking them questions that they have answers for, delighted that you agree with their choices.

The convention center is massive, following signs that point in the direction of where they are supposed to go. The twins wave and say hello to everyone they meet, asking for a treat when they see a doctor who looks like their former pediatrician, who pats her pockets before apologizing and waving goodbye to them.

In the crowd of people, Carter and Leah spy Steve before you go, letting go of your hands and running full speed, despite your pleas for them to slow down.

You catch up to them right when they are lifted into Steve’s arms, giggling when you see the other person standing next to him, smiling at the twins. She’s immaculately put together, right down to the designer bag that is slung over her shoulder, her hair freshly done and makeup applied flawlessly.

“Hi,” Steve says, giving you a quick kiss before motioning to the person next to him. “You’re right on time. Let me introduce you to Doctor Sharon Carter, she and I used to be colleagues back when I worked in Brooklyn. Sharon, this is my -”

“Nice to meet you,” Sharon greets you, extending her hand to yours as you shake it. “I had no idea that Steve had a whole family.”

“Oh, I -” you try to interrupt.

“This is Leah and Carter,” Steve says, the twins squirming out of his arms as they slide back down to the ground.

“Yours?” Sharon asks.

“Maybe one day,” Steve answers.

“Interesting. Cute kids you have. Have a good lunch,” Sharon says, turning to Steve. “Don’t forget where we’re sitting. Then there’s happy hour at the end of all the madness.”

“Sure,” Steve replies, taking your hand, not seeing when you look back at Sharon, the twins grabbing your hand and Steve’s.

“See you there!”

Steve’s cell buzzes on the table, his expression apologetic when he finally answers a text.

“Sharon?” you ask, glancing at the twins coloring outside of the lines, Carter holding onto a chicken tender while he selects another crayon.

“Yeah,” Steve says, his brow furrowing when he dials her number. “I’ll be right back.”

Getting up from his chair, you can hear his voice lower.

“I’m at lunch, what’s going on?” he asks, maneuvering around the tables, his voice fading amid the sounds of utensils against plates and loud chatter.

Trying to ignore the pit that is spreading in your belly, you focus on the twins, Leah chewing on a French fry while Carter dips his chicken into the big cup of ranch. You want to eat, your stomach grumbling as you had skipped breakfast to make sure that the twins were fed and now you’re paying for it, feeling lightheaded for a moment before shaking the feeling away.

The insecurity sneaks in without warning. The perfect hair Sharon has that you know you will never achieve, let alone sitting that long at a salon without any interruption, to the expensive tailored outfit that you know you would never fit into after childbirth renders you speechless at how quickly the comparisons have come, a flashback to when you found out Ransom had been in the company of one of your bridesmaids, blond and coiffed like Sharon.

But she wasn’t Sharon and Sharon isn’t her, the mantra repeating over and over in your mind.

She isn’t going to sleep with Steve. She isn’t going to lie right to your face when you confront her like your former friend did.

But you don't know that for sure, even if you trust Steve.

Questions float up to the surface of your thoughts. Why didn’t Sharon know about you? Was she supposed to?

None of the feelings that begin to rise are rational, trying to keep yourself calm when Leah and Carter begin to argue over their favorite crayon, their voices getting louder before you look down at the mess of food and broken crayons.

“What happened?” Steve interrupting your thoughts, leaning down between the twins, reaching for a napkin to clean up the spilled water.

“I… I don’t know,” you answer, getting up from your chair, scooping up the broken crayons into a napkin, moving quickly to tidy up the space.

“Is everything okay?” he asks you, the twins back to normal, as if they didn’t have a category three argument.

“It’s fine,” you assure him, a waitress coming by with two sets of crayons to assuage any arguments. “Just a little blow up.”

“Not them,” he says quietly, sitting back down next to you. “Are you okay?”

His phone buzzes once more, your nerves getting to you. He makes no motion to answer it, even as you can hear it in his suit pocket.

“Do you want to answer that?”

“No,” Steve tells you. “I want to make sure you’re okay.”

“I’m fine,” you reply, suddenly irritated that he won’t answer it. “If it’s Sharon, you can just answer it.”

“It is,” Steve agrees. “But it can wait.”

“No, go ahead and answer it,” you answer, trying to calm yourself down. “It keeps going off so just… answer it.”

“Did I miss something?”

“You didn’t get any texts from her until today and now…” you trail off, seeing Steve’s confused expression as you fight back tears. “Forget it. Leah? Carter? There’s a playground a little bit from here and they have swings. Do you want to go?”

The twins perk up, the crayons rolling around the table as Steve blinks in confusion.

“You’re leaving?”

“I’m going to take them to the park.”

“We’re eating lunch. I don’t understand,” Steve tries, watching you get up. “Can you just tell me what happened?”

“She’s asking me about the surprise symposium we’re supposed to be doing,” Steve informs you, pulling out his phone. “I can show you the texts.”

“No, you don’t have to,” you reply softly, digging through your purse, tears welling in your eyes.

That’s how it started, you recall bitterly, placing money on the table. The friendly texts, the questions that Ransom would answer. You always were offered those to read and pour over, even when you declined.

It was the others that you weren’t allowed to see.

“We will talk about this when you’ve processed things and I’m in a better headspace,” Steve says, leaning toward you so that only you can hear. “I’ll see you later.”

The kids wave goodbye, Leah carefully looking up at you as she pouts.

“Mommy, don’t cry,” Leah pleads, your head lowering to see her sweet little face. “What did we do?”

