#tvchi

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12/07/2025

Interviewer: Hello. It is very nice to meet you. We spoke over the phone.

Xavier: He steps around the interviewer and peers in every direction Hi. Come in

Interviewer: Is now still a good time?

Xavier: Yeah, now is fine. Can I get you anything?

Interviewer: No I’m fine thank you.

Xavier: leads the way into a vast living room with furniture tossed about and ripped open. Excuse the mess Interviewer: Should we call someone? looks of concern riddle his face

Xavier: No, it’s fine. Interviewer: Should we stand?

Xavier: Yea actually. We should.

Interviewer: Okay. I’ll just get on with it, then. Can you tell me what happened the day of the bombing?

Xavier: If you were in the U.S., you know what happened? Everybody knows what happened.

Interviewer: Yes, I know, but I want to know what happened to you. It seemed as though a group of you had an experience that was different from mine. Different from the rest.

Xavier: There’s nothing to tell, really. Everything went dark. We all tried to get inside our bunkers and weren’t able to. We found it weird because the bunkers weren’t supposed to be hooked up to the power grinds— that’s why we paid extra. But, he shrugs, it seems like they were so we were all locked out. We went outside to wait it out like everybody else. I know some people tried to go into town to see what they could find. Those people never came back so we never got to ask what was happening. Then, after a couple days, things came back online.

Interviewer: Right, but what happened in those couple of days.

Xavier: Nothing much. We waited.

Interviewer: Waited where? Waited how?

Xavier: We went to the house far up the hill so we could get a better vintage point. That also happened to be the only house with lights on at the time and we were all wondering how that was possible. Everyone’s generators were out too. 

Interviewer: So you all waited inside the house until the power lines were functional again?

Xavier: I didn’t say that.

Interviewer: So you all waited outside. Was there anybody home?

Xavier: There was someone there.

Interviewer: Xavier, this will go a lot faster if you just told me everything that happened because this doesn’t make any sense. Everyone knew what happened that day after a matter of house except those living off the grind and they would’ve had access to a radio. If you’re telling me that there was a house with lights on and someone inside but you all waited for 2 days outside that home with little water and some food, then either the person was scared of you all or he wanted to see you all die.

Xavier: looks intently at the interviewer in silence for a long while before speaking again. Who else have you spoken with?

Interviewer: There aren’t many people who know enough and aren’t hysterical or don’t mind speaking with me. 

Xavier: And who do you work for again?

Interviewer: I work for the Post, and I am doing a compilation of stories of people’s experiences that day. Just as some journalists did on 9/11 in New York. 

Xavier: How did you find out about us? We are out in, practically, the middle of nowhere.

Interviewer: I have excellent sources. A lot of them started to get worried when five billionaires didn’t show up for work for weeks. People talk.

Xavier: Like I said, there’s not much to tell. We went where the lights were. We saw a figure moving, that’s how we knew at least one person was in the house. We asked to be let in and we weren’t, we waited by the house until all the power came back on and we left.

Interviewer: Then why are there only four of you left when thirteen of you went up to that house?

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12/12/2025

Interviewer speaks into a cell phone Patient Beatrice Corven is still in a coma. She has lines and tubes. Doctors have not been in yet. Nursing has been changing her dressings. There are wounds on her arms and legs. Deep vertical lacerations with exposed flesh. There are some wounds that look like…  Are those bite marks?

Nurse: Excuse me, can I help you?

Interviewer: I was visiting, but I’m just now leaving. Interviewer leaves the room.

-------------------------------------------------------------------- 12/21/2025

Interviewer: I haven’t gotten very far with anyone else that you’ve pointed me to. We’ve been working together for some weeks now. Tell me what happened.

Peter: What did Xavier say?

Interviewer: He lied. 

Peter: How do you know he was lying?

Interviewer: Well, for one, everyone is so cagey about that night. Jackson threatened to shoot me. Two, Xavier’s house is trashed. I sat on his house for two days before going in and there were no housekeepers, groundskeepers, security, or anyone going in and out. When I finally went in, it looked like he was robbed or the Feds trashed the place. Three, Beatrice is still in a coma and has bite marks and torn flesh along her arms and legs. So I’m going to ask you again, Peter. What happened?

Peter: sits down in her chair and sighs. I don’t think anyone has spoken about those days since the power came back on. At least I know I haven’t. It doesn’t even seem real. 

Interviewer: What doesn’t seem real?

Peter: takes a long swing of the drink in his glass. When everything happened, and the power went out, I had already tried getting into the bunker three times and couldn’t get in. I was calling the company of the Bunker guy to understand what happened but the line went dead. Before that, the number was giving a busy signal. Cell towers were down so my cell phone was useless. I told my wife Dahlia to take the car and head downtown to see if she could get help. The kids were out of town on trips with their friends. She just thought that it was a power outage in our area. I thought otherwise. I took a flashlight and trekked up until I reached Xavier’s house first. We tried to open his bunker together, but we were unsuccessful. We both went and got Jerry. He came with his two kids and wife, Lenora. Then Mark and Arabella were already making their way down with their two kids. They had suitcases. Down the road, we saw Jackson and Beatrice coming towards us, their flashlights in hand. Jackson kept a radio with him and we all heard that three bombs were launched at all three major power Interconnections. We waited for them to tell us when the fail-safes were coming on and they didn’t. They couldn’t. I knew why.

Interviewer: How did you know?

Peter: Just let me get this shit out!!!

Interviewer: Sorry. Please continue.

Peter: The fail-safes weren’t coming on. Of course, there would be some areas with light. There are so many redundancies in fiber optics that it would be impossible to knock out everything, unless you knew where to send additional bombs. They did. What they couldn’t kill were the backup generators in all locations. As long as there was diesel or gas, your generator should work. When none of ours came on, I knew something was wrong. We weren’t directly hit. As we were listening to the radio and trying to figure out a game plan, house lights up the hill came on—Roman’s house. The thing is, Roman left for France two days before everything happened with his wife and kids. I took them to the airport myself because I wanted to discuss some things with him before he left. We took two cars. I saw them off and headed home. We headed up there because we thought that maybe someone had broken into Roman’s house for shelter and supplies. It took about an hour for us all to get up there. Everyone’s cars were in their garages. All electrically operated garages. We walked for about 45 minutes. The children were all grumbling. It was chilly out. And that’s when we saw it.

Interviewer: Saw what?

Peter: The figure. We started trying to get its attention. We rang the doorbell. Knocked for a while. Shouted. We told him we could see him, and we knew he wasn’t Roman. After an hour of all that, we started threatening to knock down the doors and call the police. Xavier and Jackson tried kicking down the doors, but it didn’t help. At this point, the sun was going down. It was getting colder. The children wanted to go home. We turned and headed back down the road we'd come, since this was apparently useless, and then we heard it. The Night of the Blackout

Voice: Not all of you will survive. Some of you may have to sacrifice your own young to make it. You will have to use strength, cunning, information, and sheer will to go on. Don’t hesitate. Choose well. Dahlia: What the hell is this? I don’t like this. We should take the children and leave!Mark: What does he mean by “sacrifice your own young”?Arabella: How do we know it’s a “he” up there talking?Jackson: How do we know this isn’t Roman pulling some kind of prank?!Peter: He isn’t even in the country, remember?Jackson: He could be! We don’t know if he actually took off. He could’ve messaged us from anywhere.Xavier: I’m with Dahlia, let’s just leave.

A blanket of mist arises from the base of the house, covering everything within a 50-mile radius of the house. 

Peter: We woke up, and all of us were chained together at the base of a tree in the back of the house. There was a figure watching us from the patio of the house. We were a distance away, but his presence was still felt. One by one, each one of us started to panic when we found that the chains were real and that we were covered in fluid of some kind. Beatrice cried out for help, forgiveness, anything. Her voice got hoarse, so she stopped pleading and just resorted to sobbing. There were more sobs, but one grew louder than the rest. We all looked in Lenora’s direction, and we all saw what made her scream. He falls silent as his eyes start to gloss over. Benji called me Mr. Pete. He had a broad smile that would just suck you in. We used to say that one toothy smile from Benji could cure cancer. Thing about Benji was that he was always sick. Lenora got Jerry to build a state-of-the-art medical room for him in the house. His room was better than most hospitals I grew up visiting. There was something always bothering him, he said, it was because he could make the kinda cells needed to fight infections and things. Usually with his medicine and all the gadgets he carries, he is able to play with friends. Their bunker was equipped with all of that stuff. He had his backpack with him. 

Interviewer: What happened to him?

Peter: We all fell asleep and woke up in the dead of night. He didn’t. Lenora kicked his lifeless body in a panic, trying to break free from the chains. She called out to Bella and got a response. She did the same for Benji. When there was no reply, she realized that the lifeless body she was trying to free herself from was …. was Benji. The intercom came back on, and the voice spoke to us again.

Voice: It seems one of you has fallen. To prevent all 12 of you from going the same, one of you must come clean and confess to being the reason that we are all here today. Jerry: When I find you, you are going to wish you were dead. Voice: I welcome death. At this stage, it is better than living.  Jerry: I’ll be happy to arrange the meet, you sick fuck. Let me out of here! Voice: If you are able to answer this riddle, I’ll let you put me out of my misery. If not, you will feel the agony I do. I do not sleep, I do not tire, My belly burns with endless fire. Gold and glory fan my flame, But nothing sates me all the same.

The more you feed, the more I crave, From pauper’s pocket to king’s grave. I wear no face, I take no lead— Yet all are ruled by me: I’m ___."

You have one hour.

Peter: Jerry sat there and thought for a minute before he started looking around for something sharp to cut at the chain. Bella yelled for him to think of the riddle but he refused. He was angry and didn’t feel that playing games was what would free him from this psycho’s wrath. We stood all sat chained, listening to him scrape and tug and pull at the chains on his hands and feet. Lenora was still crying out about Benji. I don’t know if it was resignation, shock, or fear that kept the majority of us silent but when the hour was over the voice appeared again asking for the answer.

Voice: Time is up. Do you have an answer?

There is silence

Voice: I will ask again. Jerry, do you have an answer to my question?Jerry: Fuck you!Voice: Very well then.Jerry: AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!Lenora: screams. Stop! Stop! STOPPPP!

Peter: Jerry screamed, and those who could turned around to see what had happened. Xavier vomited all over his shirt. Jackson screamed and cursed. Dahlia cried. Bella and Mark’s kids screamed. Mark was trying to console Arabella. There was so much commotion. So much wailing. I finally screamed that I knew the answer to stop whatever was making everyone scream.

Voice: Your time will come.Peter: Please! Stop this! I have the answer! Let us go!Voice: Your time will come. Peter: PLEASE!!!!Voice: Note that if you answer incorrectly, your fate will be his and his yours. Do you accept?Peter turns stiff with fear and anxiety. He hears the constant screams of those around him.Voice: DO. YOU. ACCEPT?!Peter: Yes!Voice: What is your answer?Peter: GREED!!!!

Peter: The same mist that fell over us the first time came again. We woke up to Lenora’s screams again. The wails were deafening, and we knew then that something else had happened. We knew then that the mist would signify us waking up to horror unimagined until that sick fuck decided to let us go or kill us off one by one. We were still chained in a circle around the tree, only this time Jerry and Benji were missing. At my side, I would find a leg with the shackle attached to the ankle. In the darkness, I made out the emblem on an exposed sock. The leg belonged to Jerry.

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Thanks for reading this very intricate story, and hopefully it wasn't too confusing. I've tagged everyone that I could remember, but if you're coming across me for the first time and want to be tagged in this fic or any others, please comment and let me know you wanna be tagged!

"Just wanted to make sure everyone on the team is straight. This meeting was an all-hands-on-deck meeting. She's lead, and she wasn't there." I took time making sure my delivery was even and reticent. 

"Riiiiiiight," she started with a knowing eye. Technically, you've been leading since you got here, Hot Shot, and she forwarded all of her materials to you via SA Hilt. With all the information she's uncovered, I would think she's allowed a personal day or two."

"So that's what this is about? She's protesting meetings because I'm technically lead?"

"I didn't say that. I just pointed out that your statement was false and that she did her work. That work was presented on time in the meeting. That is what is required in our huddles at The Box." She was defensive and cold. 

"I see" was all I managed. 

"I'll let her know that you asked about her—for her safety, of course," she flashed a small, curt smile and went back to looking at the image on her screen. 

Taking my leave, I wondered what that was about. Am I on Donovan's shit list too? I don't even know what I did. Regardless, I needed to lay eyes on Y/N. Stakes were getting high, and anything could happen. I arrived home in the early evening after all the paperwork I had to write, fill out, and send. That's one thing I miss about just being an SA. There is very little paperwork outside of your case. Everything has to be reviewed and signed off by me, so I'm doing most of the paperwork in my department.

