Love, Lust & Retribution: Love & Lust

By Cassandra Cripps

Undercover Detective Lacy Greene helped destroy the drug pipeline for Ft. Wayne, Indiana. The two main gangs, 806 and The Red Chord, broken up with all their members arrested. Yet, as her undercover mission comes to a close, she cannot even look herself in the mirror. The price for her success was too steep. They arrested her secret boyfriend and teacher, Damien Aolani. 
As Lacy embarks on a journey across the country to Hawaii to rescue Damien, she comes face to face with her biggest challenge to date, UPO. The gang that stole so much from Damien. In the shocking conclusion to the four-part series, Lacy and Damien confront their old demons, revealing all of their secrets. Together, they fight—not only to win—but to save their love and what it created.
 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Cassandra Cripps
• Release date: Oct 15, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393291299

Book preview

Chapter 1

Lacy

Anger laced with determination burned through my veins. Compelling me. Driving all my thoughts and actions.

Everything was wrong. Every. Damn. Thing.

Ignoring the glares and yelling surrounding me, I ran down the hallway toward the front doors of the high school. My heart thundered in time with each fast step. Panic crept up my spine. I squashed it back down, ignoring the pain seeping in the pit of my stomach. Pushing the greasy metal latch to the main entrance, the door swung free.

Cold air rushed in, chilling my body. But no fresh air greeted me. Instead, my breath caught in my throat. My feet froze beneath me.

There. Just below the steps.

A group of three city cops hastily escorting Damien, handcuffed, shoving him into the back of a squad car. He wasn't resisting. He wasn't fighting them. I didn't understand it. Why wasn't he fighting? Tears burned my eyes, but refused to fall.

They had caught us. A teacher making out with his student inside his office at school. It wasn't wrong, though. In truth, I was a twenty-three-year-old undercover state trooper. Yet, to the entire city, I was an eighteen-year-old high school senior. Eighteen. Legal. He should tell them. Tell them he did nothing wrong.

A fourth cop, talking into his radio, glanced back up at the old, brick school. Our eyes met. His, small and beady set deep in his plump face, saw me as just another delinquent child.

Panic bubbled to the surface, this time too strong to stop, causing my chest to constrict.

I tried pushing it away. But, couldn't force the memories of Damien's eyes—locked on mine as they handcuffed and dragged him out of his office—from my mind.

A car door slammed shut. The sound echoed in the crisp November air, followed by the equally harsh sound of heavy boots climbing up the grand cement stairs. Wet brown and yellow leaves rushed past on an icy wind. One stuck to my arm, a few cluttered around my converse sneakers.

I barely noticed them. I still couldn’t catch my breath. Everything seemed surreal, as though it wasn't actually happening.

Somehow, I took a few steps, my hand reached out and grasped the cold, metal railing. It felt hard, solid, like Damien's skin had been moments ago. But, his toned body was warm, inviting. It moved under my touch, flexed and shifted. The railing did not.

Suddenly, four large dark suits surrounded me. Their name tags, badges, handcuffs, and holstered guns blurred in a whirlwind of navy and silver as they moved in closer.

I screamed. I know I did. But, no sound reached my ears.

They pulled my arms behind my back. Cold, tight cuffs secured around my wrists.

No! You can't do this! My strained voice broke through the chaos. He didn't do anything wrong!

I screamed. I yelled. It accomplished nothing. Warm tears streamed down my cheeks.

They closed in tighter, pushing me toward the stairs.

No! I asserted, finding my feet and resisting.

They shoved harder. Two hands clenched my handcuffed arms from either side as they picked me up.

Call Detective Thompson. You cannot arrest us. I insisted, looking at the cop who had been on his radio, my strained voice fluttering on the wind. I pointed my toes, struggling to reach the ground and not physically resist them. Outnumbered four to one—minus their weapons—I distinctly lacked any chance of winning in a fight. Besides, beating up any more cops would not help me get Damien free. I had to use my brain.

The plump officer held up his hand for the others to wait, then pulled out his radio. I read his nametag: Sergeant Phillips. As he stepped away, the other city cops mercifully placed me down. My feet landed on the hard ground with a thud, my knees buckling from their lack of tenderness. I tried to flail my arms for balance, but they were still cuffed behind my back. Instead, I ungracefully wobbled and twisted as I gained my footing.