“Nothing, sweetheart. You did nothing wrong. Mommy just needs some fresh air, I promise. It’s so warm,” you lie, fanning yourself as Carter follows suit near your face. “I’ll be fine once we get outside.”

“Go faster!” Carter chimes in, Leah pulling you toward the door. “Bye Steve!”

“You and Sharon did a fantastic job with such short notice,” Sharon’s husband praises. “I mean it, I just was blown away at how you can take such a hard subject and turn it into a masterclass.”

“Only a little frustrating,” Sharon admits, giving Steve a slight jab on his arm with her elbow. “Sorry you had to deal with all my texts with my edits. The minute Doctor Erskine asked where you went, I knew it was something big. I’m so sorry I panicked.”

“It’s fine,” Steve assures her. “We figured it out and with any luck, Doctor Erskine will realize he doesn’t want me up there talking for an hour and a half straight.”

“Where’s your,” Sharon pauses, sheepishly looking at him. “Girlfriend? Wife?”

“She’s at the hotel with the kids.”

“Scratch that happy hour then, I thought you brought her. Go be with them. You know how these happy hours are. All the booze and none of the networking. Whatever they are to you, those kids are adorable. You’re lucky to have all of them, Steve.”

“Thanks, Sharon. I definitely am.”

Giving her and her husband a nod, he slips out the restaurant, looking down at his phone for any sign of a missed call from you, sighing when he realizes there is none.

The twins are in their separate beds, freshly bathed and in their favorite pajamas, unaware of the tears that stream down your face.

The cuffs of your sweatshirt are wrinkled from the amount of pulling and twisting through your fingers, guilt ridden stimuli taking over. Your throat aches with the need to shout, to scream your frustrations out to the night. The pent up rage, both at yourself and the past looks you in the face when you finally turn on the light, the mirror in the bathroom a reflection of someone you don’t recognize.

Gripping the sides of the sink and lowering your head, you begin to pray, lips moving so fast that you can’t the words out fast enough. Your tears a sacrament that drop into the sink when you bare your teeth at your transgressions, wishing that whatever higher power would give you a chance at peace. To lighten the burden you’ve carried and to give yourself grace.

Embarrassment takes hold, your body shuddering at the thought of how you acted, the way Leah’s gaze was solely on you and your tears. You don’t know how many times she’s seen you cry, and the thought only makes you pray harder, to hide your emotions from your beloved children so that they will never know the fight you continue to endure.

Exhaustion finally wins out, your knees buckling when you siip down onto the floor, eyes closing in defeat.

179 notes · View notes

syntheticavenger · 10 days

Text

388 notes · View notes

syntheticavenger · 11 days

Note

Time for you to answer this since my answer to this question presently has me stumped.

Is there a fic you posted that you wish had gotten a bit more attention? Share the fic, please. ❤️

I got really excited about Close to Midnight - it has vampire hunters and vampires and the Reader has a special power. Not people's cup of tea but I'm still writing pieces of it because I want to see it through.

10 notes · View notes

syntheticavenger · 11 days

Text

Redemption - Ten

It's been a year since I wrote anything for Redemption. We've seen Ransom's struggles but this is probably the most honest look at the Reader's feelings thus far.

Definitely teared up writing some pieces so you may want to get some tissues! Labrinth's "I'm Tired" was inspiration for this chapter.

Redemption Series Masterlist

Word Count: 3K

Warnings: 18+ ONLY. Heavy angst, language, emotional breakdown, mentions of past cheating, fainting, mentions of past drug use.

Summary | Ransom Drysdale thought you made a clean break from him after your failed marriage. After a run in at a coffee shop, it appears that it wasn’t as easy as he thought.

There’s a handful of times Ransom has been a praying man.

His solace isn’t a church.

His place of refuge is a coffee shop, his pastor a man a burly man with a beard and kind eyes.

“California isn’t a short trip,” Ari quips, pouting a dash of creamer into his coffee mug. “I assume it was a mutual decision?”

“It’s more than that.”

Ransom shrugs, trying to ignore the needling feeling that he should admit how he feels, especially to his sponsor.

“Go on.”

Ransom hates the way Ari can make a conversation seem so simple.

“Makes it real, I guess. She and Steve are getting pretty serious.”

“Sounds like.”

“But that didn’t stop her from letting me come over the night prior.”

“Ransom,” Ari sighs. “In what context are we talking about?”

“There was a lot of emotion.”

“I’m sure there was,” Ari agrees. “But that’s not what I asked. Did you sleep together?”

“No,” Ransom rushes out, his face hot with embarrassment. “But does that matter?”

Ari nods in agreement, Ransom blowing out a hard breath.

“Happy?”

“No,” Ari denies. “Are you?”

“I feel like shit. More than anything, I want to call her, I want to talk to the kids, but I don’t know if they landed and -”

He exhales a shaky breath.

“Yeah.”

Ari leans forward, placing his hand over Ransom’s. It shouldn’t matter but Ransom lowers his head, holding back the tears.

“It’s okay not to be okay, Ransom. We’re our worst enemies sometimes. Be a friend to yourself for once. You deserve that.”

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Steve says behind you, stepping outside.

“It is,” you agree. “The view is pretty.”

“I meant you, but I’ll agree to that,” Steve says, wrapping his arms around you, your back against his chest. “Are you happy you came?”

“Yes,” you answer quickly, reaching up to bring him closer. “I’m still trying to process that I’m away from… everything.”

“Doesn’t happen often, I know,” Steve says, kissing your cheek. “But you and the kids deserve a break. It’s been a lot of learnings, a lot of big emotions for the kids.”

Me too, you think.