Breaking up the monotony of scribbling, underlining, circling, and clicking on keys, I went for a run. The trail next to my hold-up was beautiful at sunset. I would clear my head and figure out what the next move would be. In the next two days, everything has to be flawless.

I'm sure my presence is being felt on campus, judging by the stares I get from certain employees. Adrian, no matter what Y/N wants to believe, isn't clueless or harmless. He's exactly who I think he is, and if he thinks I'm law enforcement, he will likely inform others in his organization.

As I ran, I mentally reorganized the pictures on the case board in my office, picturing where Adrian fit in all this. He wasn't the main guy, but he literally came out of nowhere. Something about him doesn't feel right. How does an ordinary curator hire eyes on a college campus? How does an ordinary curator have a detail? I get the expensive cars and luxury apartments in the city, but he has influence. I just don't know why. Two miles skated by me according to my Apple watch; I could get in two more before heading home to hit the showers and re-working the case.

My body collided with another after making a sharp left turn. Contents of a cover cup slipped in the air while papers from a well-tanned leather satchel flew in the other direction. 

"Shit!" yelped the voice beneath me. 

"Damn, I'm so sorry. I didn't see you. There is sort of a blind spot…"

"It's okay. I know what you mean."

Either my eyes were deceiving me, or this was … no, my eyes definitely weren't deceiving me. I could never forget her face. Why would she be here? How was she here? If she recognizes me, that could blow the whole case, especially if she's a part of what is going on in and around that museum. She looked exactly the same as I remembered her all those years ago. She stood five foot ten inches with long jet-black hair that kissed her back two inches above her waist. Her pupils were infused with the color of jade, her lips were soft and shaped in a relaxed pout, and her facial structure was every model's dream. Her athletic frame was garbed in a loose burgundy jumpsuit and a black leather jacket.

I stood paralyzed for a moment before deciding to help her up. Holding out my hand, I pulled her onto her feet and made my way to the scattered papers. Gathering the ones I could, I returned to her to present my findings in scattered disarray. 

"Thank you"

"Again, I apologize for running into you."

"That's okay. You know, you look really familiar."

"Do I?"

"Yeah, I can't quite put my finger on it, but it feels like we've met before," she chuckled. "My friends laugh at me and tell me that I literally say that about everyone these days. My name is —"

My phone rang loudly, interrupting the sentence I didn't need her to finish. I was well aware of who she was, but I wanted to stick around and see if she remembered who I was. 

"Excuse me for a minute," I said, answering my phone. "Hello?"

The phone on the line was quiet for a moment before replying. 

"We need to talk. I can meet you at The Box."

"I'm not there. I can send you an address, though."

"Okay. I'll see you there."

I turned back, eager to pick up my previous conversation, but she was no longer there. At least that remained the same. I texted the coordinates in my phone to the caller and ran home. Showering and changing into a comfortable Maison Cashmere sweatsuit, I headed out of the location. I parked two blocks down from the side entrance and walked around until I came to the front of the diner.

After ensuring I wasn't being followed or there weren't any marks in the surrounding areas, I walked in the door. I sat in the booth in the far back and ordered a coffee. I wouldn't drink it, but I did want something to warm my hands with. Besides, coffee mugs are always made for good weapons. I had taught that lesson several times to my former students at the Corp and the occasional 'badass' who tried me. The scent accosted me. I missed it. I longed for it. I silently cursed it for being absent for so long. She sat down with another man across from me in the booth. I looked at her intently, waiting for her to explain her cryptic phone call and the man beside her. 

She took her time revealing the nature of this impromptu meeting; I made her feel my gaze until she started to speak. 

"SA Richmond, this is Matthew. Matthew, this is SA Richmond."

"SA Richmond? What does Matthew mean to this case, SA Olisa."

"Matthew is a runner for Adrien and his half-brother."

"His what?"

"His half-brother," she said shakily.

I lifted my eyes from her and turned them on him. I didn't know whether she had secured a key witness or endangered our whole case. I watched him fiddle with his ring. His hands were steady, but he kept rotating his ring with his thumb. He had a family or at least someone he cared about losing. He caught me staring at his ring and stopped fidgeting. 

"If you want to know if you should be sure about me. I don't know. I don't know about me either. I ain't never been on this side," he said, voice low and raspy. He was loyal and always had been it appeared. 

"So why are we here?"

"Cause he's going too far, and I can't have that."

"What does that mean?"

"It means that he's flying a little too close to the sun, and it's starting to affect what I got going. That's a big problem."

"So y'all couldn't work it out? Say what you're not saying, or we can leave here. I got shit to do." He looked on for a while, then began to speak.

"We were thick as thieves. I was his left and right hand. Everything was good after we came back from Panama. We were on top. Then, he took a trip to El Salvador alone. I didn't hear from him until two years later. I was managing things in his absence as he requested, but we started to worry. We went to look for him for the third time, and he just popped up. He was quiet, had new scars, had new close. He looked like my nigga, but that wasn't my nigga.

Then, he got a job as a curator. I'm thinking something happened to him and he wanted out the game. No. He wanted to maintain everything we had going on and then some. Three weeks later, a lot of whites and Latinos started showing up at our shop to talk shop. I went to sit in on a meeting, thinking that we would move more weight, but he had one of the boys tell me I was gonna sit this one out. When the meeting was over, I confronted him about it. He told me that it was a separate aspect of the business that would bring us more money than ever, and it had to do with moving illegal art. Since I didn't know much about art, he would handle that. What he did want me to do was figure out how we could move weight through sculptures and shit. I was satisfied with the answer, but I was still salty that he didn't tell me himself and had a little nigga come tell me that my presence wasn't wanted.

I started noticing he would never come by the house anymore. He used to come by every chance he got to see my kid and buy her all kinds of shit she shouldn't be having. She still hasn't seen him 'till this day. I chalked it up to him not wanting to be around the women and kids because of whatever fucked up shit he had seen when he was missing. He kept his distance, and I didn't pry. Last year, around the springtime, we dropped off the illegal art out the back of the gallery, and I saw her. Alana. He ain't tell me he had a girl. He met my great-grandmother. He wouldn't keep something like him having a girl from me unless he was truly cool on me. All the things I made up in my head about him not wanting to be around women and children were a lie. 

I went inside from the back and went to the gallery floor. I picked up a program and a glass of champagne and watched him make a speech. His eyes were hollow. Everyone clapped as he rejoined the crowd. I watched him with her…you," he said, looking at Y/N, "he looked like he found something. Like you brought a flicker of whatever he had left back to the surface.

I interrupted them and introduced myself. He was polite, but he was annoyed. After Alana and I exchanged words, he started treating me like the help. I waited until he was finished and looked him in the eye. Facing him head-on, I ensured he caught the drift I was sending before apologizing for interrupting their evening. Then I left. Since then, this niggas had been giving me dummy missions to do. Whenever I tried to confront him about what was happening, he made an excuse to leave. The last time we got into a heated exchange. 

Last week, I got a call from him saying that one of the drivers was missing and something went wrong. He needed me to be at the port, get the container, and then drop them off at another location. When I tried to question why I needed to drop off a seaside container at another location when we had already paid to occupy a private portion of the port, he told me that I needed to do what he said for once. Then he said the word 'please'. This nigga rarely used the word please and I damn sure never heard it since he got back from where ever the fuck he was for 2 years.

That's when I knew something was wrong. I got to the port, intercepted the container, and took it to the location he sent me. I had to know the reason this nigga begged me to get this container. When I opened it, I couldn't believe what the fuck I saw." His voice caught in his throat. His eyes moistened. "They not running drugs man, they running—"

"Excuse me, I was wondering if you all had an extra bottle of ketchup on your table. They forgot to bring me some packets for my burger," a stranger with a red hat said, motioning to the ketchup on the table. 

Matthew stilled. I handed the ketchup bottle to the man and turned back to Matthew. 

"Aye, I gotta go," Matthew said.

"Wait, where are you going?" Y/N asked.

"Thanks for your time," he replied.

"Matthew, you told us—" Y/N started.

"Thanks for your time," he repeated, cutting her off. 

It was no longer safe. He stood, looking at me for a second, and then he was gone just as quickly. I motioned for Y/N to sit back down. We sat quietly, eyes saying what we knew our lips could not. I stirred my tea as I looked up at all the exit signs. Where there were once slate grey doors now stood men, appearing like shadows emanating from no particular place. They varied in height but were not below 5'9". They wore dark clothing, faces obscured. No one else in the diner seemed to notice they were there until they started walking towards us from all directions. 

"210, 240, 175, 180," I said calmly, still stirring and hoping she understood what I meant. Her eyes left me, and she looked behind me.

"210, 245, 176, 180," she corrected.

I took a swing of my coffee. It was just how I liked it. 

The first man approached. Mr. 210. He approached me from the right, attempting to place his gun discreetly at my temple. His first mistake is that he got too close. Close combat was where I came alive. Grabbing the gun with my left hand and reaching the man's neck with my right, I slammed his head on the table repeatedly. The other approached from my two o'clock position to help his "friend". Y/N, to my surprise, jammed her steak knife into his right leg just in the inner.

Doubling over in pain, 245  made enough space between him and 176 for me to throw the now empty coffee mug in the air and have it land right in between 176's nose. Retrieving 210's gun from his waistline, I wasted no time firing two rounds into 176's leg and thigh. I turned around and found Y/N struggling with 180. He had her in the air by her throat. Sweat streamed down her face as she tried to free herself from his grasp. She kicked and clawed, but he was unrelenting. The light was leaving her eyes as blood failed to reach her head. As she got closer and closer to unconsciousness, so did I.

The walls began closing in, and invisible shadows took hold of my limbs. Breathing became difficult. My heart rate tripled, and my chest tightened. Vomit threatened to escape my lips while my stomach churned. My vision darkened. Her eyes turned slowly toward me as if I was the last thing she wanted to see before she went. Pleading. Summoning. Beckoning. Conjuring. Her eyes rolled back.

Blood spattered on the side of her face. She dropped. The man who previously had her in death's grasp fell to his left. The sound of his body hitting the floor caused me to look around to see who fired the shot. He wasn't the only body hitting the floor. The rest of his crew lay in puddles of their own crimson. I scanned the area quickly and realized that there was no one else here but us, and the heated metal that laid them to rest lay in my hands. Pushing the questions of how this came to be and how I couldn't remember any of it aside, I ran to her. 

"Y/N, hey, wake up for me. Please. Get up for me, sweetheart," I pleaded. She stirred but not by much. Scooping her in my arms, I headed for my vehicle. Leaving through the diner's doors, I noticed a final body lying on the floor a block away. Without getting any closer, I already knew who that body belonged to.

My pace quickened. Once in the car, I headed to the nearest hospital. In the emergency room, they peeled her from me while they placed her on a gurney and rushed her into a room. The questions and discussions around me melted into the background. I couldn't address them without addressing some of my own.

What would've happened if she died? Would I have died too? Would it have sent me back to that place? How would she explain this to that fuck nigga who probably arranged for this ambush? Could she go back there? Are her things there? Is her cover blown, and if so, how was she made? Would she mind staying with me? Is there someone she would want me to call to let them know that she's okay? Shit, is she okay?

"Sir, I need you to tell me what happened," a voice said. I looked down toward where the sound was coming from.

"It was an ambush."

"Are you too gang or law enforcement?"

"What do you think?"

"I don't know what I think. You haven't answered a single question since you got here, and you showed up with an asphyxiated woman in your arms?"

Gathering the darkness in her tone and the scenario she painted, I began telling her what happened. 

"I need to use your phone. I need to call the team."

"There's a phone at the nurse's station."

Within minutes, the team swarmed into the hospital in plain clothes. I debriefed as best as I could under the circumstances. We still had no word on her whereabouts until finally, the doctor came out to the waiting room. Brooke and I were the first on our feet. 

"Is this the Olisa party?"

"Yes," Brooke and I said in unison.

"Nice to meet you all. My name is Dr. Sanders. She was fortunate. A second longer, and she wouldn't have recovered."

"So she's okay," Brooke asked, pleading for good news.

"She'll recover, but it will be slow. A good bit of time passed when oxygen wasn't getting to her brain. Her memory will start coming back slowly but surely. She knows who and where she is but doesn't remember how she got here. Hopefully, seeing your faces will jog her memory. I will say her reflexes are impeccable."

"What do you mean?" I inquired. 

"Well, one of the nurses startled her, and she grabbed a syringe from the table and stabbed him with it. The whole thing happened in less than 2 seconds," he replied, fascinated.

"That's slow for her. I need to see her," Brooke urged. 

"I can take you to her, and you all can visit her two by two. She will need her rest, but I understand that you all have questions to ask her," he finished, leading Brooke to the room.

Two by two team members went into her room and visited her. Some debriefed her and reported how much she knew. 

"Sir, she can't go back to that apartment," I blurted. I didn't know that her cover wasn't already blown or how she would explain what happened today. Her phone was in the wind, and she hadn't checked in with that nigga all day. 

