What the hell is going on here?
“Assaulted a…you think I…” I spluttered, a flood of rage and disbelief washing over me, making me forget about the pain throbbing in every inch of my body for a moment. “I don’t have to put up with this shit! I’m outta here,” I said, turning my back on the two men as I stalked towards the door.
“Sit your ass down,” Santos commanded, the inscrutable force behind his words striking me between the shoulders like a physical blow. I flinched, sending a flesh wave of pain through my battered body.
“Fuck you!” I snarled, my voice coming out sounding more wolf than human even though the wolf was still painfully out of reach.
“Sit. Now.”
I waited for the span of several heartbeats, before turning on my heel to face him. Red-faced and seething, he presented an imposing figure, and my fury flagged a little beneath the intensity of his stare. Not wanting to let him see how easily I had bent to his will, I made him wait another moment or two and then stomped back towards his desk, slumping down into one of the visitor’s chairs.
“We’ll straighten this out,” Holbrook tried to reassure me, though he looked as confused as I was.
The sour look I shot back at him told him that as far as I was concerned he could burn in hell with his boss and the rest of the FBI. A small glimmer of guilt fluttered in my chest at the hurt that passed over his face, but I quickly quashed it with the anger that warmed my blood and roiled in the pit of my stomach. From the corner of my eye I watched him retreat several paces, distancing himself from me and Santos, but I didn’t have time to dwell on the maelstrom of emotions struggling for purchase beneath my fury.
A headache was forming just behind my eyes and weariness was making every inch of my body feel leaden and bruised. I was nearing the limits of my body and mind, hovering precariously on the edge of utter exhaustion, floating somewhere between delirium and hysteria.
Santos pressed a button on his phone and waited a moment before saying “Marge, will you send Agent Johnson in here?”
Sinking down further into the chair, shifting fitfully in an attempt to find a comfortable position, I lost track of time. I drifted in the fog of painkillers that were no longer working, but still managed to make my brain as useful as a bowl of porridge. The sound of Holbrook pacing back and forth jolted me out of my daze, and made me wonder if I’d fallen asleep. Glancing up to make sure that neither of the men were watching me, I raised a hand to wipe a small trail of drool from my chin.
Brilliant. I’ve been reduced to slobbering on myself.
Chapter 22
PUSHING MYSELF UP in my chair, I was about to stand up, thinking that maybe pacing like Holbrook would help to keep me awake when I recognized the sound of Johnson’s ponderous footsteps advancing down the hallway. The familiar stench of cigarettes hit me a moment later, the faint undercurrent of alcohol dredging up a deluge of memories from the night spent in his care. My gorge rose at the memory of his alcohol soaked breath sickly sweet in my face while he pummeled his fists into my midsection.
The spike of panic that lanced through me made me tremble, my fingers clenched into fists where they were crossed over my stomach. Squeezing my eyes shut, I concentrated on drawing several deep breaths while fighting against the need to flee. Deep inside, I felt the wolf move for the first time since the attack. Evidently, she didn’t want to be in close quarters with Johnson unless it was to rip out his lying tongue.
“You wanted to see me, Sir?” Johnson asked from the doorway, his voice smooth and full of cocky confidence.
I sensed Holbrook’s stillness more than saw it. A burst of emotion radiated from him, burning bright and hot on the edge of my awareness like a flare in the dark. The room was suddenly filled with the earthy scent of his anger, the faint traces of his confusion coming across as something muddy and bitter. Turning in the chair I looked at Johnson and went still as Holbrook had a moment before.
There wasn’t a single mark on him.
What the fuck? My lips silently formed the words as my brain raced to understand what I was seeing.
While much of that night was still a blur, there was no way I was wrong about acquainting his face with my fists. He should have at least come away from the ordeal with a broken nose. Scenting the air I thought I could detect the faintest tang of blood, but as I tried to focus on it the scent became muddled and faded, like a memory just out of reach. My senses were still dulled and weak, barely more effective than those of a mundane.