“Lunch sounds nice.”

“Really?” Steve sounds happily surprised, your face turning toward his. “Then, it’s a date.”

“Thank you for this,” you reply, brushing a stand of his hair off his forehead. “We needed this.”

“We all did,” Steve agrees, leaning forward when he kisses you gently, your fingers going to the collar of his shirt as you pull him closer.

In the crowd of people, Carter and Leah spy Steve before you go, letting go of your hands and running full speed, despite your pleas for them to slow down.

“Nice to meet you,” Sharon greets you, extending her hand to yours as you shake it. “I had no idea that Steve had a whole family.”

“Oh, I -” you try to interrupt.

“This is Leah and Carter,” Steve says, the twins squirming out of his arms as they slide back down to the ground.

“Yours?” Sharon asks.

“Maybe one day,” Steve answers.

“Interesting. Cute kids you have. Have a good lunch,” Sharon says, turning to Steve. “Don’t forget where we’re sitting. Then there’s happy hour at the end of all the madness.”

“Sure,” Steve replies, taking your hand, not seeing when you look back at Sharon, the twins grabbing your hand and Steve’s.

“See you there!”

Steve’s cell buzzes on the table, his expression apologetic when he finally answers a text.

“Sharon?” you ask, glancing at the twins coloring outside of the lines, Carter holding onto a chicken tender while he selects another crayon.

“Yeah,” Steve says, his brow furrowing when he dials her number. “I’ll be right back.”

Getting up from his chair, you can hear his voice lower.

“I’m at lunch, what’s going on?” he asks, maneuvering around the tables, his voice fading amid the sounds of utensils against plates and loud chatter.

But she wasn’t Sharon and Sharon isn’t her, the mantra repeating over and over in your mind.

She isn’t going to sleep with Steve. She isn’t going to lie right to your face when you confront her like your former friend did.

But you don't know that for sure, even if you trust Steve.

Questions float up to the surface of your thoughts. Why didn’t Sharon know about you? Was she supposed to?

“What happened?” Steve interrupting your thoughts, leaning down between the twins, reaching for a napkin to clean up the spilled water.

“I… I don’t know,” you answer, getting up from your chair, scooping up the broken crayons into a napkin, moving quickly to tidy up the space.

“Is everything okay?” he asks you, the twins back to normal, as if they didn’t have a category three argument.

“It’s fine,” you assure him, a waitress coming by with two sets of crayons to assuage any arguments. “Just a little blow up.”

“Not them,” he says quietly, sitting back down next to you. “Are you okay?”

His phone buzzes once more, your nerves getting to you. He makes no motion to answer it, even as you can hear it in his suit pocket.

“Do you want to answer that?”

“No,” Steve tells you. “I want to make sure you’re okay.”

“I’m fine,” you reply, suddenly irritated that he won’t answer it. “If it’s Sharon, you can just answer it.”

“It is,” Steve agrees. “But it can wait.”

“No, go ahead and answer it,” you answer, trying to calm yourself down. “It keeps going off so just… answer it.”

“Did I miss something?”

The twins perk up, the crayons rolling around the table as Steve blinks in confusion.

“You’re leaving?”

“I’m going to take them to the park.”

“We’re eating lunch. I don’t understand,” Steve tries, watching you get up. “Can you just tell me what happened?”

“She’s asking me about the surprise symposium we’re supposed to be doing,” Steve informs you, pulling out his phone. “I can show you the texts.”

“No, you don’t have to,” you reply softly, digging through your purse, tears welling in your eyes.

It was the others that you weren’t allowed to see.

“We will talk about this when you’ve processed things and I’m in a better headspace,” Steve says, leaning toward you so that only you can hear. “I’ll see you later.”

The kids wave goodbye, Leah carefully looking up at you as she pouts.

“Mommy, don’t cry,” Leah pleads, your head lowering to see her sweet little face. “What did we do?”

“Go faster!” Carter chimes in, Leah pulling you toward the door. “Bye Steve!”

“It’s fine,” Steve assures her. “We figured it out and with any luck, Doctor Erskine will realize he doesn’t want me up there talking for an hour and a half straight.”

“Where’s your,” Sharon pauses, sheepishly looking at him. “Girlfriend? Wife?”

“She’s at the hotel with the kids.”

“Thanks, Sharon. I definitely am.”

Giving her and her husband a nod, he slips out the restaurant, looking down at his phone for any sign of a missed call from you, sighing when he realizes there is none.

The twins are in their separate beds, freshly bathed and in their favorite pajamas, unaware of the tears that stream down your face.

Exhaustion finally wins out, your knees buckling when you siip down onto the floor, eyes closing in defeat.

#ransom drysdale fic #andy barber fic #steve rogers fic #ransom drysdale x you #ransom drysdale x female reader #ransom drysdale x black female reader #andy barber x you #andy barber x female reader #andy barber x black female reader #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x female reader #steve rogers x black female reader #steve rogers #… See all

179 notes · View notes

syntheticavenger · 11 days

Text

Redemption update coming...

#wrote a whole chapter just listening to this #I should start wording my titles like episodes #Spotify

6 notes · View notes

syntheticavenger · 11 days

Text

Oh wow, hello! This is a big compliment seeing you reblog my work!

I am going to post part two. I hope you like it!

escape

Nick Fowler x Female Reader / Tyler Rake x Female Reader

Word Count: 2.1K

Warnings: 18+ ONLY, language, world building and a whole lot of plot.

Summary | Reeling from the aftermath of your husband's very public arrest, there is more than meets the eye when you're whisked away for your protection as the case intensifies. Even with a silent protector watching your every move, the past has a way of catching up with you before you know it, giving you few options of escape.