Phillips talked for several minutes behind one of the large cement light fixtures decorating the staircase, his voice too muffled to make out.

I stared ahead at the patrol car where Damien sat. The wind ripped through my thin, black hoodie. But, I did not notice the cold. The only thing I saw were Damien's eyes. They stared at me through the rear window, pleading with me.

His last words echoed in my head. "Do not say anything."

With a nearly defeated sigh, I knew he was right. I could not tell them who I was. Even if it would instantly fix everything. Not when we were so close. In only one month, the trials for the two gangs I helped take out would start. I could not break my cover until that was over. Not when we had worked so hard to shut them down.

But, I would not let them arrest Damien. I would not let them arrest us. Not if I could stop it.

Call Detective Thompson with the Indiana State Police, I stressed through gritted teeth to the cops still guarding me, rattling off his number, unsure if that was who the sergeant called.

I can't do that, Sergeant Phillips growled into his radio, walking back toward us. I understand, but there are other circumstances.

My eyes darted to him, straining to hear his one-sided conversation.

With all due respect, we have other evidence that supersedes your ranking. My hands are tied. He walked off a few more steps, his voice once again out of my reach.

Suppressing a frustrated growl, I glanced back at the school. Students' curious faces plastered the dirty windows.

Awesome, I muttered under my breath. Just what I needed, to make another scene in front of the entire high school.

Release her, Sergeant Phillips declared, returning to the cops encircling me. A scowl plastered his face.

Keys rattled followed by a soft click as my hands fell free. Rubbing my wrists, I watched in shock as the four men descended the stairs and climbed into their two patrol cars without another word.

In less than a minute, they sped off, headed away from South Side High School, toward downtown Fort Wayne. Toward the prison. With Damien still cuffed in the backseat.

As numbness crept up my back, my knees gave way. I fell to the ground, staring blankly ahead. Where Damien had been only moments ago. My stomach rolled as I fought the urge to throw up. Tears clouded my eyes. I blinked several times, willing them to dry up.

He was gone.

Arrested.

The past several months rushed back to me. All I had done was fuck up, one thing after another. I had gotten shot, stabbed, and beaten. Arrested twice. My fake emancipation revoked, placed on house arrest. It was Damien who saved me each time. Damien who pulled me through and helped me keep going. What we had was more than just the kiss that the band of cops broke up. He was my everything.

Refusing to give up on him, I grabbed the railing and hoisted myself up. With every step down the vast staircase, my anger from earlier returned. I welcomed it, using it as fuel to spur me on.

Eyes blazing with fierce determination, I marched through the parking lot to the very end where my rusty, old Subaru sat. I glanced at my eyes briefly reflected in my car's window before opening my door. In them, I saw traces of the strength I had been missing for so long. Again, that was all from Damien. He gave me strength. He made everything possible. Climbing in, I wasted no time buckling up and starting the engine. Peeling away from the school, I sped toward the prison.

I would get Damien back. I would find a way.

MY DETERMINATION LASTED until I reached the first intersection. Then, my ankle bracelet went off. Its red light flashed from beneath the steering wheel as the annoying alarm blared.

Damn.

I was still on house arrest. The result of being sent to Juvenile Detention last week to give Lieutenant Myers and the rest of my team the information they needed to shut down The Red Chord.

But now, the damn device was kicking me in the ass.

I hesitated, not sure if I should keep going and try to explain later or head back to school.

Before I could make up my mind, a swarm of five police cars decided for me. Their red and blue lights flashed from all directions as they surrounded my car.

MY THIRD ARREST STARTED off about the same as my first one had. Minus the insulting velcro dress and chains.

Handcuffed and standing in a tiny, white concrete intake room at the Juvenile Detention Center, I picked at my cracked nail polish, my back to the locked door. There was no point in even looking at it. It always took hours before anyone showed up.

What happened? Detective Thompson's angry voice thundered as the door clicked open.

I turned immediately, my handcuffed wrists biting into my stomach as I forgot about my chipped nails. I had rarely seen Thompson angry. And never with me.

I-um, I stuttered, staring at the tall cop as his blue eyes bored into me.