"We have people sitting in the apartment. No one has come in or out of there since you placed the call. Y/N had people tailing Adrian when she apprehended the asset. He was at the museum all day. We don't know who is behind this or how much Adrian knows. Until we find that out, her being in the wind will raise suspicion."

"With all due respect, I don't give a shit. She's not going back there."

"Not sure when you and Y/N got so close, but you need to get over that and look at this logically. This is going on 6 months of hard work, and how we handle this is crucial."

"She brings his former right hand in and is ambushed at a diner across town. Do you think this is, what, a coincidence?"

"You should watch your tone. We've known her way longer than you have. We all have a vested interest in making sure whoever did this pays for what they did. Now is not the time to get reckless."

"She doesn't even remember this asshole. What lie are you going to make her say that is actually going to stick.? Her life depends on lying this day away and making it so convincing that he doesn't dig further into who left marks on her neck. You haven't met this nigga. He's not the type to let that go. He's either going to think she's fucking around and would burn the city looking for who she's sleeping with, or he knows how and why she's fucked up right now and will be looking to finish the job. You're sending her right into the pit. It's all fucked. She's not going back there."

"Where do you think it's safe for her to go to?"

"With me."

"And you think internal affairs would be good with that?

"I'll have her held up at her own space of my choosing where I can have close eyes on her and guys I trust until I string that bitch up and get answers."

He stopped asking questions because he knew my mind was made up and there was no use in discussing the topic any further. He cursed under his breath and left, pressing numbers into his cell phone. I hoped whoever he was calling was packing up all her shit from her house because she was coming with me. She was mine. 

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As always, thanks for reading!! Check out all the previous parts here: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4. Please hit the comments with your feedback, give suggestions on what you'd like to see, and let me know who you like and don't. Talk TO ME!!! I've tagged everyone that I could remember, but if you're coming across me for the first time and want to be tagged in this fic or any others, please comment and let me know you wanna be tagged!

"Now that you two know each other, Olisa, I need you to brief us on what you have found on the case so far and start from the beginning so that we can get ASAC Richmond up to speed."

"Right," you started, trying to gain the resolve to forget the set of grey-blue peering at you from the right. "Well, for the past three months, I have been in the field working with other operatives on Operation Green Ledger, investigating large-scale money laundering within a network of shell companies designed to conceal stolen wealth accumulated through drug trafficking and high-priced art.

We believe that a group called the Ghost Syndicate has been partnering with art powerhouse Elysian Art Consortium (EAC) to smuggle drugs within the art purchased by some of the major gangs and cartels here in the US Several silent auctions disguised as showcases have been happening. In the area more than usual.

In 2021, Harborview Heights was home to only three art museums. Its population is about 600,000, and its average income per household is $60,000. In 2024, the number of art museums and showcases doubled even though the population has only increased by 50,000 and its average income per household, adjusted for inflation, is about $70,000."

"That's not nearly enough money to buy and sell art at that rate," Terry chimed incredulously.

"Exactly. We noticed that this was happening in more than just Harborview. It's happening in Pinehurst, Kingston Circle, and Cedarwood. These surrounding towns are only maybe within a 60-mile radius of each other. So we started looking into the interwebs to see if there was any chatter about any new players in town. After weeks of searching, SA Donovan intercepted a series of encrypted communications between the CEO of EAC and a buyer by the name of Muammar Gadaffi."

“The Muammar Muhammad Abu Minyar al-Gadaffi?” Terry asked with a raised eyebrow.

"That's the one"

"Hmm"

"Right. As I asked some of my contacts in the CIA, they assured me there has not been any chatter from that family and anyone from the US in years, especially not in art or stolen artifacts."

"SA Donovan got me into one of these showcases that our CEO talked about with the cover, Alana Thomas. While there, I noticed that most people on the guest list weren't even Harborview residents. In fact, most of them flew in from out of the country. I made a contact that night, posing as an art enthusiast and buyer for an affluent family. I asked about how to bid on pieces and when they had auctions.

"The contact let it slip that the event I was attending was, in fact, a silent auction for some of the pieces but that he didn't think I would be interested in this month's pieces and to come back next month. Then some other operative bugged the place, posing as museum patrons, chaperones for field trips, etc." I continued.

"We are hoping that Olisa's Mark would provide fruitful information given his status in the EAC. It has been five grueling months, and more bids have taken place without knowing much about how to even receive a formal invite to bid. The invitations are heavily encrypted. Apparently, the designer used to be one of our own," Director Moore let out in frustration.

"Well, I've been formally invited as a plus one to the silent auction in two weeks. I seemed to impress one of the higher-ups at a company party last week. Adrian, my Mark, is curating the event and handling the guest list. I sent a copy over. So far, more than half of those people are major players in cartels worldwide. I am close to getting a handle on how first contact is made between the art dealers for EAC and the buyers. The key encryption on their computers changes every 18 hours."

Terry nods slowly, lips pursed in contemplation. His breathing slows, eyes trained on you as if he anticipated your next words. Your eyes go down to his big hands. They were strong and defined. The slight calluses on his fingertips and various small, healing scars on his knuckles told you he wasn't just pushing papers in his office. His fingernails were neatly trimmed and clean, tapping the arms of the seat he occupied. He stopped tapping when he noticed that you stopped speaking and were staring at his hands. You cleared your throat to relieve the tension that was building up in your chest.

"I'm assuming you are here with information about increased activity from the cartels," you said.

"No. I'm here because we need to wrap this up as quickly as possible. There's something big coming up the pipeline and we will need all hands on deck. We are asking everyone to clear their desks. The timeline is four months."

You laugh. "It took three to get an invite and look at the guest list. This is grade-A cyber encryption. There's no way we can wrap this in four months!" You look at Director Moore, eyes wide, and plead for help. 

"Olisa, ASAC Richmond will help you in this endeavor. We know that you are making some headway, but we are going to need all the help we can get if we are to meet the deadline. Please share the rest of your intel and show him around." 

"From operative to babysitter and secretary. My how the 'best and brightest' have fallen." Terry chuckles as he peers at you intently.

"And when you're done being a smart ass, make sure he has a copy of the case files."

You purse your lips in annoyance and then pull them into a tightly lined smile. 

"Yessir," you say. You turn to Terry, sitting in the chair, legs agape and elbows pressed against the arms of the seat. Your eyes were drawn to how muscular his legs were. Even underneath those suit pants, you could tell that he was well-toned. Quickly reverting your eyes to his face, you said, "Follow Me."

He rose from his seat, his build towering your frame. You two left the director's office and headed down the stairs. You started introducing him to everyone you passed by name, title, and what role they played in the case.

He greeted every last one with a congenial, dashing smile that reached his eyes and a "nice to meet you" or an "I'll try not to bother you too much, I promise." Once you finished introducing him to Brooke and apologizing for her lewd remarks, you stopped by the office with his placard beside the door you spotted while you were walking him over to Brooke.

"And this is you. SA Hilt will be coming over shortly with a copy of those case files you wanted, and if you need anything else, SA Donovan will be more than happy to assist you," you concluded, turning to face the door.

"What if I want you to assist me?" he asked sharply.

"Excuse me?" you replied, half-turned.

"You told me about everyone else you're pawning me off to. But what if I need you?" That flash of grey seized you once more, threatening to hold you hostage until an acceptable answer shot up from your mouth.

"I'm not sure in what situation you would need me."

"I can think of a couple of situations," he said mischievously. With your brow furrowing from his surprising lewdness, you turned around fully to face him.

 "From my understanding, we are attacking this from different angles. I'm supposed to stay with the Mark and I supposed you'd be posing as one of the buyers. Until the last 48 hours leading up to the auction, I'm not sure why you would need me."

"Well, for one," he started, folding his arms across his chest, "it seems like you know this case inside out and have been working this case since day one. Something stored in you may be the key to how we can get it; you just can't place it yet. Not sure how much you know about me," he stood and strolled towards you, eyes fixed on yours, "but I've been told that I'm pretty good at getting things that I want." Your body quivered at the heat of his gaze. 

"So advancing on operatives in the field, then showing up at their site pretending not to know them is how you get what you want?" you asked heatedly. The corners of his lips curled.

"Well, actually, this is our first time being introduced. You marched off before I could tell you my name."  His reply was swift, as though he anticipated the question. You assessed him, still trying to figure out his angle. 

"As I said, the other operatives will be here with you. I'm mostly in the field. I was here to collect some things before reporting to my post as assistant professor." He looked at you intently for a moment. Then, his demeanor changed to that of indifference.

"I'll walk you out."

"No need. Besides, I'm the one that knows my way around."

"Are things always this difficult with you?"

"Difficult," you said with a raised brow bordering on annoyance.

"Yes. Difficult," he repeated.

"I'm not sure what you mean, sir, but the only difficult thing about me at this present moment is the energy I would need to conjure to deal with an outsider coming into an investigation I spent months on and asking me not only to speed up my timeline but also calling me 'difficult' in the process," you replied poignantly. As you finished, he looked at you rather amused. "Is something funny?" 

He turned and walked behind his desk. Looking at the files on his desk and shuffling them around, he said, "Yeah, but I don't think HR would share my sense of humor. I'll keep it to myself, but I think I'm changing my opinion on 'difficult.' You wear it well."

His eyes hadn't left his desk once. Your face stalled, not knowing if you preferred the heat of his gaze or the coldness of his nonchalance wrapped in a sultry yet suggestive tone. "I guess I'll just find you. Thank you, SA Olisa." 

The finality in his tone urged you to move towards the door and out of his office. You weren't sure what was happening, but you needed to get a hold of yourself to see if you were going to last the next three months under this man. 

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TERRY

I watched her walk through the glass doors of the empty office, her curvy frame gliding down the hall. I never thought I would see her again let alone standing in Director Moore's Box. If I'm anything, it's intrigued.

I wanted to know her story, how she wound up here, how she could dissociate from her marks after an assignment was over, why this case meant so much to her, or why she couldn't look me in the eyes for more than three seconds at a time. I wondered whether the latter was partly because she felt that same rush of electricity I felt when we touched yesterday.

I pushed thoughts of Y/N aside as I began to look at the files in this case. A lot was riding on this, and I needed to give this all of my attention. A knock came to the door.

"Come in," I said without looking up.

"Would you like anything for lunch, sir? A couple of us are ordering." SA Brooke Donovan said with a bright smile.

"It's lunch already? I didn't realize."

"Well, technically, it's 2:00. But we just now decided on where everyone wanted to eat from."

I chuckled. "Okay, then I'll have whatever you're having."

"Okaaaaaaay, Sir," she replied with a bright, spirited smile." Whatever you want."

I chuckled. Brooke was definitely the one who brought light to everyone's dark days. I am also well aware of my effect on people, especially women. 

I worked through lunch and almost dinner reviewing the case files, looking for anything that was missed that could be a potential angle to work while everyone went through the other obvious roads. I even set up a case board inside my office to track all the information I gathered.

We needed to attack all fronts, but no one was posing as the transport. No delineation of the route taken to deliver the product since only the supplier knew where the product was stored. That would be the critical area of interception.

Another angle would be forcing a route change by making all parties involved aware that they were being watched. As I pondered these notions, my stomach growled. Heeding that warning, I stood up, packed my things, and headed out of the office in search of food.

Out of the Box and walking out of the campus's main library, I smelled her before I saw her.

Her long, toned legs walked down the aisle, a book in one hand and a cup in the other. The heels she wore made her calves and ass look like every man's dream. Her skirt fit snugly around her curves, stopping just below her knees. Her bell-sleeved blouse had a keyhole slit in the back that revealed her warm, mahogany skin. I watched her for a minute, moving to a desk in the corner of the library next to another self of books.

She moved intently, searching while removing several books and stacking them in her arms. Everything she did was poetic. The way she moved her locs out of her face, the way she placed the books she wasn't going to take with a single push of her index finger, the way she tilted her head upward as if making a mental note to revisit a topic later, all of it made me wonder.

I wondered what she thought about when no one required her to think about anything, what frightened her, what her favorite restaurant was, and what made her toes curl in heated passion. I haven't had a chance to contemplate hoisting a woman up by her legs and to drink from her well in a long while. Come to think of it, too long. Looking at her now, passions I forgot were there slowly rose, forming a tent in my slacks.

She placed them down on the counter at the front, where she exchanged pleasantries with the librarian, after which the librarian scanned the books and tucked them away underneath the counter. She strode to the front, and my feet followed, drawn.

When I finally reached the door, she was down the steps where some light-skinned dude was waiting on her. They embraced, and his hands trailed down to her lower back, then her ass, as he kissed her. A fire lit in my chest, my eyes glued to his hands. Then he opened the door to the car and let her climb inside. 

As he shut the door, he turned and seemed to look at me. Still far off from the tall steps, I'm not sure how much he saw of my face, but pride settled into my feet like lead and wouldn't permit me to move. We stared briefly at each other, and I watched him walk to the driver's seat and drive off.