Sometimes, home feels like a prison.

White sprawling walls adorned with monochromatic paintings procured from several art galleries around the world, couture furniture flown in from Italy and yet it never feels like yours.

You’ve never cared for them really – another overt display of the amount of wealth that your husband, Nick, has acquired through his art dealer, a posh Englishman that he refers to only as Jonathan.

Nights like tonight feel like you’d rather be anywhere but home, your glass house as your glided cage. It’s been two years since you said your ‘I dos’ and it still feels like you’re waiting for the other shoe to drop with the amount of money that has been spent since you’d met.

The anxiety comes from never having ends meet when you were child, the hand-me-downs never enough to take the chill away from your bones when the cold seasons would start. With no help from your parents, you clawed your way out of poverty and into college, scholarships paving the way while the second and third jobs at your local department stores gave you a sense of how to dress on the off-chance you’d get into the offices of places that would eventually offer you a job.

And one day, they did.

Some would call it kismet.

You would call it hard work and focus.

But then again, that’s what your mother calls your marriage.

“Lucky.”

“Blessed beyond belief.”

Truth be told, your mother had done well for herself. Not so much for her children but you were thriving, an enigma of sorts. In her eyes, that made you valuable.

It also helped that your husband was none other than Nick Fowler, a corporate lawyer that turned partner before he’d even proposed. As much as those in his inner circle laud his accomplishments, you see the good and the bad – including the bribery and intimidation, the underbelly of what his job hides when he’s in the courtroom. There used to be moments when you would think of reminding him of his job, the integrity of the law and letting the system do the work.

Courage could have won out if he hadn’t silenced you with his own twisted facts and the burgeoning confidence of a lawyer that had never lost a court case, prompting him to remind you that this was the way of things – it was a dog-eat-dog business, and he had the sharper bite.

As it turns out, your mind could be a prison as well.

Sipping your glass of wine, tension spikes in your neck, haphazardly rubbing the ache away with your fingers. It’s hard to relax when your mother calls, knowing that if you don’t answer, she’ll incessantly wear you down with text messages and eventually make a call to Penelope, your beloved assistant, who is a people pleaser at heart.

“Hi Mom,” you answer, looking out at the sparkling cityscape.

“I’ve only been trying to call you for over an hour. It’s important,” she begins, her dramatic sigh giving you a sense of foreboding. “I need you to tell me the truth.”

“What truth? What are you talking about?”

“Well, I don’t know,” your mother fires back, clearly agitated. “I’m hearing that the FBI came to Nick’s firm? Did you know?”

The news makes you sit up, teeth crushing your lower lip in worry.

“What?”

“You mean you didn’t know? How could you not?” your mother asks, her irritation apparent.

“Who told you this?”

“A good friend! Well? Is it true or not?”

“I-I,” you stammer, placing your wine glass down, searching in vain for the TV remote. “I don’t know. He hasn’t told me anything.”

“Get him on the phone,” your mother directs. “You have a right to know, you know. This could be a big deal.”

“A right to know or a right for you to know?” you answer her bluntly, hearing her gasp of surprise.

“I just want to make sure my baby girl is taken care of, and this is very troubling news, sweetheart. The FBI doesn’t just make social calls.”

“I’ll deal with it when I can. Nick’s very busy, Mom.”

“He’s never too busy for you. Call him,” she urges before she hangs up. “You don’t want to end up blindsided.”

It isn’t a social call.

Not at this hour.

He has to hand it to Fowler, his security checking every credential before he’s even allowed to step inside the elevator. He shouldn’t feel the sense of dread, looming over him like a shadow as he watches the numbers light up with every floor they pass.

Instinctively, he adjusts his jacket, the bulletproof vest underneath his garments giving him a sense of security., even if he knows it’s simply just a standard in his line of work.

Business as normal, even at this time of night. So many unaware of what they will wake up to in the morning.

He’s greeted by you at the door, confusion and fear on your features. A smile is forced upon his lips, looking up at the paintings. They’ll be returned within a week or so – once the place has been thoroughly searched.

“Mrs. Fowler,” he begins, extending his hand to yours as you shake it firmly. “Please, have a seat.”

“What’s going on? You don’t do house calls.”

You’re astute – to a point.

It almost pains him to have to break the news to you. It’s a not exactly a textbook case – you’ve been followed for months, and everything has come up empty., unaware of what has gone on behind the scenes and what is to come.

Your name will be splashed across various news screens, reporters will be relentless in their pursuit for you to tell your side of the story – one that you won’t have an absolute narrative over.

Yet, when you sit, he can see it in your eyes. The defeat, knowing that something is wrong.

“First,” he begins with a slight clearing of his throat. “Perhaps I should re-introduce myself."

He sits across from you, watching your expression change.

“Jonathan Pine,” he continues, sliding a card your way, seeing your face fall when you read the card, your hand covering your mouth. “MI6.”

Tears brimming in your eyes, he can tell the emotion is from confusion and anger when the realization hits, your eyes darkening when you finally look up at him from the card in your hand.

“This is about Nick, isn’t it?”

You’re smarter than your husband gives you credit for. Your question hangs in the air for a moment, your chest rising and fall rapidly.

Nodding slowly, your eyes seemingly glaze over when he confirms.

“He’s with a contingent of agents, FBI and MI6, among a few others,” Pine says quietly. “I must ask… how much do you know about your husband?

“Know what?” you ask tearfully. “I have no idea what’s going on. A few minutes ago, you were his art dealer and he was a just a lawyer.”