It took a lot of pull to get them to release you, he continued, stepping into the room as the thick, metal door slammed shut behind him.

Where is Damien? I asked, ignoring his remark.

I didn't care what they did with me. I would happily sit in jail or Juvenile Detention as long as it meant that Damien could go free. He didn't deserve to be arrested. He had done nothing wrong.

I don't know, he sighed, sitting down on one of the small, round, backless metal chairs attached to the solitary, circular, metal table. No sharp corners. Nothing that could be picked up, thrown, or used as a weapon. Waiting for him to elaborate, I plopped down across from him.

We've done everything we can. Pulled in every favor we have. He shook his head. I rested my hands on the cold table, balling them together in a fist and squeezing hard as I struggled to stay calm. Nothing.

Nothing? I echoed.

He shook his head again. I don't know where they put him. And we can't get him out. The damn city squad wouldn't say anything other than they found other evidence.

I shivered. Then clutched my hands together tighter.

This couldn't be happening. What other evidence might they have found against him? He was practically a saint. No. He was better than a saint. Damien was the most selfless person I had ever met. It had to be a mistake.

What about me? I whispered, trying to sort through my clouded mind.

He shook his head. It looks like you're stuck here for a while.

How long?

Two weeks.

Chapter 2

Lacy

Two weeks in Juvenile Detention.

With no idea where Damien was.

Another wave of nausea rolled through my stomach and up my throat. I pushed it down. I shuttered but refused to give in to the panic lurking at the back of my head. I would stay strong. I had to. For Damien.

Somehow, when this all ended, I would get him back.

But, at least I had two weeks to figure things out and come up with a plan.

Within a matter of moments, Latoya, my team leader from the last time I was sentenced to Juvie appeared. Without so much as a 'farewell’, Detective Thompson left, opening the door to a wave of officers and staff. After a mountain of paperwork and a rushed intake procedure, another officer uncuffed me, removed my ankle bracelet, then led me on my way. Back to the all female unit and scheduled monotony of Juvenile Detention.

THE FIRST THREE DAYS came and went in a mindless blur. Same thing every day. School, schedules, horrible food that I barely choked down a bite or two per meal, and mind-numbing boredom.

By Saturday, I was ready to call Thompson or Meyers and demand that they find a way to release me.

Then, lunch came.

Ya wanna say that to my face! a recognizable voice boomed across the crowded lunchroom.

Turning in my seat, I witnessed Romeo – the leader of 806 – in a standoff with a member of The Red Chord. Romeo's fists clenched as he glared at the young freshman still holding his tray.

You heard me! the other teen yelled back. It was your sloppy crew that fucked everything up.

Naw, Romeo shook his head. Way I'm seein' it, it was always one of you wanna be's.

Without a word, the teen slammed his tray in Romeo's face as chaos exploded.

Trays and unrecognizable globs of food flew through the air as the cafeteria erupted in a deafening roar. Standing up, I tried to avoid the splatter as I peered through the swarm. A tray flew by my face. I dodged it, but didn't see the teenager stumbling in my direction until he slammed into my side. Instinctively, my hands curled around my stomach as I tumbled onto my knees. With shaking hands, I clumsily stood up, looking frantically around. I couldn't tell who was fighting and who was running as a stream of guards ran in. My head spun in circles while I fought an intense cloud of dizziness. Everything became fuzzy, blackness threatening to take over.

Everybody, down! Now! a guard thundered. Heavy stomps clattered on the floor as they stormed in, clubs raised in warning.

Get down, Latoya growled, grabbing my arm and pulling me back. On your stomach, hands over your head.

Crouching down in the nearest semi-clean spot I found, I did as she instructed, following all the other females in my unit. My heart thundered inside my chest as I rested my forehead on the cold, concrete floor. One breath. Two breaths. The dizziness passed. Then complete silence. It was over. The fight, broken up.

Within a matter of seconds, someone grabbed my hand and helped pull me up. Latoya. I chanced a glance around as guards and the other unit leaders helped their teams up. As we lined up, I tried to find Romeo, but he was not with his unit. Neither were several members of The Chord. My eyes continued to search the cafeteria, not finding any trace of them. Silently, Latoya led us back to our rooms before I could finish looking.

