ABLOCATE ▇▇▇▇ VOLUME ONE
━━ ❛ 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒈𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒔 𝒐𝒇 𝒉𝒆𝒍𝒍 𝒔𝒂𝒕 𝒔𝒊𝒏 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒅𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒉 ❜

chapter no. 014!

❝ GREAT LOYALTY. ❞
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𝗧𝗛𝗜𝗥𝗗 𝗣𝗘𝗥𝗦𝗢𝗡 𝗣𝗢𝗩　　　 

     THE HOLLOW METAL CHAIR THAT CARA VALENTINE HAD PREVIOUSLY BEEN SITTING IN TWO DAYS AGO SCREECHED, MOVING BACK AS JOSEPH ARTHUR WAS SHOVED INTO IT. In two other identical eight-by-ten grey interrogation rooms, Kirk Farell and Owen Sánchez were being pushed into similar chairs; smirks plastering each of their faces.

     Down the hall, to the right, and straight ahead, the BAU team and Police Captian, Marvinhill, stood in the conference room. Outside the room, Cara was sitting with an officer at his desk, fiddling with the plastic styrofoam coffee cup in her hands. Aaron Hotchner didn't want the blonde to be informed of anything that was happening until everyone had come to a collective decision on what would be the best actions to take. The woman, however, had protested to this exclusion quite explicitly, but Spencer had promised her that he would tell her everything he knew as soon as possible. That was barely enough, for the time being, to tide her over.

     "Well, I'll be damned," Marvinhill muttered; his green eyes focused on the women he blamed for everything. "She did it. They found the Red Scorpions."

     The corners of Rossi's lips turned upwards as he nodded. It was official. The Red Scorpions had been arrested; the gang that had terrorized British Columbia and dealt on its land for years had finally reached its downfall at the hands of one of their own. Blake and JJ exchanged looks while Morgan was studying the way the brown-haired doctor was continuously glancing over at the blonde through the window blinds.

     It was blatantly clear to everyone on the team that the genius liked the woman, whether he knew it or not. However, what they couldn't tell was how Cara felt. Although she may have opened up slightly more, they still couldn't read her. Nobody could. Every time they thought they were able to tell what she was feeling or thinking, they were proven wrong or left endlessly questioning themselves.

     "Before the Arizona PD left, they left all the evidence they had, as well as photographs of all the dead members," Marvinhill said, clearing his throat.

     Turning his head away from the window, Spencer furrowed his brows in slight befuddlement. "Weren't all the dead members the youngest? From what they could tell at the scene?" he asked.

     The Captian nodded, looking down at the report in his hands. "The CSI's reported that the age range was between twenty and forty-five. They couldn't gather anything else other than that due to how unrecognizable and indistinguishable the bodies were. Could the leaders be sadists?" he questioned, glancing up as his brows rose.

     Blake shook her head and stepped forward. "Sadists are people who derive pleasure, and more specifically, sexual gratification, from inflicting pain or humiliation on others. These men are simply power and control seekers. They thrive and get off on people doing their bidding and being loyal to them. After all, the Red Scorpions are known for their great loyalty to each other."

     "Joseph Arthur and Kirk Farell killed off the youngest members because they're more likely easier to persuade to betray them or let something slip. They killed the older members either because they doubted their dedication to the group or didn't believe them to be worthy enough to stand alongside them." Morgan added, placing his hands on his hips.

     "So, we use that against them," JJ piped up. "Praise them for what they've done."

     Hotch nodded in agreement before averting his eyes to Cara, who was now anxiously pacing in the station, rubbing her right thumb against her left wrist. It was a habitual habit, he noted; it was a means of keeping herself calm.

     "I'll meet you outside the interrogation room. I need to go over what we've accumulated with my officers," Marvinhill said, and the Unit Chief nodded once again.

     Once the door to the room closed, Hotch turned to the others. "Rossi and I will interrogate Sánchez first. Valentine has mentioned him by his first name once, meaning she has a personal connection to him. We'll use that connection and her skills," he announced, crossing his arms.

     "You want her in the room with you?" JJ asked, stepping forward as her eyebrows scrunched together in confusion. "I don't know if that's the best idea. We don't know how she'll respond to them."