“I need you to listen to me,” he says quietly but firmly. “Time is of the essence and I assure you that whatever questions you have will be answered. But they will not be answered now. I need you to trust me.”

“Why should I?”

“I’ve been tracking your husband for months now. We had to be sure we had the right person. There are numerous charges that he is up against. Embezzlement, racketeering, fraud, witness intimidation, tampering with evidence,” Pine pauses, watching the card slip through your fingers. “The list goes on.”

“Are you here to arrest me?”

“No. We’ve also been tracking you for months,” he says, hearing you suck in a sharp breath. “He’s admitted to us that you would have no idea of what had transpired and looking into it, it appears that way but we have further questions.”

“So, I’m being arrested,” you reply, looking into his eyes. “I want my lawyer.”

Pine hesitates.

“I’m afraid that isn’t going to happen. She’ll be under indictment in a few hours. I don’t think you understand the severity of what is going to happen. Within hours, we will be seizing every bit of property that he has, that you have, if it’s joint. There will be cameras, media swarming at your door.”

He can tell you’ve stopped listening by the way your body shifts, nodding along when he’s stopped talking.

“I need you to come with me.”

The voice registers in your mind but it takes a moment to sink in. Your body feels like lead, slow moving when you turn your head.

“I can’t,” you answer, mind buzzing with the list of things you need to do. “I have to -”

“You have to leave,” Pine tells you pointedly, leaning forward in his chair. “In two hours, your home will be under my jurisdiction. Do you have somewhere you can go? Somewhere that’s safe?”

It feels like you’re underwater, your heartbeat hammering out of control when he comes back into focus.

Pine looks around the living room, shaking his head slowly.

“It’s a shame,” he says after a moment. “I had excellent taste.”

“Mrs. Fowler?”

It sounds like someone is asking for you, but everything is still a blur. The lights above you when you were being interrogated – interviewed, as Pine called it – made you squint, your mouth going dry from answering all of the questions that were lobbied your way without a break.

The woman who touches your shoulder is wearing a black pants suit, her holster visible when she turns at the door that is being opened.

“That’s all the questions we have for now. If there is anything that you can remember, call me,” she says, tapping an acrylic nail on the business card on the table. “Thank you for your compliance with our investigation so far.”

For a split second, you wish you could feel something other than numb. A flashback of Nick walking into the empty penthouse, arms spread wide as he touted the various features mar your thoughts, your legs shaky when you finally stand.

“It’s all ours, baby,” Nick says, cupping your face before giving you a long kiss. “We earned it. Every fuckin’ bit of it. Take it all in.”

“Mrs. Fowler?” a voice asks, breaking your trance. “You’re free to go. I believe Agent Pine has secured a car for you.”

Everything you could grab is in a suitcase by the wall. At the recommendation of various people who grilled your every whereabout, your phone is shut off for the meantime, but not quickly enough for his associates to ask where you are before you cut off their access to you.

“We’re monitoring your phone,” Agent Burr reminds you, opening the door. “You’ll be escorted somewhere safe. I don’t think I need to remind you that it location needs to say confidential. No visitors, no sharing your whereabouts.”

All you can do give a nod, walking through the door as Agent Pine looks on before he finally flashes a quick smile, reaching for your suitcase.

“Let’s get you to the car.”

“I don’t ask for many favors,” Pine instructs, looking at your sleeping form in the backseat of the SUV.

“That’s why I’m listening,” the voice on the other end answers.

“Good. The repercussions of this could reach farther than I would have previously anticipated.”

“How bad are we talking?”

“Husband has powerful friends.”

“You think they’ll retaliate if they think she talked?”

“Not the way you think. Fowler being in handcuffs doesn’t mean a thing when he’s got friends outside. She’s his prized possession. He’ll want her back.”

“I’m not a babysitter, Pine. She doesn’t have any other family?”

“She’ll be resilient,” Pine answers, his eyes trained on the winding road as the incline gets steeper. “I haven’t seen it yet, but I have a feeling. Watch from a distance. I’m not asking you to get involved.”

“Until I have to.”

“I pride myself on always having a backup plan.”

“Lucky me.”

“Try not to make it obvious. It’s not mercenary work. I need you make sure she doesn’t know that you’re there to keep an eye on her.”

“Relax, Pine, I know to keep a distance.”

“Good,” he replies, continuing up the road. “Let her settle in. You know this area well. I want to be informed if anything seems out of the ordinary.”

“And I want to be informed if I have to be on high alert. This favor seems easy enough but we both know that you don’t get handed the cases that are cut and dry. If this starts to get messy, I need to know.”

“Fair enough,” Pine replies. “You have my word, Rake.”

67 notes · View notes

syntheticavenger · 11 days

Text

escape - two

Nick Fowler x Female Reader / Tyler Rake x Female Reader

Word Count: 22K

Warnings: 18+ ONLY, language, more world building, hints at future kidnapping.

Nick sits forward, rubbing his wrists from the sting of the handcuffs. Shooting a look at his attorney, she clears her throat, hands folded on the table.

“I’ve been here long enough, Rae,” he tells her, her expression somber.

“Do you understand the severity of what you’re being charged with? This is a RICO case, Nick. This ain’t child’s play,” she fumes, learning forward, sticking a finger in his face. “I warned you from the get-go that this was going to go south.”

“You’re my lawyer. Get me out of here.”

“They are talking about lock up,” she hisses. “Everything is seized, Nick. You can’t take a shit without them knowing about it.”

“Everything?”

“Everything.”

Nick tenses his jaw at her response.