Laying on my bunk bed, I stared up at the ceiling. A tear slid down my cheek as I thought of warm brown eyes. Eyes that were locked away from me, out of reach in an unknown location. As much as I wanted to focus on remembering every detail of the fight and feel like I was accomplishing something useful, all I found myself focusing on was Damien and how much I missed him. Especially his kisses and tender embraces or the way he could light every nerve in my body on fire with just a single look. A shiver ran down my spine to my toes as I imagined his touch. I still hadn't heard a single thing about him. I hadn't heard anything at all. Biting my lip to remain silent, more tears freely fell, knowing it was all my fault.

HOW DO THEY FUCK UP breakfast so badly? I muttered to myself, sitting on the hard metal table, after three more days with the entire center on complete lockdown. I had given in to the boredom. Given in to the monotony. Given up on everything else. There was no point. All that remained was surreal, white nothingness filled with meaningless schedules being escorted in silent lines by armed guards.

They had given me two stamps, two envelopes, and paper to mail two letters. Two letters per week. But, that only added to my loneliness. Kat was on her camping trip in Michigan with Marcus. And I had no clue where Damien was. I stared at the blank paper for two hours last night unable to write a single word until my tears started.

That was a common thing now. Crying. Every night, I silently wept until a restless sleep took over. Each morning, I woke feeling even worse than the night before. Tired, dehydrated, and my stomach in knots from worrying.

Eat, Latoya grumbled, sitting down beside me. You're too skinny as it is.

Over the last few days, I had gotten used to her firm, quiet personality. At times, it almost seemed comforting, the only familiar face in a sea of strange teenagers, guards, and people that I had locked up here.

Opting not to be another one of her problems today, I scooted my breakfast around my plate with my plastic spork, then attempted eating. Some sort of runny egg, sausage, and who knows what casserole. Two bites in, my stomach began to churn. There was no stopping it, no forcing it back down.

Flying off my seat, I scanned the cafeteria for the nearest trash can. Ignoring Latoya's demands to get back to our table, I dashed toward the center of the room, making it just in time.

With my head in the trash can spewing the horrid bites of wanna-be food along with every ounce of stomach acid that had been inside me, I heard two vaguely familiar voices talking from the table beside me.

I got a letter from Danny yesterday.

Thought we wasn't supposed to be talkin' to 'im.

Yeah, well, that order was from Boss. An' it was his stupid ideas that done got us all here.

Tingles rippled up my neck at the mention of the leader of The Red Chord.

What'd he say?

Took all night to decrypt, but Pops thinks there's a mole.

Yeah, Bobby. We already took care of 'im.

Naw, bro. Another one.

Does he think it's one of us? Malcolm, think it could be Clay?

Their hushed voices were barely audible as I hovered beside the trash can, keeping my back toward the two gang members.

That's where I'd put my money 'cause he's still MIA since that raid. But, naw. He thinks it's an outsider.

806?

Don't know. Doubt it since they all been locked up longer than we been havin' problems.

What if it's the same person that got 'em all shut down?

My heart pounded heavily as my hands shook.

Could be, the other teen answered.

What's he gonna do?

Danny says Pops already put the hit out. He's got him recruitin’. An' he wants us spreadin' the word, see if any of us can get out on good behavior.

LATER THAT DAY, AS soon as they allowed me, I called Detective Thompson from the small communication room with my allotted fifteen minutes.

Is this line secure? I asked when he answered.

No. Give me ten.

The line went dead, leaving only my labored breaths and thundering heart filling the silence in the small, empty room.

After being escorted back to my classroom, I spent the next fifteen minutes absently staring at a wall while I picked off every remaining flake of polish from my nails. My stomach knotted with anticipation, the boys' conversation replaying over and over in my head.

The teacher rattled on at the head of the classroom without my listening to a thing she said. I didn't even bother opening my textbook. I had accomplished little more than writing my name on the top of a single paper in all my stays here. There was no point.

The door opened. A guard entered, briefly talking with the teacher before escorting me back through the maze of white halls to an interrogation room. Detective Thompson stood inside, his large figure overpowering the small cell. He was almost the same height as Damien, but not remotely as muscular. A shiver wracked through my body, starting at my neck and trickling down my spine from the mere thought of him. God, I missed Damien – the feel of his strong body wrapped around mine, the way he captivated every ounce of my attention simply by entering a room.