I'm not sure what is drawing me to this woman or what about her makes me want to break every finger on that man's hands for touching her, but I knew that the timeline on this case had just moved up.

I spent the next few days between the Box and my rental, visiting all the different sites of the case. I felt at home on the road because it allowed me to think out loud, from the most far-fetched ideas to the safest ones.

It also let me think about what I would do about my obvious attraction to Y/N. She's been running through my head lately, especially about how committed she is to her cover and the Mark. From how things looked the other night, he's familiar with her in ways that made me seeth wrathfully. While there was absolutely no place for an office romance, my body yearned for the weight and warmth of her. Whatever small disdain she has for me and my orders should deter me. Yet it does nothing but make me wonder what she sounds like, shouting expletives as I fill her with my girth.

God knows I love a good brat. He also knows I'm tired of going from home to home with no intent of lying my head in any one place. Not feeling safe enough to believe that I can have something permanent. Something good.  Something that would stay with me as I aged.

Many of my cohorts share this sentiment, but some strive for 'happily ever after' anyhow. I then started to wonder what 'happily ever after' would look like for me. Who would be sitting beside me? Who would be in the back seat? What would home look like? What would it smell like? The last question or thought crashed into me with a strong wave. Would it quiet my mind if I gained all these things, and would the nightmares go away? 

Quickly unlocking the safe of my mind and placing those intricate thoughts back in their place, I parked at the library's side entrance. I hopped out of the Mustang, grabbing my briefcase from the passenger's side. I made my way towards the steps.

"Excuse me," I heard. I turned slightly and saw him. "I was wondering if you worked here."

I studied him carefully, trying to decipher whether his question was rhetorical or genuine. When I didn't answer, he continued to speak.

"I've never seen you before, so I was wondering whether you worked here."

"Lots of people come through here. It is a university."

"Yea. That's true. It is a university. But most new people tend to be students, and it's heading towards the end of the semester. I also used to go here, and I know most of the people who work in this building. I've never seen your face before." That piqued your interest even further. There was little doubt that he had seen your face, or most of it, the other night. 

"Well outside of the fact that there are over 300 graduate school programs, other agencies and programs utilize the university's libraries of work or research and are allowed day passes for a small fee. But you went here, so you knew that. So unless you work security around here or a cop, I'm unsure what you want from me."

"A grad student can afford a whip like that?" He whistled as his eyes ran the length of my car. "You must be paying tuition out-of-pocket."

I looked at my watch in feigned annoyance. "I'm late, so do you have a question for me, Officer?"

"Oh, I'm not a cop."

"No?" he moved closer to him, "You move like one."

His eyes never left mine as he spoke calmly. "Nah. I'm not a cop. I just have something precious inside. There's a lot of history there. Its beauty was meant to be displayed for all to see, but that doesn't mean that there aren't people looking to possess it for themselves."

"Okay, now I'm confused. Are you in security or art history?" I said sarcastically. I wanted to know how deep his obsession with Y/N ran and what lengths he would go to keep her.

He chuckled with an air of arrogance. "You can say it's a bit of both. I've always been fascinated by how curators can showcase the most priceless pieces of human history while being confident that no one will walk out the front door with them. By the way, I didn't catch your name."

"That's because I didn't throw it. Do you stop everyone you don't recognize coming into the building or just the ones built like me?"

"Only the ones with that look in their eye," he said, almost sneering. 

"Hmm. Not just what that look is."

"You know, the one that longs for more. For something they can't have"

"Oh, that one. Well, I've never had to steal anything. I either earned it or paid for it."

"Is that right"

"Yes. That's right. Oh, and I think that curators rest in knowing that their pieces are insured and protected by the police force. This is a pretty safe campus in a properly policed city. Unless…”

"Unless?"

"Unless, somehow, your valuable item has free will and can choose to walk out with whoever it chooses to. I really am late. It was very…interesting meeting you," I said with a slight grin and trotted up the steps with gleeful ease, knowing that the game clock had officially started.

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Check out Part 1 if you haven't already! Please hit the comments with your feedback, give suggestions on what you'd like to see, and let me know who you like and don't. Talk TO ME!!! Part 3 coming soon.

---------------------------------

It was the way her eyes begged for more as I kissed her. Savoring every bit of the champagne that was previously on her lips, I poured some down her chest and began to lick slowly. I didn’t typically like playing with food, but she seemed like the perfect meal and plate. Edible dining ware was what she was.

I licked every single drop off of her while her nipple pebbled. Her areolas were the perfect shade of dark chocolate. I took them into my mouth one by one, then together. Wondering what it would be like to slide my girth in between her tits, I hardened. She moaned. The sounds she would make could make a dead man rise. They made you want to learn about her body and find out how many different ways you could bring her pleasure just for a chance to hear her sing.

I trailed kisses down her stomach to her belly button and drank the pooling liquid from there. I wanted to experience every curve and crevice. I finally reached her mound. Smooth, fresh, hairless. She knew tonight would be the night, making me want her even more. I ate her like she was my last meal.

Her climax trickled down my goatee and mustache. I kept going, introducing fingers into her warmth and into her ass. Her eyes bulged and rolled to the back of her head. I needed a couple more standing O’s for my work before I introduced her to my throbbing dick. She came again.

She lay on the bed, almost lifeless, when I came out of my clothing and used the remnants of her organism to coat my shaft and enter her. She gasped as I stretched her. I’m not sure anyone has had the honors in a while because she winced in pain. I slowed my strokes, letting her adjust to me. She cried out to me, saying my name. It was then that I knew I would paint the city red behind her. 

“It’s okay, sweetheart. I gotchu.” “Too. Much,” she let out in a staccato. “You’re a big girl. I know you can take it.”

She cried and moaned. 

“You want me to stop?” “No. Fuuuuck, Adrian. No. Fuck meeeee” “Anything you want, Mami”

I drilled her until she gasped for air, and tears streamed down her face. It wasn’t long before we both climaxed. Round two went a lot smoother. She was still getting used to me; her movements were slower, but she rode me like her favorite horse. The views from the back sent me into orbit. Riding my dick, she palmed and massaged my balls, sending me to heights I didn’t know were attainable. 

“Alana, I’m gonna c–”

Right before I finished my sentence, she lifted off of my dick and began to take me into her mouth. She used her right hand to apply most of the pressure around my shaft and proceeded to take my balls into her mouth.

“Alanaaaa” I grunted. This was a sound unfamiliar to me. She stopped abruptly and looked up at me. After a second, she said, “Cum for me,” as she stared into my soul and proceeded to stroke my dick, suck my balls, and massage the saliva dripping down her mouth into my tent and ass. I busted immediately. 

“Oh, fuuuuuuuck!” I couldn’t help it. I screamed, my cream coating her face. She straightened her posture and licked the cum off of her lips with her tongue. She took her index finger and wiped her eyes next.

“Good boy,” was all she said in a sultry tone. Then she sauntered off into the bathroom.  When she reemerged, evidence of my lack of control was wiped from her face. She cleaned me off with the warm, moist rags. Slightly embarrassed, I attempted to apologize, but she cut me off.

“I know you’re not about to apologize for doing something I explicitly told you to do?!”

“I wasn’t trying to disrespect you by bussin’ on your face. I was trying to control it. I didn’t think you were going to–”

Her index finger pressed against my lips. “I don’t feel disrespected. I feel like I own you now,” she replied as a wicked grin stretched across her face. She had no idea how right she was.  -----------------------------

Tearing my thoughts away from that night and back to the footage before me, I thought back to this particular day. She wasn’t supposed to be on campus the day of this footage. She told me that it was going to be a maintenance day. I remember because I slid her about $500 and told her which color I wanted on her nails and toes. She looked at me with those bright golden brown orbs, and the corners of her mouth curled up the sides of her face, almost reaching her eyes. Thank you, baby. That was what she could manage before skipping out of the door.

When she returned, everything was done, but not before she went in to work on her day off—something she rarely did. Something was off. I called in a few favors and put a tail on this new guy. He looked like a cop or military officer, and if they were trying to get to me through her, I wanted to be the first to know about it. It’s nothing to get him sent for. If Alana was turning on a nigga, I needed to put her down too. 

I left the apartment and headed down to the museum. I had an important meeting with the head of Consortium, and from what I gather, he doesn’t take too kindly to waiting. Once I arrived, I greeted West and Rich. They gave me today’s itinerary, inventory, and any events that may be hosted today. I thanked them and headed to my office.

I retrieved my laptop from the secure safe and began typing in my code. From this computer, I could monitor all the cargo routes, see the merchandise in transit, and monitor goods from each warehouse. It was safer to track this here than it was at home. I couldn’t risk Alana stumbling upon this and asking all kinds of questions she wouldn’t get the answers to.

There was a big set of morals on that one. She didn’t dabble in the grey. It was one of the first things I learned about her when we were dating.

---------------------------------

“I don’t think anyone should withhold aid just because other people take advantage of it,” she said sternly. We walked past a homeless family with three kids sitting on the street. One of the kids had come up to us asking for money. Alana reached down in her purse, pulled out three ten-dollar bills, and gave one to each kid. She looked at me, waiting for me to contribute, and when I never did, she flashed a faint yet disappointed smile to the kids and bid them a good day.

She started admonishing me for my lack of empathy, chastising me for buying her lavish gifts but not giving to those in need. This sprung into a debate about the begging industry.

“So, you are aware that a lot of these people choose to stay poor to take advantage of your sympathy, using babies and children to do it. Some of these people, especially in foreign countries, maim their own kids, forcing them to be crippled their entire lives just to give the money they get from you to thugs. It’s an entire industry. Look it up,” I said intently.

“It’s not that I’m not aware of the disgusting side of poverty and how some of these people have to do disheartening and strange things for shelter, protection, and food. But if they don’t produce, then what? They end up dying.”

“And what if I told you that for a lot of them, death is inevitable, and your $10 isn’t going to do anything but ease your conscience.”

“You don’t know that! If it was you, would you want someone to help?”

“Of course, they all do. The way this society works, or any social and political caste system for that matter, there needs to be systemic help to bring them out of their situation. Because capitalism always needs to use someone’s neck as the first stone to climb the ladder of hierarchy, you won’t change anything, and neither will the political system. You’d do better donating to HBCUs, school libraries, or local art museums and programs.”

“Yeah, but who remembers them?” she asked, referring to the family she had just helped.

“No one”

“That’s just not good enough.”

“It shouldn’t be, but that’s the way it is,” I declared in finality. 

She eyed me curiously, probably trying to decipher how I knew so much about how the underbelly of society operated or how I’d formed such a crass opinion about society. She didn’t need to know any of that. I wasn’t trying to reopen those wounds for anyone, especially not her. 

--------------------------------

Someone opening the storage room on the eastern dock brought my mind back to the present. I peered intently at the unfamiliar face. He opened the doors wide, blocking the line of sight of the camera I was looking at, so I turned to look at another camera showing a different angle.

The man was tall, muscular, and wore a snapback cap with an arch in the brim. His entire outfit was all black, topped with a black slender puffer vest. He moved like he knew his way around the docks and our containers. I watched him picking up items and placing them back down. He marked things off on a piece of paper attached to a clipboard.

Working diligently, he moved deep into the depths of the shipping container until I could no longer see him or what he was doing. After a long while, he resurfaced again. Shutting the container doors, he locked it and proceeded to head to another container and do the same.

At first, I didn’t think anything was strange outside of the fact that I’d never seen this particular dock worker before, and I personally handed out payroll to each and every worker on the dock. He may have been a new hire, but I would meet him soon enough. It wasn’t until he left that I noticed something small yet odd. 

“Adrian, Lucien is in the conference room waiting to see you,” my secretary Octavia said. I kept the anomaly in mind as I gathered the documents I needed to present.

“I’m coming”

“Those are words I haven’t heard in a while,” she cooed. I paused and looked at her as she flashed a devious smile. 

“Mhm” is all I managed before I followed her down the hall. 

She was a very attractive woman. Caramel complected, cinnamon and vanilla scented, and soft-spoken, she had all the right weaponry when it came to her curves, and her slanted, hooded eyes looked at you like she knew.

I tried my best to avoid her, only speaking with her about projects and schedules, but she made the task impossible. She lingered a little too long, got a little too close, and was always a little too attentive. On some nights, when there were events at the gallery and Alana couldn’t make it, she often accompanied me around the room. People easily mistook us for a couple, and I had to correct the mistake that she didn’t seem to mind. 

----------------------------------

One particular night, at the Red Dragon Gala the museum hosted for the Chinese New Year two months ago, I went to my office to retrieve some bidding cards. We had run out downstairs, and there were way more investors than anticipated. That shit blew me because I always made sure that the list wasn’t too big as to draw attention to any particular event they were hosting.