“Well. That’s disappointing,” he says after a pause, his fight fading while she looks at him suspiciously. “I thought they would at least give a me a head start. I don’t have anything, as you know. Mostly everything is tied up elsewhere.”

“They’re going to search the penthouse. They brought her in for questioning.”

Immediately, his eyes narrow at her comment.

“She doesn’t know anything, Rae.”

“They can’t take your word for it.”

“Where is she?”

“Gone,” your lawyer mutters, sifting through her notes. “Got a thorough rundown though. My guess is that you’ll have some explaining to do once this is over.”

“What does that mean? I want to talk to her.”

“She’s with your art dealer,” his lawyer quips, ignoring his murderous glance.

“What do you mean?”

With a sordid laugh, she stands, her palms flat on the table.

“For someone so smart, Nick, you really are a dumbass. Too lazy to do your research, too greedy to take a step back and look at your choices. Your art dealer is an MI6 agent by the name of Jonathan Pine. He’s the one who brought your wife in for questioning.”

The chair slides back violently, clattering to the floor, Nick getting close to her face when she puts up her hand.

“I’d be real careful if I were you. I’m your only lifeline out of here. She’s gone, Nick. Sequestered her off to God knows where.”

“I need to know where,” he demands, his teeth bared at her.

“This is your mess. I’ll be back when I can find out where she went but you aren’t getting anytime soon so keep your mouth shut and don’t go behind my back in the meantime, trying to fix your mistakes. I’m serious, Nick. You fuck this up and it’s all over for you.”

Turning on her heels, she knocks on the door twice, an agent coming to open it before she disappears from view, his expletive laden tirade echoing off the walls.

The sun shines on your face, hand shielding your face from the brightness while the SUV slows to a stop. Your eyes burn with exhaustion from the tears you’d shed in the backseat once the city was fading from the rearview, the severity of the situation sinking in the farther you were distanced from Nick.

“We’re here,” Agent Pine announces gently. “I hope you got some rest.”

Before sleep had taken over, Pine rattled off a list of charges once more, adding on that your husband’s associates would want to make sure you would be taken care of properly – something that couldn’t be allowed, even if their intentions were good.

The problem was that no one believed their overt earnest notions were anything but, not with millions missing from various accounts that had been transferred back and forth under various monikers, none of which turned out to be anyone in the flesh.

Once on the interstate, Pine had casually mentioned the distance that was needed from Nick.

“It’s a risky move, I know,” Pine says from the front seat. “A gamble we’re willing to take. As we’ve found out, it appears you were going to make your own exit strategy. We were more than happy to speed it up for you.”

Reaching for the handle, the door is opened, Pine assisting you out. The cold air bites through your thin sweater and pants, the visible involuntary shiver causing Pine to shrug off his jacket and place it around your shoulders.

“We’ll make sure you have proper clothes,” he assures you. “It does get rather cold up here.”

The house – so small that you aren’t sure if you could even call it such – sits overlooking the rolling green hills, shutters painted a pristine white against the aged brick.

Your shoes slip on the grass, still wet from the morning dew, your neck craning to see the thick trees behind the house. Fluffy clouds dot the bright blue sky, the cool breeze swirling through the windchimes that catch your attention.

This isn’t home, not by a longshot.

The steps creak with every step, a slight fear taking hold that you could fall through with enough pressure until your feet are solidly on the porch. Pine reaches into his pocket to retrieve a key, crunching it through the lock and opening the door.

The freshly painted interior still smells acrid, your nose wrinkling for a moment as Pine allows a small cough, opening the window to air out the smell. The furniture is minimal but new, offsetting the outside with the modern sofa and mounted television.

“There isn’t a lot of service up here but there’s a DVD player and some movies,” Pine informs you, closing the door. “Kitchen is to the right, the bedroom and bathroom are to the left.”

Sinking down onto the couch, you want the numbness to shake from your body, even as you try to will it away with the shake of your leg.

Pine stalks around like a realtor, naming every function and appliance, now just background noise when you think about what you’ve left behind.

“Divorce,” Pine says, snapping you out of your thoughts. “Risky move.”

Looking up at him, he lowers himself to your level, giving you a solemn gaze.

“Your attorney told us that you had been thinking of filing. I figured you would have to be running away from a literal fortune until I realized that maybe it wasn’t about money. Maybe he scares you.”

“How long do I have to stay here?”

“Until we know it’s safe,” Pine answers, standing at his full height. “Until we know how far of a reach he had. As for your safety, we will have eyes on you to ensure your wellbeing.”

Oddly enough, it gives you a sense of relief, the tension in your shoulders easing even if you know it doesn’t make the dread completely go away.

“I need to lie down,” you lie, standing up as Pine nods.

“I’ll get you some things from the store. Be back in a bit. Rest up.”

You can hear his footsteps fading once you open the door to the bedroom. The queen-sized bed looks anything but inviting when you finally let out a pent-up sigh, tossing the suitcase onto the bed with as much strength as you can muster.

It doesn’t take long to unzip the suitcase, moving items out of the way until you get to what you are looking for.

As sunshine filters through the window, the glint of the gun hits the sunlight just right before checking the safety, placing it under your bed before sitting back down, eyes trained on the closed door.

Pine is slid a whiskey from the other end of the bar, the liquid sloshing around before he picks it up and takes a sip.

“Didn’t think you’d make it up here,” Rake quips, sitting next to him. “You here alone?”

“For the moment,” Pine acknowledges. “There’s about five other agents within earshot of her.”

“You’re taking this more seriously than I thought. What brings you up here, anyway?”