What do you have for me? Thompson asked as soon as the guard left, shutting the door behind him with a harsh bang.

Sucking in a deep breath, I took two steps into the room, then sat down at the small table. I needed to focus on why I called Thompson. Focusing on my breathing, I slowly blinked and collected myself. Edward Rouche is trying to take back control of The Red Chord, I began.

Yeah, that's what we're hearing from Jay. There's a lot of commotion at the prison right now.

Jay's still there? Like me Jay was undercover, but only a city cop. He had gotten arrested at the raid weeks ago, posing as a drug supplier with me. I had been lucky to escape with Clay.

Yeah, he's got a long list of charges – possession, intent to distribute, attempted murder of an officer. We pull him out, it will draw too much attention. Attention that might –

Lead back to me, I finished for him, nodding my head. We went to that raid as a team. Until this was over, we both had to play the part of drug suppliers. Especially with Edward's new plans. After another steadying breath, I continued, Daniel Rouche has been sending letters to some of the members of The Chord here, passing encrypted messages for his father.

Thompson sat down beside me. Have you heard anything else?

Edward thinks there's a mole. He's having Daniel recruit more members and trying to get some of the teens here off.

Good job, kid. I'll make sure none of the kids here get out. Do you know any specific members that got letters?

Um . . . Micheal? No, Malcolm.

Good. He nodded. They scan every letter that goes in and out of both this place and the prison, so it won't be hard to get copies to Dunlap. He'll work on figuring out their code. And we can get any recordings from Edward's phone calls and visitations. That will help us figure out what all he's planning.

Um, about that, I picked at my nails, staring down at the metal table. He put a hit out on the mole.

Do they know it's you? Thompson lowered his voice. Although Jay helped take down The Red Chord, he only recently joined our effort. I was responsible for shutting down the local drug pipeline and 806.

No, I shook my head, but the kids here are already guessing it's the same person who put 806 away.

It won't take them long to figure out you're the only connection between the two.

I swallowed hard, Thompson's declaration hitting me like a brick. I had already guessed as much, but hearing it out loud, from someone else, only affirmed my fears.

We can't pull you. That will only confirm any suspicions they already have.

What should I do?

No more phone calls. Don't try communicating with us, or anyone else at all. It's already been one week. You only have one more week to go. Keep your head down and your ears open. Don't talk to anyone. If anything happens –

I can handle myself here. It's when I get out . . .

We'll keep you safe. Let me worry about that. You just focus on what's happening in here. Good job, Greene. Thompson stood up and headed toward the door.

Um, before you go, I turned in my seat to face him, have you found anything about –

Sorry, kid, he shook his head. I haven't heard a thing. I've checked the entire prison roster. He's not there. They never booked him.

Please, can you keep looking? He has to be somewhere.

We'll see what we can do, kid, Thompson stated, his blank expression barely masking the pity and concern that briefly flashed across his eyes. Turning, he opened the door and left, leaving me all alone again.

A tingle of remorse crept in as I stared at the empty room. I should be focusing on the gangs, trying to gather more evidence and keeping my head down. Not asking my partners to do a special favor for me when I knew they were already overwhelmed with the upcoming trials for two complete gangs. Yet, my mind kept wandering back to Damien, unable to rest without him.

I wrapped my arms around my waist, trying to hold myself together. Slowly, I breathed in then out, trying not to fall apart. Closing my eyes, I thought back to that day at the school, searching for any clue.

My mind came up blank as I fought the cloud of fear gripping my heart.

He couldn't have just disappeared.

Chapter 3

Lacy

By my thirteenth day in juvie, I was running almost entirely on water and determination. My stomach turned in constant knots from stress. Combined with the pathetic excuse for food, I still had yet to consume a single full meal. Each day, I worried about being caught. Each lonely night, I wrapped my arms around myself and cried over Damien, leaving dark purple bags under my sleep-deprived eyes. Every second, memories of his touch lingered, confusing my senses and leaving me longing.

I had yet to figure out a plan to help him. I couldn't begin to formulate a strategy if I didn't even know where he was or what he was being held for.