     A deep frown settled on Spencer's face and he felt his stomach churn. "Hotch—she's petrified of them. I saw the look on her face when the cameras came back on as I asked about her father two days ago," he said, gesturing to the pacing blonde outside.

     "Cara referred to Sánchez as Owen. That's got to count for something." Rossi reasoned, and the genius sighed. He didn't want her near them. He didn't want her to be in harm's way, but it wasn't up to him. None of this was. He had no control. Usually, he was fine with letting others have control of the wheel, but in this case, with Cara, it was different.

     "Then it's settled. It's up to Valentine now if she is willing to help or not." Hotch declared firmly.

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𝗖𝗔𝗥𝗔'𝗦 𝗣𝗢𝗩　　　 

     EVERY INCH OF MY BEING WAS CRAWLING WITH A PRICKLING ANXIETY THAT SPREAD FROM THE TOP OF MY HEAD TO THE TIPS OF MY TOES AS I CONTINUOUSLY PACED BACK AND FORTH. I was on edge and felt like I was going to be sick. The anticipation and consternation of what was happening behind closed doors were biting at my heels, and it was taking everything in me not to display any facial cues that conveyed distress. Keeping my head down, I focused on keeping my breathing even as my thoughts raced wildly.

     "Even in the face of God himself— we stay strong. Do you understand me? Never once show your fear or true emotions to anyone. Especially the enemy. If you do, you're as good as dead." Marcus Karbovanec had trained me to repress and resist my emotions— to not act on them— to not show them. I had become an expert in the art of being emotionless and heartless; of being unrelentingly cold. However, right now, I couldn't help but feel the creeping sensation of panic and fear heading my way.

     Forty-four minutes and twelve seconds ago, I'd been placed at some random officer's desk and told to stay put, with no mention of what was happening or if the Red Scorpions had been apprehended. Not a word or indication of their capture had been uttered, and to say that I was becoming impatient was an understatement. The combination of exhaustion, fear, worry, panic, and now hunger, wasn't helping. If anything, the amalgam of those was making matters worse. They were causing my mind to drown in a replenishing pool of questions that I couldn't even begin to fathom the answers to.

     Did I actually do something helpful or did I only dig myself further into the ground? Was I right? Did we find their location? If they'd been apprehended, did that mean my father was with them? Was he safe?

     "Cara."

     My head shot up at the sound of my name, and I saw Spencer approaching. Sighing silently, I let my fiddling hands fall to my sides. "Well? What's going on?" I asked; noticing the slight twitch in the corner of his left eye and how he'd started tapping the one-two-one pattern against his outer right thigh as his head tilted to the left. "Spencer, what is it? Why are you being hesitant with me?" I asked lowly, and he gulped.

     His eyes darted between mine before he cleared his throat, "We have them. They're here."

     They're here. They're here.

     What started as a contortion of my stomach quickly became a feeling of being smothered by an invisible hand; the sound of my breathing went from erratic and deep, to shallow. My muscles were frozen in place but filled with a tingling pressure that made me want to sprint until my body was empty—to put as much distance between myself and them as possible.

     Spencer stared down at me anxiously, waiting for a reaction— for me to show some sort of response to the information he had just given me. My insides were screaming at me, begging me, to allow them to shut down, but I couldn't. I couldn't shut down. Not right now.

     "Brilliant," I finally said, not aware of exactly what response I was supposed to give, but judging by the confused expression that spread across the doctor's face—it wasn't that.

     "I need you to do me a favor," Spencer said delicately, and I nodded, signaling him to continue. "We think that it would be a good idea for you to be in the room when we interrogate Sánchez," he spoke quickly, and I could feel all color draining from my face. The last time Owen and I had a proper conversation was the night of the Surrey Six killings. The night that he, Arthur, and Farell, became the new leaders and we broke up. The night that Raine and Ace were murdered.

     Judging by the way his fingers were running over his watch, he was regretting telling me. "You don't have to. We aren't forcing you, but it could help the case a lot." Spencer whispered, and I tore my eyes away from his stare.

     "When?" I asked, shifting all my weight onto my left foot.

     "Right now," the doctor said softly, and my eyes snapped back to his.