I knew that my coming down here from the city had me pinned as the curator extraordinaire, but 30 big wigs in one small-town museum event for a heritage event was a little suspicious even for me. Our Chinatown wasn’t even that populous. I knew it wouldn’t make sense for anyone looking in, especially law enforcement, but nothing could be done about it. Everyone was already here. As I retrieved the last of the cards, I heard a set of heels behind me. 

“There you are,” she seductively beamed. “I was beginning to think I would have to send a search party for you.”

“No need. I was getting a few more cards for the auction. I didn’t know that so many people would be joining us tonight. I remember making that list and a lot less names were on it. A lot less invitations were created too. Any idea how this happened?” I inquired.

“Well,” she started, looking up at me with apologetic eyes. “Don’t be mad, but a couple of people on the original guest list wanted to bring plus ones who were interested in our events. I didn’t want to say ‘no’ and risk losing them as clients, so I obliged. Names on the guest list kept growing each week, but only those on the original list received formal invitations. I’m sorry,” she ran her fingers up and down the length of my arm. Her eyes never left mine.

“Next time, you come to me if you have issues with these assholes. You hear me?”

“No, I’m sorry. I couldn’t hear that. Couldn’t say that again,” she said, walking right into the space between my legs, lips at my left ear, and her right hand now caressing the sword underneath my slacks.

“Whoa, Oct—”

“That wasn’t what you were saying,” she continued, cutting me off. “I asked you to tell me what you said.

My breath became shallow, and after repeating myself, she unzipped my trousers. Reaching inside, she set my dick free and began to massage it.

“Nothing turns me on more than a man who protects. It makes me want to…give him things.”

“Like what?” I inquired, trying to even out my tone and steady my breath.

“The stars,” she replied, guiding me onto the floor by my member. 

I lay facing her as she lifted her skin-tight, floor-length dress and moved her thong to the side. She lowered herself onto me and, without hesitation, guided my dick into her warm walls.

“Shiiiiiiit,” he moaned.

With a salacious grin, she began riding me. Her even tempo allowed me to regain my composure because I was sure if she went any faster, I would be done for.

“You feel so good, Adrian. Is this what she’s getting at home?” Her alluding to Alana while bouncing on my dick didn’t sit too well with me, so I hoisted her up and changed positions. Turning her around, I placed an arch in her back and entered her from behind, snaking my hand around her neck. 

“Anh auh, we don’t talk about her,” I stroked, pounding my annoyance into her. As I proceeded to wreck her, I noticed that she had multiple tattoos of stars and planets on her ass, resembling a galaxy of some sort. It was the most intricate ink I had seen in a while.

“UUuoouuu, Adrian,” she yelled. I covered her mouth with my other hand, muffling her screams. Picking up on my rhythm, she started throwing it back. Matching me stroke for stroke, retreating and slamming into my center as I rammed into hers. The sounds of her creaming pussy and my hungry dick filled the air. 

I lowered myself just enough to whisper in her ear. “Don’t scream.” Then, I removed my hand from her mouth. I moved her legs together and pulled her arms back, using them as reigns. I entered her again. Her muffled cries ignited more fire in me. She tightened around my dick, threatening to explode.

“You better not fucking cum unless I tell you to. You fucked up once, don’t fuck up again,” I scolded.

“Please, Adrian. Please, baby, let me cum”

“Uh uh. You over here sending invites I didn’t tell you to send, then grabbing dick that ain’t yours. You must think you run shit around here.” The more I spoke, the rougher I became. I pounded her pussy until she almost collapsed. Her walls convulsed.

“Adrian, please. I’m going to come,” she gasped, tears streaming down her face.

“Say you’re sorry.”

“I’m sorry, Adrian, please.”

“Sorry for what?”

“I’m sorry for sending those other invites. It won’t happen again, baby, please.”

I was reaching my peak and knew I could not hold on any longer. My balls were pulsating. She must have sensed that I was there because she tightened her pussy around my dick.

“Fuuuuck!”

“Let me cum”

“Let me see you. Rain all over this dick, bitch”

She let go as I continued to pound. A shower emanated from her, wetting my legs, shaft, and the tops of my pants.

“Damn, that’s some good pussy. I’m finna bust.”

“Mmmm cum in me, Adrian. Cum inside of me”.

I growled. Her pleas set me off as thick cream shot out of my tip. I pulled out a second later, stroking the rest of the hot substance out onto her ass and back. I closed my eyes briefly, trying to regulate my breathing and regain composure. She wiggled her ass, causing some of the cream to slide down the curve of the tattooed ring of one of the planets inked on her ass, hitting the nearby star on the way down her leg. 

“Damn”

“So, did you see them? She asked. I looked at her in confusion. “The stars,” she finished, chuckling. -----------------------------------

She turned around as she opened the door to the conference room, a knowing smile dancing across her face letting me know that she could feel my eyes dancing over her ass. 

“Let me know if you need anything,” she said as I walked past her. She closed the door behind me and sauntered off. I had no time to think about all the different ways she could wet my dick. Plus, I wasn’t going to risk losing Alana for her. She had amazing pussy, but she was no Alana. I settled my thoughts as I walked over to Lucien. I extended my hand over to him, and he took it. We both sat down. 

“I know you’ve come a long way so I won’t waste your time with pleasantries. I see that my secretary has gotten you some pastries, coffee, and your favorite drink, so I’ll dive right in.”

“Man after my own heart,” he said, smiling while his entourage chuckled. 

I started delving into the presentation. There were three areas that connected our operation. I went through all the inventory we’ve been getting worldwide and on U.S. soil. All the merchandise that we housed totaled up to eighty million dollars.

Then, I presented an active list of everyone who was interested in clientele. To date, we had about three hundred and forty-seven active buyers and a couple more on the waiting list that had substantial capital.

Lastly, I reviewed the brick-and-mortar locations, land, and charities we owned and supported. I gave them an estimated time on when we could realistically expand operations at this location without raising too many eyebrows.

“All those years ago in Santa Monica, when you barged into my office, I knew you were the man for the job. You were dingy and straight off the street, but I knew you were different. No ordinary beggar, drunk, or gambler could leverage their debt into a million-dollar scheme like this,” he started. One thing about the threatened and wealthy is that they always try to remind you of your place. Beneath them.

He turned to his right hand, nicknamed Cain, and said, “I fucking told you. You told me not to trust him, and I said this one is a spitfire. And he’s good-looking too. He’s black and spic, but I bet you he can get people to listen to him. Didn’t I say that?”

“Yeah, boss,” replied Cain.

This is the part of our interactions where it starts getting racist and I start to tune out. They all knew that I was more than qualified for this endeavor, and if another person could do the job, they would’ve found them already. They’d take anyone over a nigga.

My returns did not lie; in 2 years, I had made them even more prosperous than they’ve ever been.  I united worlds that generally had nothing to do with each other, kept peace, and ensured everyone got paid.

Most importantly, they didn’t know how. A couple of months in, a couple of Lucien’s guys were following me, trying to uncover just exactly how I did my shit, hoping to mimic the system and cut me out completely. They should all know that niggas are used to getting fucked over, and by now, this nigga would have come up with a foolproof way to remain the plug. Once Lucien made good on paying off all of my debt, that’s when I really started escalating the business. 

“I need you to run by the museums on Pinehurst and make sure everything is ready for the event in two weeks. As you know, there will be a lot of A-listers present. I need everything to run smoothly,” his tone changed from lighthearted to firm.

“I’ve been going there twice a week since it was announced, and I’m already set to head over there tomorrow. Everything will go as planned,” I replied, insulted. I’ve been doing this for two years, and he hops on a plane to tell me how to do my job.

“Good. Well then, I’ll leave you to it then,” he said. “Oh, I’m sure you already know this, but there has been increased chatter about what we do here. A lot of curious minds want to know why there is a sudden interest in Harborview. Many of them think something fishy is going on and want to join the party. I would expect that you keep that girlfriend of yours close and your friends at the precinct closer,” he tossed over his shoulder while eating a toasted croissant. 

I packed up my things and headed to the conference room, leaving them to the snacks and drinks on the table. I didn’t have time for a dick-measuring contest. I still needed him, and he knew that. He was a wealth of information, and I still had to be tapped in to finish this phase of the program.

I wondered what he meant by “keep Alana close.” It only fueled the doubt growing within me that something was going on with her, and I needed to know what. Once I made it, I scanned the security camera around the building. A habit I indulge in twice a day during the work day and once more in the evening.

As I looked at the corner of the screen, I noticed a navy blue car that looked like it had been parked there for a while. I didn’t remember seeing it this morning when I pulled into the side entrance. Something about that car looked very familiar. I tapped into the other camera on the street, which was placed there by some of Harborview’s finest for extra security, and I could see some of the time within the car.

I zoomed in to see some of the items. There were two soft, small stuffed animals at the back of each headrest, and there was also a leather satchel with braided leather tassels that rested between them. I recognized that satchel after staring at it for a couple of minutes. What is she doing here?

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As always, I am so thankful that you made it till the end. Please comment, reblog, ask questions, and throw in some suggestions of what you may want to see next. I had fun writing this one and I thought it was about time that we heard from Adrian! CATCH UP: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

If you're coming across me for the first time and want to be tagged in this fic or any others, please comment and let me know you wanna be tagged!

"So you're not going to answer me when I'm talking to you?" Y/N said, stalking down the hallway after me. 

"I speak to people who greet me in the morning and look me in the eyes when they're speaking to me. You do neither. If you want to run that question by me again, I'll be in the cafe for the next half hour." I threw over my shoulder.

When I finally got to the cafe, there was a line. I took everything in. The college students huddled around their different groups. All animated. All full of life.

There was this couple in front of me. The girl was trying to decide whether to get the scones or a croissant while trying to convince the guy to drop out of human sexualities because it's for "perverts" and join her in a sociology course. She was giving him good arguments, too, including the point about men only joining to learn different positions and not how to get better at pleasure. Most people who take that course never actually get around to knowing where the clit is. I chuckled.

As I looked around, I wondered if this would have been the life Mike had been living if he were alive. Whether he'd be love-struck, chasing some girl all around campus, listening to her world views, or convincing him to drop courses. I wondered if he would have felt more at home here than the cells he saw.

I placed my order and occupied a free table by the windows. I stared out of the windows, not really taking in the sights but riddling myself with guilt about all the things that I could've done to keep Mike alive. It was a once-a-week misery date I kept with myself so I would never forget that I am living as penance for what I wasn't able to do– nothing else.

A sweet smell filled the air. I turned my head slightly to see who or what it was coming from, and there she stood. She took the seat across from me and peered at the table momentarily before bringing her eyes to me.

"Good Morning ASAC Richmond. I don't want to bother you, but I wanted to know what the reason was for looking into my Mark. We ran background checks months ago. I placed everything in those files."

“Good Morning SA Olisa. You're not bothering me. To answer your question, I wasn't looking into him at all before he stopped me this morning and told me that he was looking into me." Her gaze lowered, and her brows furrowed. 

"What do you mean he's looking into you? How does he know you?" she said, confusion littering her face.

"It doesn't seem like he knows me. But it does look like he's keeping tabs on you while you're away from him."

"This is Adrian we are talking about. He's charming and doting. He also forgets his keys every other day, calls me for help when he accidentally trips the alarm at the museum and is actively boycotting Apple for handing over user data to 'The Feds'. I'm pretty sure he's not tailing me."

"Well, I don't know how else to explain him curb-side siding me on my way to the Box, asking me what I'm doing here and telling me that he's never seen me before." She laughed.

"I'm sorry, but there's no way you could be talking about Adrian."

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"Yea. Okay."

"What does that mean?"

"It means that I'm going to continue gathering intel on all members of this case, including the ones who actively seek me out, and you can continue maintaining that the Mark is incapable of any wrongdoing."

"I didn't say he was incapable of wrongdoing. I said he isn't a guy capable of surveilling me."

"Okay."

"I think I would know. I've only been—"

"Sleeping with him for the last three months," I finished flatly, attempting to hide my contempt with boredom. 

She inhaled deeply and slowly before speaking again. "I was going to say that I've only been at his side, living with him and monitoring his habits for three months. I'm not sure how anything else I do is any of your concern."

"It is if you forget that he's a mark," I replied too quickly.

"Forget?" she said incredulously, her eyes squinting and lips flattened into a line. Her head tilted to the side in smoldering anger. For a moment there, I was distracted. Even in her disdain for me at that moment, she looked incredible. Not wanting to escalate things, I quickly thought of a way to disarm her. 

"I just mean, when was the last time you did a sweep? When was the last time you tailed him? When was the last time you listened to the bug in his office? The last time you looked into the new clients he was purchasing for? Did you do a deep dive into his overseas contacts when he was backpacking in Europe and parasailing in Panama because I didn't see any details in the files?"

"Are you suggesting that I can't or didn't do my job?"

"I didn't say that. I think that we have a limited focus, and we need to broaden the net. He approached me. We were never seen together except for in the Box. So unless he's also a part of the case, I'm not sure how he would know me."