Following Latoya into the cafeteria for dinner, I kept my head down, refusing to look up. The entire week I had managed not to draw the attention of either The Red Chord or 806, including Romeo. Unfortunately, that also meant I had not spied on them at all and had learned absolutely nothing else since hearing about Danny's letter.

As I grabbed a water, my shoulder bumped into another person, sending a few bottles rolling along the ground.

Sorry, I muttered, glancing up at a dark arm with a small, black tattoo. Three jagged numbers, '806’. It was rough and crude, prison style. A gang tattoo.

No problem, Romeo's soft voice breathed as my gaze followed the arm up to his boyish, sweet face.

I stumbled back a step, sucking in a deep breath.

You . . . You got a tattoo? I whispered.

Yeah, he smiled, they can arrest us. But it don't mean nothin’. This, he pointed to his arm, this is who I am. My area code. Where I'm from and who I'm always gonna be.

His tattoo declared who he was. Just like Damien's declared the story of his life, his past.

Details from the day Damien and I were arrested poured into my memory.

The cops barged into Damien's office, cuffed him, and dragged him out of the school. Damien's shirt had hung wide open. His tattoos. The chest piece with the three letters, U-P-O encircling his neck. The gang he was in when he lived in Hawaii.

Sergeant Phillips words from that day plowed into me. Other Evidence. They arrested Damien based on other evidence.

Sonofabitch, I muttered, shaking in the middle of the dinner line.

He had told me he fled from that gang. Was done with it.

But, could he still have warrants out from his time in Hawaii?

Glancing up, I grumbled a few more obscenities as I realized I had been holding up the line. You can be proud of where you're from. But, I don't know, I sighed, I'm tired of being locked up here. There has to be a better way to make it.

Look around, sweetheart, he gestured his arms around the cafeteria, It ain't like they're givin' us any other options. This is all we got.

Or maybe we're just looking in the wrong places.

He shrugged. I think ya been listenin' to Teach too much, lettin' his dreams git to ya.

Maybe they don't have to be dreams, I mumbled before grabbing a water and hurrying to my table. Nervously shaking my leg and tapping the bottle on the table, I waited for Detective Thompson to come get me.

My two weeks were up. And, finally, I had a lead. A lead on Damien and proof that the two gangs were not disbanded. We hadn't won. Not yet.

LATE THAT EVENING, after being escorted back to our dorms, I stared at my blank, tear stained piece of paper. For the last two weeks, I had wanted nothing more than to hold and talk to Damien. But, that was impossible right now. Even if I knew where he was, I couldn't send him a letter. Not with them scanning everything first.

Crumbling the paper up, I tossed it across the room, only to growl and run after it.

I might not be able to send Damien a letter, but I could write him one. Grabbing a pen, I smoothed out the paper, then poured my heart out, filling the entire page, front and back. Once finished, I carefully folded the note up into a small square and shoved it in my hoodie pocket. Zipping it all the way up, I hugged myself, desperately clinging to the trace of comfort the worn and tattered garment still held.

EARLY THE NEXT MORNING, on my way to breakfast, a uniformed guard stormed up behind our line.

Peters, he called, his boots thudding on the hard, concrete floor.

Stopping and turning, I looked up at him.

Let's go, he declared before turning around and heading back down the long hallway.

Huffing, I reluctantly followed him away from the cafeteria and its dreaded cardboard food.

We wove through a maze of hallways until we reached a room I had never been in. Stepping inside, I breathed a sigh of relief. Lieutenant Meyers stood on one side of a long table with Detective Thompson, both in their full uniforms. Across from them sat a judge I had not met but instantly recognized from the pictures I had found in Eddie's garage.

Please take a seat Ms. Peters, the judge declared. His gaze barley flicked up to acknowledge me before his stern attention focused back on flipping through a thin folder in front of him.

The harsh greeting did little to calm my shaking nerves as I walked up to the table, unsure if I was here as a drug selling youth or an undercover cop. Taking a seat beside Thompson, I folded my hands in my lap, trying not to fidget.

I have been reviewing your records, he continued, and it looks as though this is your third stay here, yet you have not had an actual detention hearing.

I-um... I began, my heart racing, but was cut off by Meyers.

There have been extenuating circumstances.

I'm afraid you're going to have to elaborate, Lieutenant. Because from what I am seeing on Ms. Peters’ record, I cannot find a single reason they ever released her. Nor should she be released today.