“The quiet is nice.”

“Mm,” Rake agrees. “But it’s more than that, isn’t it? You wouldn’t hide away a white-collar criminal’s wife unless it was something big.”

“Depends on your scope of how big.”

Pine whispers a few names, Rake nodding in agreement.

Judges, politicians, congressmen – all of them who could stand to have their names brought up, splashed across the news for the public.

“Fowler surprised me,” Pine continues. “I figured we’d bust him on some racketeering, some tax evasion but this… this is huge.”

“No fucking kidding. What does any of that have to do with her?”

“Fowler’s wife is, by all accounts, an enigma. She’s clean, Rake. Husband swears up and down that she didn’t know, her story checks out and yet, we still have orders to have her under surveillance.”

“They don’t trust her. They must have a good reason.”

Pine shrugs, downing his drink.

“She’s scared of something. Or someone.”

Rake raises an eyebrow at the statement.

“Who?”

Pine shakes his head. It’s plausible but he doesn’t know for sure, the thought hanging in his head longer than he wants it to.

“You don’t want to know. Trust me.”

“I’ve faced death more times than you can count. I think I can handle it.”

“You’ve survived, Rake. I’m never worried about that.”

“But you’re worried about this. Whatever it is.”

“I’m worried that there are more variables than I was led to believe. I don’t trust it yet.”

“You shouldn’t,” Rake says with a wink, downing his beer. “Never let your guard down.”

“I never do, old friend.”

Slapping his friend on the shoulder, Rake gets up, leaving Pine alone.

“No bail,” Agent Burr tells Rae with a slight smirk at the surprised expression on her face. “Sorry.”

“Why not?” Rae demands.

“Significant flight risk. You can’t think that he wouldn’t flee. You’re a smart woman.”

“So, throw a tracker on him. Flight risk or not, my client is innocent until proven guilty.”

Agent Burr tosses a folder onto the desk, pictures spilling out onto the table. Nick is in the majority of the shots, including some of his associates.

“Throwing a tracker on him does what? Keeps him in good company with August Walker?” Agent Burr questions, pointing to Nick and August on a yacht. “Or would you prefer his dealings with hiring Lloyd Hansen to eradicate his business rivals? How about all three of them together before the arrest?”

Burr points to another photo, the three of them leaving a restaurant.

“Oh, judging by your shocked face, I suppose your client didn’t tell you anything about these back-alley deals. How much money does he have left to pay you to represent him, I wonder?”

Rae’s expression changes, carefully stacking the photos together and placing them back into the folder.

“Are they all under arrest? As far as I know, only my client is so I’m unsure of what the pictures were supposed to imply, Agent Burr. Fine, he won’t be out on bail, but he’s allowed council and I’ll be here all night.”

Burr purses her lips at her words.

“He’s allowed a phone call, Angela. Make sure he gets it before I raise hell,” Rae says with a bright smile, moving past her on her way back to his holding cell.

Lloyd doesn’t believe it first.

The whisper in his ear, the glass shattering to the ground that gets the attention of the people in his vicinity before they go back to their bodies swaying to the house music. Not really his scene but he’s here on business.

“Fowler isn’t sloppy,” he says to the informant, patting his cheek. “What’s the real story?”

“Undercover job,” the informant says, spying the gun in his hand. “Tracking him for months, maybe a year, if what I heard was true.”

“I would have heard.”

“It happened last night. Mi6, FBI and Interpol all involved.”

“Interesting,” Lloyd purrs, stroking his mustache. “I love a little cat and mouse.”

The man leaves after Lloyd motions for him to go, settling back in his seat. Amid the loud music, his cell rings, Lloyd picking up after the second ring.

“Nick, my good man, what the hell can I do for you? Can I post your bail? Send you a fruit basket for your loss of freedom?”

“Cut the shit, Lloyd. I need your help.”

“Ain’t gonna come cheap, pal, you know that.”

“I need you to find my wife.”

“Oh?” Lloyd perks up, moving away from where he is seated and down the hallway, the music muted. “I’m listening.”

“My lawyer informed me she was interviewed and then taken somewhere else. I don’t know where, but I need her back.”

“Normally I’d charge extra for a recovery,” Lloyd teases. “But you get a discount, seeing as you’re incapacitated and all. What’s the story?”

“I love my wife and I’ll do anything to have her back. Even if it means you bring her back if she doesn’t want to come back.”

“Lover’s quarrel?”

“You could say that. Bring her back to me and I’ll make sure that you get rewarded for your efforts.”

“Consider it done, my good man. Who am I to get in the way of holy matrimony?”

Pine calls out to you but there is no answer. Knocking on the bedroom door, he finds you fast asleep on your side, your clothes strewn around you. Putting them away, he puts the suitcase upright, looking at the firearm case that has fallen out.

Opening it, he notices that it’s empty, looking back at you as you sleep.

Looking for any sign of the gun, Pine sighs, gazing at your sleeping form once more.

“Whatever you’re protecting yourself from,” he whispers. “You’re in good hands, I promise.”

#tyler rake #tyler rake fic #tyler rake x female reader #tyler rake x reader #tyler rake x you #august walker #lloyd hansen #jonathan pine

39 notes · View notes

syntheticavenger · 11 days

Text

Thank you! I am trying out various viewpoints without it getting too muddy so I am glad you like it!

escape

Nick Fowler x Female Reader / Tyler Rake x Female Reader

Word Count: 2.1K

Warnings: 18+ ONLY, language, world building and a whole lot of plot.

Sometimes, home feels like a prison.