She pursed her lips. Her forehead creased in pensive thought or inner turmoil; I couldn't be sure. 

"If you need proof that he approached me," I started, chuckling, "There are thousands of cameras around this campus. Ask Brooke." With that, I stood and walked out of the cafe with my coffee in hand. 

---------------------------------------------------------

Y/N

He has no reason to lie to me, and he's technically my boss. He has nothing to prove. I've been studying Adrian's tells since he first asked me out on a date. I know him. He hasn't been lying to me. I also haven't been asking him very many questions lately. Nothing that would need him to tell a lie.

You sat at the coffee shop on campus, thinking for a long moment. What if Richmond was right. What if you haven't been paying as close attention as you should have. This is the part of the job you hated— the second-guessing. Being the first African-American female on the shortlist for Assistant Director was without its fair share of imposter syndrome.

Having to conduct meetings or manage briefings where everyone's eyes are constantly questioning you. Their perpetual state of disbelief or random inquiries on work that you've triple-checked always got to you. No matter how iron-clad your work has been over the years, there's always someone else who doesn't think that you should be here. Someone else looking to point out your mistake and hang you for it. Someone needs to find hard data to prove that you should've never been hired. Today, it's him.

The pressure in your chest starts to build as you begin to put into words a feeling that has been ruminating in the back of your mind for weeks. Always knowing you're alone in this world and seeing the hard proof of it are two different things. I know that if it were him or me, his connections or my word, his status or my truth, he'd always choose himself. I'm not entirely sure his sole purpose of coming here and shortening our deadline isn't because the hire-ups don't trust me to run point on this. You closed your eyes, hoping to dull some of the pain circling your temples. After a deep breath, you opened your eyes again.

"Ma'am, I'm not sure if you wanted to order anything, but if you did, you have to do it upfront," the waitress interjected.

"No, I was just leaving. Thank you" you replied and headed out of the shop and towards your car.

Driving back home, you tried to think about the case and what you could be missing. Adrian being into play was far-fetched but if Richmond was right, it may be the answer to why they've been behind for so long. That thought made your stomach turn. 

"Hey, Siri. dial Brooke"

"Dialing. Brooke. Now," Siri responded.

"Two days in a row. I must say, ever since Mr. Fine Ass showed up, you've either been calling the office or showing up way more than you have been. You tryna get perfect attendance in his class, heifer, 'cause he's mine." You laughed. Brooke always had a way of making you smile.

"Brooke, you know HR and IA exist, right?"

"I know. I also know that I'm the head of surveillance around this muthafucka, and won't be no evidence for them to find!"

"Lol. You got that."

"So, wussup?"

"I need some footage of all the library entrances and exits from early this morning till about now."

"Why, what's going on?"

"I haven't heard any chatter, but I wanted to double-check that I'm not being followed."

"Okay. I'll send those right over. Today's encryption code is 4761."

"Thanks, girl."

"Anytime. Oh, girl, I gotta go. Here comes Mr. Fine-Ass now. Heeeeeeey ASAC Richmond"

As the call disconnected, you wondered whether Richmond was in the Director's office right now telling him how he doesn't think you're fit to lead this operation.

After you got home, you headed straight to the den. You opened the government-issued laptop and typed in the code. An entirely new interface comes alive on the screen. You navigated emails until you landed on the one Brooke sent of the footage. Quickly, looking around the den to make sure no one else was there, you clicked on the video and began to watch.

Around 6:15:35am, there is a man approaching Richmond on the steps with a knitted hoodie and black denim. The face is obscured by a fitted cap, hoodie, and Richmond's frame.

Then, at about 6:17:45 am, he changes positions, placing his back to the camera. He continues to do so throughout the entire video. He must have known this camera was there. This could be anybody.

At 6:20:29 am, he turns to leave down the stairs of the library. Once down the stairs, he walks off to a vehicle that is out of frame. You rewind the video back to 6:17 and watch it again. This really could be anybody, I mean — you spot it.

[At a cookout last month, Adrian invited you to meet some of his friends. The park was teeming with bodies, from those who were well-known in the county to those who were just happy to be there. The DJ played all the Top 40 hits and mixed some 90s jams throughout. You spotted a friend and joined in a line dance on the grass. Finally spotting Adrian, you ran to him. 

"Wait, wait, wait girl. I will give you the world, but I will throw you somewhere if you get those muddy ass boots all over these 1s."

"What is so special about them damn sneakers that you'd risk your life like that?"

"Wouldn't be the first time"

"Now you gotta tell me."

"It was 2017. My first Mardi Gras experience. My brothers took me to the All-Star weekend festivities because their friends had the hookup. We were going from the games to the clubs. There was liquor, titties, and ass everywhere. That same weekend, they dropped these. There was a line down the block at every Foot Locker and Finish Line in the state of Louisiana damn near. I left the club early and stood in line all night and all morning. I finally got to the store, and there were only 3 left in my size. As soon as I placed my hand on the shoe, this other guy placed his hands on it. I looked at him and tugged the shoe away. The next thing I know, this guy is swinging at me. We fought, and security had to break us up. I told them that they had to go to the back and look at the footage of who got the shoes first and who assaulted the other first. I was not leaving there without those shoes. One of the employees and one of the security guards left together to watch the footage. I snatched the other sneaker out of the man's hand and walked up to the register to get my shoes. I got to pay for them, and I noticed that my wallet was missing. I called everyone I knew to either look for my wallet or come pay for the shoes. Eventually, my second oldest brother came and bought the shoes for me. Turns out, I had left my wallet in our section at the club, and he picked it up."

"Oh, you really went to war for these."

"Sure did. That night, we went out to celebrate.]

The special edition Air Jordan 1 Retro High OG All-Star with the iridescent detailing glistened into view on the computer screen. There was a white tag that he linked through one of the holes. You stared back at the shoes missing from the case and back to the video. Shit.

----------------------------------------------------

Y/N

"Babe, you home? Adrian's voice boomed from the front entrance.

"Hey. I'm here. What are you doing at home?" you quickly shut down the laptop and closed the lid as you heard his footsteps make their way toward the den.

"Got done early today, so I thought I'd pop in and get dinner started. I didn't want to order out again."

"Oh well, aren't you thoughtful"

"What are you doing at home? I thought you said that you'd be working a little later tonight. Something about moving up a deadline," he probed.

"Right. Well, you know me…I thought I would focus more if I was on campus like every other collegiate student. I kept getting distracted," you lied. "Then I tried my office, but I wasn't comfortable there," that wasn't entirely a lie. You wouldn't have been able to focus in the Box. Not with him there. "In the end, I just gave up and came home. But there is still very much a deadline that I have to meet," you finished.

"Sounds like you need some productivity. Lemme get out your way" he concurred, pecking you on the lips twice and then moving to the empty case.

"Oh, I see you brought out the big dawg today. What was the special occasion?" you asked, hoping that this would be the start of something enlightening.

"Oh, you mean the shoes. Nothing. I just felt like wearing them today."

"Mmm, well, what did you do all day today looking fresh."

He chuckled. "Nothing. I went by the office, spoke to a couple of clients who were interested in some pieces, stopped by the store, and then came home."

"You should've stopped by my office so I could show you off to those hating ass hoes at my job if you just wanted to look fresh running errands."

"I'll do that next time," he joked. "Alright, I'm really gonna leave you alone. Get that work done!"

"Sir, yes, sir."

He turned back and smirked. "Hold on to that. I may need you to say that to me again later." He turned and went up the steps. When the door shut, you exhaled. He was lying to you.

When did this start, and why didn't you notice? You started retracing your steps with Adrian to see if there was something you missed or maybe a change in behavior. When you couldn't pinpoint an inciting event, you left that task and adopted a new one that required you combing through his file piece by piece.

"Did you do a deep dive into his overseas contacts when he was backpacking in Europe and parasailing in Panama because I didn't see any details in the files?"

As Richmond's words echoed through your head, you started going back to all of the places that he had been seen and confirmed vacationing in. You worked all into the night.

A soft knock on the door alerted you to the fact that it was late. Adrian walked down and stood at the doorway. 

"Come eat, Alana"

"I'm coming. I just need to jot down one more thing." You changed your interface back to the default Microsoft interface and powered down your phone before he could get the chance to look at it. You climbed the stairs, wondering how you were going to muster the energy to withstand tonight's dinner conversation. You sat and ate dinner, slowly pondering the day's revelations. It must have shown on your face because Adrian stood up and asked. 

"Everything okay?"

"Yeah, just thinking,"

"Talk to me"

"It's really nothing. I guess I just didn't realize I had so much to do behind this project."

"Yeah, I get that."

A moment passed, and you finally finished the last bite of your salmon when you heard some music playing in the distance.

"Dance with me," Adrian commanded, hand held out to you.

"Adrian? Right now"

"Yea. Dance with me. C'mon, woman", he repeated.

You took his hand, and you two danced to the sounds of Sweet Lady by Tyrese. His hands slowly trailed your spine as his head nestled into your neck.

It was the strangest thing. Feeling at home in the arms of someone you knew was lying to you, knowing that you were lying to them. Your bodies swayed together in tandem as you both held each other. It was everything you wanted. It was what you craved. Why couldn't this be…real?

After a couple of songs, he led you to bed. He slowly undid your jeans, helping you out of them one foot at a time.

Then, after applying short kisses up your happy trail, he stood up, removed your cropped hoodie, and undid your bra. Your breast spilled out of them. He took the left into his mouth as you moaned. Interchanging between nibbles and kisses, he stimulated the small whimpers you tried to stifle deep within your throat. After a few moments, he turned his attention to your other breast.

A trail of kisses slowly went up your neck and finally to your mouth. You took his lips in yours desperately. You hungrily sucked his tongue, hoping to salvage the last night you would be this version of yourself with him. He tugged at your thong until his hand found what it was searching for.

He traced circles around your pearl. You waited for a moment to feel that release. That dampness that never had to be beckoned. That exhilarating plummet in your stomach makes way for the honey coating that ruins the sheets. It never came. 

"Is something wrong?"

"Mmm, no, why?"

"Your panties are usually done by now."

"Maybe I didn't drink enough water today."

He looked at me intently. His eyes darkened with intensity, then softened slightly. 

"I took you to Cali for three days. All we had were shots of Tequila and a couple of Coronas. I had your legs behind your hand, and we had the sheets changed four times one of those nights. Water has never been a problem for you. Talk to me," he said sternly.

"I'm not sure what's going on, Adrian," you lied.

"Are you sure there's not something you want to tell me?"

"Like what?"

He paused for a moment. "I don't know. I'm just asking. Maybe you're upset or worried about something?" he probed.

"The only thing I've been focused on has been the deadline. I'm okay with that, though. I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize. It's okay. Let's go to sleep."

"Or or or…maybe we can try some lube," you suggested, trying to lighten the mood.

"So now we're lube people?"

"Hey, there's nothing wrong with lube."

"No, but something is going on with you, and I'd rather we get to the bottom of it than throwing some lube on it,"

"But...but," you pouted as you looked at his erection.

"He'll be fine. Let's go to bed."

"You sure?"

"Yea, come here," he said, lying down on his side and pulling you close. Unable to fall asleep, you wondered how you were going to salvage this night. You needed to find out who the new buyer was going to be and fast because, at this rate, it would only be a matter of time before he found out the truth.

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Check out Part 1 and Part 2 if you haven't already! Please hit the comments with your feedback, give suggestions on what you'd like to see, and let me know who you like and don't. Talk TO ME!!! Part 4 coming soon.

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[The Night of the Blackout]

Xavier: Aye man, we gotta stay calm. We don’t know where that muthafucka is. He could be watching us right now. We can’t let him see that we’re coming undone.  Jackson: This is bullshit! What does he want from us?  Xavier: I don’t know but whatever it is, we can’t lose our shit. We’ll be playing right into his hand. Let’s just keep looking for ways to get out of here. Mark: I think I found something! Xavier: Describe it to us! Mark: It looks like some time of bent metal. Like some kind of key. It’s beveled at the top and the teeth are rounded.  Xavier: Does it look like it can open the lock to our chains? Mark: I don’t think so. It’s too big to fit the padlock on the chains of my shackles.  Dahlia: I don’t see anything. Arabella: I don’t see anything a circle peg could fit in Xavier: I haven’t found anything either.  Jackson: That’s because you won’t. None of us will.  Xavier: And how are you so sure? Jackson: The only person who can get us out of this is that crazy son of a bitch. The locks around our chains are lunatic locks. They don’t take keys or number combinations. You gotta keep messing with it in order the bolt falls into the correct spaces within the lock. It takes hours to do and that madman keeps putting us until every forty-five minutes.  Xavier: How do you know this? Jackson: Lets just say, I’ve seen these kinds of locks before. Every time I see one, things don’t end very well. I’ve been trying to fiddle with it all this time and nothing is working. Each lock would have a different combination to open it. The whole thing is a giant puzzle.  Voice: You’re not the only one who’s seen these locks before. Someone among you is familiar with them and other such locks. I would have thought that they would’ve been the ones to explain this contraption but you’ve done well, Jackson. Since you’ve done well, you will be spared this round. For the rest of you, your lives hang in peril unless you are able to answer this riddle:

I arrive uninvited, yet only when summoned I can be born from a whisper, or for a wound never touched I lend strength to the trembling, but steal wisdom for the wise I am light as a breath when I enter, heavy as iron when I stay I have no shape, yet I sculpt actions I have no voice, yet I speak through broken peace Name me,---  The guest who lives nowhere, but visits everywhere

You have thirty minutes. 