Shit. I was here as a delinquent minor. I didn't need to read the contents of the folder in front of the judge to know that what it contained would never put me in favorable circumstances with him. For the last four months, they had paid me to be a deviant, drug selling teenager. A feat I had perfected.

THREE HOURS LATER, I walked out the front doors of the Juvenile Detention Center, completely free. Well, except for the ankle bracelet that was reinstalled on my leg.

It felt similar, yet so, so different. The last two times they had released me, a trace of uncertainty had crept into my consciousness. Yet, Damien had been there to hold me up. His calm strength alone banishing my dread.

This time, I was all alone. Even with Thompson standing right beside me, I felt lonelier than ever. By habit, my eyes scanned the all too familiar parking lot, searching for Damien's bright blue Audi.

It wasn't there. Despite knowing it wouldn't be, I sighed. A shiver ran up my neck. The bitter November wind seeped into my worn sweatshirt as I blew out a breath. The warm air puffed in a thin cloud before dissipating on the harsh breeze, taking with it any hope I had reserved.

Let's go, Thompson stated, briskly heading toward his unmarked, black Charger.

Where am I going to stay until the trials start? I wearily asked, hurrying after him.

A safe house.

Wait . . . What? Why? I stammered, stopping in the middle of the parking lot.

Things have changed, Thompson sighed, waving at me to follow him.

What things? I stressed through gritted teeth.

As much as I wanted to go home to Damien's, somehow, I couldn't see the courts allowing me to live there without him. I also doubted they would let me go back to my apartment by myself. But a safe house? That just sounded a little excessive. My heart thundered against my rib cage as I stared blankly at my partner. He hadn't mentioned anything about me needing to go into hiding, before they released me.

We're not taking any chances, he continued. We need to use you as a key witness for the trials. There's no getting around it. No school. No contact with anyone else, and absolutely no leaving.

No leaving? I tried not to pout or throw a tantrum. But, I couldn’t try to find Damien or help his case if I was on lockdown. Instead, I focused on the only positive. No more school.

I really don't have to go back to high school?

No. It's too much of a risk right now. I think my old man will miss you, though. He half smiled, trying to lighten the sour mood that had descended between us.

Wait, what?

Although from what he says, I don't think you'll miss his government classes at all.

Hold up. Mr. Thompson is your father? I asked incredulously, holding both my hands up. The elderly Mr. Thompson . . . Detective Thompson, it made sense. They sort of looked like each other. But, why hadn't I connected the dots? You've been spying on me through the teachers?

Not spying, he shook his head. But, listening to him drone on and on about his brilliant little student that refuses to pay attention or try during class has made Sunday family dinners much more enjoyable. Now, it'll go back to my mom muttering in Italian that she wants us to try for another child while I convince Heather that she's just upset about burning her lasagna.

I'm sorry, I muttered, his small, sobering statement reminding me why we were both here. That shutting down The Red Chord and 806 for good, needed to be my top priority.

What changed? Why a safe house? I braved as we crossed another line of cars.

He strolled past a few parking spots, stopping in front of his Charger. Dunlap got copies of all the letters between Edward and the rest of The Red Chord. He decrypted most of them. There were a lot more than we anticipated. You were right. He held the passenger door open and motioned for me to get inside. After climbing in, starting the car, and heading south, he continued. Eddie's convinced pretty much everyone that it was Boss who got them all arrested, securing all of their loyalty. They've begun piecing things together. Not sure if they've marked you yet, but from their last communications, Eddie's definitely thinking the mole he's looking for is the same person who got that pipeline and 806 shut down. He already has a few of the adults in jail and all the kids in juvie talking with 806. And, we haven't been able to find Daniel Rouche. We put a warrant out on him the day I visited you, but he's gone dark.

I swallowed, staring out the window. What about Clay?

He's gone dark as well, Thompson paused as he turned a corner, but from everything Dunlap has found, he's keeping far away from that gang and anything to do with them.

Do you think they will go after him? Damien and I had helped him get out. After Bobby Rouche had been shot, Clay was one of our only small victories. The other was Lilly Lim, the fourteen-year-old girl 806 had forced to be their accountant. As long as I testified, neither of them would need