White sprawling walls adorned with monochromatic paintings procured from several art galleries around the world, couture furniture flown in from Italy and yet it never feels like yours.

And one day, they did.

Some would call it kismet.

You would call it hard work and focus.

But then again, that’s what your mother calls your marriage.

“Lucky.”

“Blessed beyond belief.”

Truth be told, your mother had done well for herself. Not so much for her children but you were thriving, an enigma of sorts. In her eyes, that made you valuable.

As it turns out, your mind could be a prison as well.

“Hi Mom,” you answer, looking out at the sparkling cityscape.

“I’ve only been trying to call you for over an hour. It’s important,” she begins, her dramatic sigh giving you a sense of foreboding. “I need you to tell me the truth.”

“What truth? What are you talking about?”

“Well, I don’t know,” your mother fires back, clearly agitated. “I’m hearing that the FBI came to Nick’s firm? Did you know?”

The news makes you sit up, teeth crushing your lower lip in worry.

“What?”

“You mean you didn’t know? How could you not?” your mother asks, her irritation apparent.

“Who told you this?”

“A good friend! Well? Is it true or not?”

“I-I,” you stammer, placing your wine glass down, searching in vain for the TV remote. “I don’t know. He hasn’t told me anything.”

“Get him on the phone,” your mother directs. “You have a right to know, you know. This could be a big deal.”

“A right to know or a right for you to know?” you answer her bluntly, hearing her gasp of surprise.

“I just want to make sure my baby girl is taken care of, and this is very troubling news, sweetheart. The FBI doesn’t just make social calls.”

“I’ll deal with it when I can. Nick’s very busy, Mom.”

“He’s never too busy for you. Call him,” she urges before she hangs up. “You don’t want to end up blindsided.”

It isn’t a social call.

Not at this hour.

Instinctively, he adjusts his jacket, the bulletproof vest underneath his garments giving him a sense of security., even if he knows it’s simply just a standard in his line of work.

Business as normal, even at this time of night. So many unaware of what they will wake up to in the morning.

“Mrs. Fowler,” he begins, extending his hand to yours as you shake it firmly. “Please, have a seat.”

“What’s going on? You don’t do house calls.”

You’re astute – to a point.

Your name will be splashed across various news screens, reporters will be relentless in their pursuit for you to tell your side of the story – one that you won’t have an absolute narrative over.

Yet, when you sit, he can see it in your eyes. The defeat, knowing that something is wrong.

“First,” he begins with a slight clearing of his throat. “Perhaps I should re-introduce myself."

He sits across from you, watching your expression change.

“Jonathan Pine,” he continues, sliding a card your way, seeing your face fall when you read the card, your hand covering your mouth. “MI6.”

Tears brimming in your eyes, he can tell the emotion is from confusion and anger when the realization hits, your eyes darkening when you finally look up at him from the card in your hand.

“This is about Nick, isn’t it?”

You’re smarter than your husband gives you credit for. Your question hangs in the air for a moment, your chest rising and fall rapidly.

Nodding slowly, your eyes seemingly glaze over when he confirms.

“He’s with a contingent of agents, FBI and MI6, among a few others,” Pine says quietly. “I must ask… how much do you know about your husband?

“Know what?” you ask tearfully. “I have no idea what’s going on. A few minutes ago, you were his art dealer and he was a just a lawyer.”

“Why should I?”

“Are you here to arrest me?”

“So, I’m being arrested,” you reply, looking into his eyes. “I want my lawyer.”

Pine hesitates.

He can tell you’ve stopped listening by the way your body shifts, nodding along when he’s stopped talking.

“I need you to come with me.”

The voice registers in your mind but it takes a moment to sink in. Your body feels like lead, slow moving when you turn your head.

“I can’t,” you answer, mind buzzing with the list of things you need to do. “I have to -”

It feels like you’re underwater, your heartbeat hammering out of control when he comes back into focus.

Pine looks around the living room, shaking his head slowly.

“It’s a shame,” he says after a moment. “I had excellent taste.”

“Mrs. Fowler?”

The woman who touches your shoulder is wearing a black pants suit, her holster visible when she turns at the door that is being opened.

“It’s all ours, baby,” Nick says, cupping your face before giving you a long kiss. “We earned it. Every fuckin’ bit of it. Take it all in.”

“Mrs. Fowler?” a voice asks, breaking your trance. “You’re free to go. I believe Agent Pine has secured a car for you.”

All you can do give a nod, walking through the door as Agent Pine looks on before he finally flashes a quick smile, reaching for your suitcase.

“Let’s get you to the car.”

“I don’t ask for many favors,” Pine instructs, looking at your sleeping form in the backseat of the SUV.

“That’s why I’m listening,” the voice on the other end answers.

“Good. The repercussions of this could reach farther than I would have previously anticipated.”

“How bad are we talking?”

“Husband has powerful friends.”

“You think they’ll retaliate if they think she talked?”

“Not the way you think. Fowler being in handcuffs doesn’t mean a thing when he’s got friends outside. She’s his prized possession. He’ll want her back.”

“I’m not a babysitter, Pine. She doesn’t have any other family?”

“Until I have to.”

“I pride myself on always having a backup plan.”

“Lucky me.”

“Try not to make it obvious. It’s not mercenary work. I need you make sure she doesn’t know that you’re there to keep an eye on her.”

“Relax, Pine, I know to keep a distance.”

“Good,” he replies, continuing up the road. “Let her settle in. You know this area well. I want to be informed if anything seems out of the ordinary.”

“Fair enough,” Pine replies. “You have my word, Rake.”

67 notes · View notes