Xavier: Wait last time we got an hour. Why is it only half an hour this time? Silence Xavier: Hello? Are you there?!!

Xavier: We were left to figure out the riddle. Time had already started when Jackson was explaining the locks to us. Everyone deliberated for a while, but no one said anything. I pressed Peter for any ideas since he got the riddle the last time, but he didn’t say anything. I had no idea what it meant or what clues I was supposed to be looking for, so I resigned to thinking about what would happen if I died. I was bracing myself for pain because it seemed like it was something this guy wanted to inflict on all of us. At first, I thought that this voice was just some psycho with a vendetta against the rich. But it felt way more personal than that. I took a lot of time with all of this. Locking us outside of our bunkers, leading us to the only house with lights, poisoning us with gas, and watching us lose people one by one. I started asking myself who this guy was and how he knew all of us. Arabella tugged on her chain and it moved my right arm closer. I knew she was scared, so I let her tug and tug until she felt some type of relief. She tried to turn her body a little closer to mine and when the speaker came on, she fully jolted to my side. A strange song came on and it seemed like the chorus was on repeat. “Time is on my side” just kept repeating over and over again. He takes his non-steering hand and fiddles with his chrome watch. 

Mark: Please make it stop! The Voice: Do you have an answer for me? Mark: We’ll do whatever you want, just please make the music stop. I can’t think! Voice: Do you forfeit your remaining time? Mark: No!  Voice: Very well.

Xavier: The music blared even more through the speakers. Attempts to cover our ears are thwarted by the chains on our hands. Our ears may as well have bled. What seemed like an eternity later, everything went still. Even the night air seemed to have stilled. The music stopped. We waited to hear the voice, but there was nothing. A couple of minutes later, we heard noises coming from the surrounding woods. Like shuffling. It was difficult trying to make out what or who was making those noises. Dense fog enveloped us. The shuffling grew louder. Then growls. 

The Interviewer: Growls?

Xavier: Yea man. Low, menacing growls. 

The Voice: Time is up. We are here once again. Although there are some innocent among you, most of you are here tonight because the world has gone up in flames and those at the very helm are sitting among us. As the rest of the world burns, so will all of you, but not a moment before you all reveal who you really are.

Now, before I give you all a chance to answer the riddle, I must warn you of what hangs in the balance if you answer incorrectly. There are very hungry friends of mine who are in the woods. I have denied them food for two days. They are highly trained and obey my commands. At any incorrect answer, I will command them to feast at will.  Mark: You can’t do this!!! This is insane! Voice: Just the very voice I wanted to hear. Do you have my answer?Mark: Why do I have to answer the riddle? You said anyone! Voice: Anyone can answer for you and take your place in all this, but it is your turn to answer I’m afraid. Mark: You’re a sick fuck! You have us all picked out and lined up to answer your fucked up riddles and if we don’t get it wrong, we die. Fine, we die! But what the hell do you get out of it? What does the world get out of it if we’re dead? Why don’t you come out here and uncuff me? Just me and you, no beasts, no other people, no riddles. Just you and me! Voice: It seems like violence is the way with all of you, isn’t it? First, Jerry wanted to kill me. Now you want to fight me. You must think that the odds would be in your favor, don’t you? Mark: Only cowards hide behind fake voices and animals! Show us who you are! Voice: Only after you’ve all revealed who you are. Enough stalling. Do you have an answer for me or not?

silence

Voice: gives Mark a couple of minutes to respond. Right then. I guess you don’t have an answer. That’s a shame. You embodied it perfectly.  Mark: Oh, yea? What’s that, you sick fuck?

Xavier: He didn’t answer. Or maybe we did, and we could hear him over the barking. Before we knew what was happening, wolves or dogs surrounded us, barking in our faces. Their spittle coats us. Then the screams came. Peter cried out, then Beatrice. It was the first time I heard what her screams truly sounded like. She was in utter pain. Mark cried out until his voice was hoarse. I think both he and Beatrice were side by side in our twisted circle. We heard a pop. Or at least I heard it. Bones are being severed from their sockets. They were pulling at his legs and arms, and he had to just sit there and watch it happen to him.

Warm liquid made its way underneath me. I wasn’t sure if it was blood or urine. There was a lot of that running wild, feeding the tree. I closed my eyes, not being able to take the anticipation of my flesh being ripped open by these dogs or whatever they were. Not like all the stories I grew up hearing my grandfather tell. I pleaded with God to make this all go away. After everything I’ve done, I knew there was no use. So I just waited my turn. Waiting and listening to everyone else's screams. My turn never came. But the smell of blood, urine, and feces coated my nose. I still can’t get the stench of it out of my nostrils. Everywhere I go, I smell it. He fiddles with his chrome watch again.

Interviewer: Did the voice ever find out what the answer was?

Xavier: When we woke up from the next wave of gas, there was a beam of light. It was soft, lighting, faint. I could make out Arabella’s features. She was a mess. Her eye makeup was streaked all over her face from crying. Her eyes were bloodshot. Lipstick was no longer solely on her lips. She had a tendency to touch her face and lips when she was anxious or afraid. Mucus dripped from her nose, and tears cascaded down her cheek and onto her neck. I can’t imagine how I looked. I adjusted my eyes so I could take in more of our surroundings when a wail emerged from our right. Arabella snapped her neck to look at what was going on. That’s when she saw it.

Interviewer: Tell me what she saw.

Xavier: Mark’s arm. It was gnarled but etched with a knife where the word “Wrath” was written across the length of his arm. Arabella screamed until she passed out. We all just sat there trying to will ourselves out of this nightmare. 

Interviewer: What exactly do you all do? How are you all connected in the bombing?

Xavier: We are here, and your time is up. 

Xavier presses a button that opens the passenger door. 

Xavier: Remember, I don’t want to see you ever again, or we are going to have to have a very different conversation. 

Reluctantly, the interviewer climbs out of the car and steps onto the curb. Xavier drives off. 

--------------------------------------------------------

12/24/2025

Boss: Get out of here! It’s Christmas Eve.

Interviewer: I need to finish this. I’ll just be another couple of hours. 

Boss: Well, lock up when you’re done and clean up all of this mess. I like a clean shop and you know that. Flow swept, tools cleaned and put up. We have to be ready for the morning.

Interviewer: You say this every day, and every day you get here, has there ever been a mess for you to clean? Boss: Hmmm. and make sure that I don’t find any mess either!

The Boss walks out. The Interviewer watches him until he is out of sight. He rises up out of his chair and grabs his laptop out of his bag. He opens it and types on the keys until a screen opens up. His face illuminates as images dance across his screen. He watches intently. 

Hours later, Interviewer closes his laptop. He starts by slowly mopping the shop, careful to hit every inch. Once he discards the trash, he begins cleaning his specific workstation. All dust and debris were disposed of. He cleans the tools over the trash can, wiping them down. He then carefully places them in their individual places. After taking a really careful glance around the whole area, he turns out the lights. Heading out the door, he locks the shop and heads for his car. 

Once he is at home, he opens his laptop once more and types Beatrice’s full name along with Jerry’s. Several articles pop up. He prints them out and arranges them neatly on his office desk. 

---------------------------------------------------------

12/25/2025

Arabella goes to the hospital to visit Beatrice. 

Arabella: Tricey. How are you doing in there? She sits down beside the hospital bed after putting the fresh flowers on the small, linear table. It’s been hell over here. I can hardly eat or sleep. I’m sure you’re not feeling any better trapped in here. These hospital sheets are deplorable. I don’t know how you’ve managed not to get a rash. But that’s always been you, right? So resilient and strong. Nothing really rattles you. Oh no. Not Beatrice! I always envied that about you. You never really tolerated anyone getting in your way or pushing you around. You went for what you wanted. Been like that since we were kids. Look at us now. 

Arabella eyes the door to make sure that no one is around. 

Arabella: I kept thinking about those nights. About how we were trapped around that tree and what he said to us. The things he knew about us. I was so terrified. I didn’t know why he was so angry with us. I didn’t know how he could possibly know about the affair unless you told him. You were the only other person who knew. That day, I blamed you. I knew you were concerned and wanted everything to end. I just didn’t know how to do it.

Mark was starting to catch on to things and was questioning everything. I didn’t want you to get hurt, but I didn’t know how to end things. It was all just so messed up. I didn’t know why anyone besides Mark would care about what we did. Why did it matter if no one was really getting hurt? Then you told us. You told us about what you did with the media outlets and the newspapers. I didn’t think you were capable of such things, Tricey. I was shocked. I knew you were ambitious, but not like that. You swore! You swore that you wouldn’t turn out anything like your father, and there you were doing what you swore you’d never do. Despite all of that, you don’t deserve this. Look at your hands. Look at your legs, Tricey. You’ve always had the softest, most luxurious skin. Now it’s all ruined. He ruined you! 

Tears begin to flow down Arabella’s cheeks

Arabella: If I knew where that son of a bitch was, I promise I would spare no expense. I’d make him pay for everything he did to us that night. It was cruel. Deranged. Meniacle. Tricey, I need you to get up. I need you to fight. I don’t have much strength without you, now do I? I can’t possibly sleep through the night knowing that you’re in here. Get up, Tricey. It’s Christmas. I have your gifts all right here, see?! Please, Tricey, get up.

The Interviewer listens intently behind the hospital room curtain. With a plant in hand, he turns back toward the direction he came.

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Thanks for reading this very intricate story, and hopefully it wasn't too confusing. I've tagged everyone that I could remember, but if you're coming across me for the first time and want to be tagged in this fic or any others, please comment and let me know you wanna be tagged!

In your line of work, you had to temper your emotions. The moment you thought that your countenance would betray what you were thinking or what you were about to do, you had to create a diversion to get you back on the offensive. From introduction to interrogation, no one should be able to read your thoughts. The moment you introduced yourself with your given name to a beautiful man you barely knew was the exact moment you needed to head home to the apartment where Adrian would be waiting for you with ingredients for tonight's date night. And you did. There was something about those eyes and how his smile reached his eyes and then diminished into a luscious grin like he knew a secret you didn't. It pulled you in. 

You thought about it on the ride home. When you arrived at the house and turned the key into the front door, you were greeted by flowers and a card that read, "I missed you. Come find me". You smiled. Adrian was quite the romantic. Every Friday night, he had something special planned for you both to do that you would enjoy and give you all a chance to connect. A sweet breath of fresh air from the other men you came across while dating. He understood and met your needs. He treated you like an equal and championed your ambitions. Well… the ambitions you needed him to know about. He was always eager to make sure you wanted for nothing. The icing on the cake was the sculpted body wrapped in edible caramel coating and a face women could fight over. Taking off your coat and shoes, you sauntered through the living room and kitchen, trying to find him. You made your way up to the bedroom, thinking that maybe he wanted to skip foreplay and go straight to dessert tonight. When you didn't find him in the bedroom, you went back downstairs to pick up your phone and call him when you noticed the basement door was ajar and the lights were on.

"Adrian, you got me going all over this house looking for you. I almost gave up!" you said, feigning exasperation.

"I had to make sure you got all your steps in for the day," he retorted. He wrapped his arms around you and pulled you into a sensual kiss. "Mmm, how was the museum? Did you see anything you liked?

"Oh, it was incredible! They were doing a showcase for local talent in the county, and they were amazing. Most of them were kids in high school. Their use of color and texture blew me away. This one artist creates portraits with staples and a staple gun. I mean, the kind of eye you must have to place each staple in its place!!!" 

You could talk all day about art. As you recounted everything you had seen and heard, Adrian watched you. He loved how animated you got when you spoke about things you were passionate about. Your eyes would light up like embers, and your hands would move frantically, trying to depict the images in your head. The whole world went away when you spoke. At least, that's what it felt like for him.

"Yeah, and then I was walking out because the security guard said it was closing time and this guy came out of nowhere and–" you started.

"A guy?" Adrian asked, brows raised. 

"Yes, a guy. They make those from the same factory you came from. Anyway, he came out of nowhere, and I didn't even hear him. He was too huge for me not to hear him. But we were the only two left in the entire museum. I don't think I've ever shut down a museum before." you finished.

"What did he look like?" Adrian queried again.

"What you gonna do? Track him down and ask him why he likes art. The whole territorial, jealousy thing was cute at first, but now you getting out of hand" you replied with a smirk. The truth is you had a weakness for men who didn't play about you. It was actually one of the first things that attracted you to Adrian. You could handle your own, but it was something about having someone go to bat for you that felt amazing. That wasn't something you grew up with in your family, but it became something you demanded out of all your friendships and romantic relationships. 

Adrian shrugged off your reply and went back to sculpting something. This was the first time since you entered the basement that you noticed that your activity for the night was making clay sculptures.

"Oh! Baby, we're sculpting! I've always wanted to go to a class! How am I just now seeing this? I've been talking your ear off this whole time, and you didn't say anything!" you squealed.

"I know. Since you could never make it to a class, I would bring it to you. But you have to change into that apron and lose the top," he said with his back facing you.

You looked at him incredulously until you noticed that he was shirtless and wearing an apron. 

"Fine, I'll play," you rebutted.

"You always do," he said sharply. "Oh, the titty bags too."

Peeling off your top to reveal your round, juicy breasts, you took the apron and wrapped the ties around your waist.

"I wasn't wearing one." Sitting down, you could feel his gaze on you as you tried to figure out how to start the machine. He stopped his project to assist you with yours. Placing a stool beside you, he put a mound of clay on top of it for you to work with and turned on your potter's wheel. Cleo Sol saturated the airwaves as you sculpted away. You loved the way the clay felt in your hands, and after feeling so inspired by the museum, you decided that you were going to make your very own artistic contribution to the loft. An hour passed before you felt Adrian's warmth behind your back and his hands on yours.

"What are you making," he asked curiously.

"A vase. Something that would look great on the coffee table."

"I can see that," he replied, baritone in your ear. He held his position, sitting with you between his legs, guiding your hands to sculpt. Minutes of silence went by while Jhene Aiko sang. You relaxed into him, and her words rang through the speakers. 

"How do you feel right now," he inquired.

"Relaxed, calm, soothed, and seen," you said as you tilted sideways to look up at him, angling for a kiss. He brought his lips to yours and kissed you softly.

"Good," he said, giving you one last kiss. You turned your head forward to face the project hand when he spattered your face with the clay you two had been playing with.

"I KNOW you just didn't spray me with clay," you yelped.

"Naw I did that. I did all that," he said with a grin as he gathered more clay and smeared it all over your neck, chest, and apron. You gasp.

"Oh, is this what we're doing? Bet! You took a chunk of the clay you were still molding on the wheel and flung it at him. Surprised at how quick you were, he retreated to his side of the room to gather more clay. You managed to outmaneuver him and smear some of the clay in his face. Seeing he had few options, he lifted you in the air and tickled you back to the floor. Once he had you pinned, he poured the rest of the wet he was working with all over you. Satisfied with the mess he made, he let your arms free as he sat back on his heels and laughed. 

"You look amazing in clay," he grinned as his genuine laughter transitioned into a sultry smirk. 

"It almost went into my mouth!" you yelled.

"Yeah, I know. You noticed anything about the clay?" he asked.

"Should I?" you asked. Still smirking, he smeared the clay on your collarbone all over his index finger and dipped it into your mouth.

"It's…. it's.. it's chocolate!" you exclaimed. 

"Yup, and since I made this mess, Imma lick you clean," he retorted seductively. He pounced, liking the sides of your face and neck. Planting soft kisses in between each taste, he gently removed your apron. 

Next, he worked on the wide-legged trousers you were wearing. Lifting you with one hand to slide your pants down your thick, toned ass, he made sure to slide your panties down with them. Freeing your hips, toned thighs, and juicy calves from those pants, he panted your now naked lower half with the chocolate spewed on his chest and abs as he laid on top of you, sucking your nipples. You moaned. The familiarity of his tongue caressing you is something you had always yearned for. He has studied you in more ways than one, and your spots are something he is well versed in. He worked his way down to your stomach, licking and kissing the chocolate clay from your belly button. The warmth of his mouth mixed with the cool air made you tremble. Anticipating the euphoria that would accompany his final stop on his sojourn south, your breath hastened and you closed your eyes. 

"Ohhhh," you moaned as he hit your sweet center. He took his time licking the mixture of nectar and truffle, ensuring he did not miss a skin stitch. As you worked your hips on the pressure of his tongue, he grabbed your ass to pull you close. His fingers worked his way inside you, stroking your walls as he continued to assault your pearl. 

"Mmmhm," he let out, satisfied with how you were tightening around his fingers, ready to combust. 

"Adrian," you cried, "I need you."

He slipped his fingers from her core and slipped them inside her mouth. She tasted as good as he expected. 

"All you had to do was ask, baby," he replied.

He tore his belt from his jeans and threw it on the floor. He unfastened the denim and let it fall to the floor. Threatening to burst through his navy boxers was her prize. She reached up to claim what was hers. Freeing his girth, she marveled at its beauty. His shaft, the toffee color with perfectly placed veins coursing through to its tip. Its head was a cool caramel shade, glistening with the pre-cum that leaked from it. 

"You gonna stare at it, or you gon do something with it," he teased.

You reached around him and, grabbing a handful of the edible clay, stroked his shaft. He whimpered at your touch. You attempted to hide his shaft in the depths of your throat. 

"Fuuuuuck" he choked. You were on a mission to suck his soul out of his dick. Your jaw slacked, and you relaxed your throat, taking him all in. He grabbed the back of your head, holding it in place while he fucked your throat. As saliva spilled down the sides of your mouth, you used the moisture to coat your hands. All lathered, you massaged his balls and tent. 

"Shiiit," he growled, "Alana, I'm about to….fuck!" were the last words he said before she exploded in your mouth. You swallowed every last drop, and he leaned on the table behind him, still turning what was left of his pottery project. You looked up at him as you milked the last drop from his shaft.

"They gon' have to pry you outta my cold, dead hands. You know that?" he asked. You laugh as you wipe the corners of your mouth.

"I ain't never coming up off you. Shit!" he said.

"That's good to know," you chuckled. 

He helped you up off of your knees.

"Round 2. Upstairs. Beat me there." You watched as he swelled back to his original strength. Lit with excitement, you replied, "Yessir," and headed upstairs. You knew he could take a minute getting upstairs because he would probably clean up a little. If there was one thing Adrian was, if he wasn't crazy about you, it was neat. He wasn't afraid to make a mess, but he wasn't fond of leaving it there either. You washed off the rest of the clay in the shower and made sure to hit your hotspots. You stepped out of the shower and hurried to lotion up and place your scents on as you heard him walking up the steps. Once he found you, he pulled you in for a kiss. 

"What time do you have to be up tomorrow?" he asked.

"Around 7, why?"

"You'll be cutting it very close," he replied, his dark eyes glued to her hips and thighs. He led you to the bed and laid you there gently. Removing the rest of his clothes, he joined you on top of the covers. You two made love all night. Where you were rough, he was gentle. Where he was deep and deliberate, you were quick and light. The two worlds collided again and again, leaving both of you with multiple organisms and a yearning to produce climaxes even more extraordinary than the last. Finally, at 4:45 am, you conceded. Rolling over, drained yet satisfied, you fell asleep to the soft pressures of him kissing the length of your back while messaging your ass. 

An hour and a half later, the sound of your alarm screeching causes you to bolt from your place under his arms. As you switch the alarm off, you slowly get out of bed. You felt like shit. You were sore, your neck ached, and you felt hungover, given your hour of sleep. As you reached the bathroom, you stopped and peered at Adrian. You would kill him if he weren't so damn fine. He kept you up all night on purpose for making him give up that first nut so fast—ever the competitor. Finally, when you got to the bathroom, you did your entire morning routine and dressed. The warm shower did help the soreness a little, but you would need coffee and lots of it for the tiredness. Feeling petty, you decide that you wouldn't be the only one suffering that morning.

"Wake up!" you scream, jumping on Adrian, almost knocking off the bed.

"What happened? Whats going on? You okay?" he blabbered, alarmed yet still half asleep.

"Everything is fine. I just wanted you to take me to work today," you said, planting a syrupy smile on your face.

"Alana, you have a car. I put gas in it yesterday morning. I took it for an oil change last weekend. Your brakes are new, and none of your lights are on. You can't take yourself to work?" he asked, slightly annoyed.

"I mean, I can, but I want you to take me. I love it when you take me to work. I like to remind all of them hating ass bitches that I'm fine and fucked— regularly," you lied.

"Uh-huh," he chuckled. "So it don't got nothing to do with the fact that you were up all night tryna out do me and you got an early day but I don't?" he asked in disbelief.

"Do you think I'm THAT petty?" you asked, feigning innocence.

"Yes. But imma take you anyway," he said, getting out of the bed and heading to the bathroom.

"Why?" you inquired curiously.

"To let all them hating ass niggas waiting in the wings to know that you're mine and you're fucked. Well," he said in finality. He freshened up in the bathroom and threw on a Fear of God sweat set. He grabbed his sneakers and headed down the stairs. He looked good even when he was annoyed and half asleep. It wasn't fair, but I never complained. In fact, I was calculating how late I could be getting to work in case I wanted another quick session.

"Move that ass, Alana," his voice echoed through the apartment.

You made your way down the steps, threw on your pumps, grabbed your briefcase, and opened the door. 

You both headed outside; he opened your door and waited for you to get in. He darted around and got in the driver's seat. The car ride was silent. You looked out the window, taking in the city's sights. Kids playing in the cool autumn air in jackets, shop owners sweeping the outsides of their shops, the homeless at bus stops turning to the morning air and the bodies passing by. The city awakening after its long slumber was a work of art you had hoped to capture one day in a photograph or on canvas. This was home. Arriving at the front entrance of the Library of Athena at Pembroke University, Adrian hopped out of the car, went around to your door, and opened it. He held your hand as you climbed out of the X7. 

"Damn, I forgot to remind you about taking lunch out of the refrigerator," he said. He rummaged through his pockets until he found his wallet. He handed you a hundred-dollar bill. When you looked at him puzzled, he added, "That's all the cash I have on me. Use it for lunch."

"I don't need this much, Adrian. It's okay. I'll eat something from the cafe. It's usually free for faculty," you replied

"Nah, eat something good today. You went through it last night," he smirked as he kissed your lips, making sure to remind you of last night. "Have a good day," he added.

"You too," you said, leaving him leaned up against the car, watching you walk into the grand double doors of the library. Before making it inside, you turned to see if he was still watching. He caught your eye and winked, making you blush. He climbed back into the car after giving a nod to some students who were passing through and drove off. 

You held that interaction and the night before in your heart as you straightened your face and walked down the long corridor of the library. You checked if anyone was watching or following you before you made a sharp right and opened the doors to a stairwell. Going down two flights of steps, you opened the door and made a left turn down another long hallway. Awaiting you at the end of the hall were two uniformed men. They parted ways, letting you into a service elector. You pressed "3". As the elevator descended, you opened your briefcase and switched tags, keys, and badges. You grabbed the claw clip stashed in another bag compartment and pinned your hair up. The compact mirror at the bottom of your bag contains the contacts you've been made to wear. Opening it, you placed the soft contacts from your eyes into their placeholders and put a pair of clear-framed glasses on instead. Once the elevator doors opened, the United States seal and coat of arms greeted you from their place on the floor. You smiled and nodded at everyone who turned to look at you from their desks. You made your way to your desk and quickly got settled before opening your computer to take on the tasks for the day.

"Now I know you didn't just waltz in here and not say a word to me about last night!" exclaimed your co-worker and good friend Brooke. "And from the way you tried to walk up those steps, I know he hit it GOOD. Spill now!"

"You know, when you're looking at surveillance all day, you're supposed to be looking for possible threats, not watching me!" I said, feigning annoyance.

"I review footage I think is pertinent to national security and honey, that man, very pertinent!" she stated as she nodded profusely. You laughed.

"You're a mess," you said.

"Y/N, my office, please," Deputy Assistant Director Moore barked.

"Damn, what did you do?" Brook asked.

"Hell, if I know," you replied, confused.

"Well, you better get up there. From how his eye blinks, he's not in a good mood today," she said.

You walked up the flight of stairs and knocked on the door.

"You wanted to see me, sir," you asked as he opened the door for you. 

"Yes. I wanted to receive an update on your current assignment. But before we do that, I want to introduce you to the ASAC of the criminal division. Special Agent Richmond. Richmond, this is SA Olisa, one of our best and brightest here in the intelligence division.

"That's kind of you to say, sir," you replied politely as you slowly turned your attention to the tall figure in a black suit approaching you. Tilting your head upwards, you realized you recognized those slate grey-blue eyes and thick lashes. That glow of toffee that scrambled your senses stood a foot away from you with a slight smirk on his face, most likely from the fact that you were gawking at him, trying to make sense of what he was doing there. That low tenor you remember vividly, once again, broke the silence.