     Ignoring the voice inside my head telling me to say no, I nodded feebly. "I'll do it," I answered emotionlessly, walking around the brown-haired man and heading towards the interrogation wing before his hand grabbed mine. Turning around, my eyes immediately darted down to our hands before snapping back up.

     "I promised that I would find you a way out of this, for good, and I think I have. And I know that I've also promised that I would tell you everything that's happening, and I will, once the interrogations are over. Now, I'm promising you that I will be right here. I'm not leaving you." Spencer said, emphasizing the word not.

     My heart raced as a small and genuine smile made its way onto my face. "Thank you, Spen," I said; the nickname I'd come up with caused a smile identical to mine to spread across his cheeks. Letting go of my hand awkwardly, he led me to the interrogation wing where the rest of the team and the Police Captain, Marvinhill, were. For the first time since I'd met him, he was finally wearing his name tag above the right pocket on his button-down.

     In the first room, my eyes landed on Kirk Farell; he had his feet kicked up on the table and was peering at his nails in boredom. In the room to the right of his, sat Owen Sánchez, who was staring ahead at the two-way mirror; mimicking the same behavior I had two days, one hour, twenty-six minutes, and ten seconds ago. Finally, in the last room, to the right of Owen's, contained Joseph Arthur; the man who was the unofficial head of the Red Scorpions.

     Of course, Farell and Owen were leaders as well, but Arthur was the one who called all the shots. He was the one in charge of punishments whenever someone stepped out of line, and I had been at the end of that stick a few too many times. I never officially and intentionally stepped out of line, but anything I did that bothered Arthur slightly gave him enough reason to serve his twisted version of justice.

     "Valentine," Hotch spoke, deriving my attention away from where my eyes rested on Arthur. "Rossi and I will be heading the interrogation. Your job is to decipher Sánchez's behavior and let us know if, at any point, he lies. Got it?" Nodding the tiniest bit, I trailed behind the two older men toward the interrogation room straight ahead of me. Rossi opened the door and Hotch and I walked in after him. Grabbing the doorknob, I closed it behind us and remained next to it, positioning myself in such a way that the team outside the room could see me.

────

     THE STACK OF THICK FILES IN ROSSI'S HANDS LANDED ON THE TABLE WITH A THUD AS HE SAT DOWN. A mock-surprised and impressed look clouded his features as he peered at Owen and Hotch took the seat next to him. "One hundred and one members of your gang were brutally beaten and killed yesterday in Fairbank, Arizona. That's an impressive kill your friends pulled off." Rossi complimented, leaning back into his chair. My eyes remained locked on the black-haired man in front of me as I kept my stance stoic. Owen's eyes traveled up and down my figure and he licked his lips in a way that made me want to punch him right then and there.

     "Mr. Sánchez, we need to ask you some questions about the Red Scorpions." Hotch didn't have a single emotion displayed as he talked, and I could tell that he was good at his job. Better than what I interpreted him to be when it was I who was sitting in that metal chair.

     "Why is Cara here?" Owen asked. The way he pronounced my name set my teeth on edge and my eyes narrowed; he hadn't uttered my name in years. If possible, he avoided addressing me altogether. In his mind, I didn't exist, but today I did.

     "Where's Person X?" the Unit Chief countered, dismissing his question with perfect ease. At the mention of my father's alias, I froze. They don't have him here. My eyes scanned Owen's body quickly, noticing how his chest was leaning forward and his left foot was tapping on the floor quietly.

     "Dead."

     Lie. While my hands were tucked behind my back, I hooked together my two forefingers; hoping that someone would catch on.

     "Where is his body?" Rossi asked.

     I watched carefully as Owen glanced over at me, the tips of his ears raising—a common physical sign for people who were naturally aggressive and on guard. "I'm not answering any questions unless she's the one asking them," he said, a small smirk creeping onto his lips. My eyes narrowed, and I unhooked my fingers as both agents looked at me.

     "Valentine won't be talking to you," Hotch spoke, an edge laced within his words, turning his gaze back to the black-haired man.

     A soft chuckle echoed from his lips and Owen's brows flickered upward. "I thought you didn't let people order you around," he mused, and I solemnly blinked; maintaining my emotionless and blank expression. The very idea of answering him made my stomach clench tightly, but the FBI needed answers. I needed answers.

     "Where is Person X's body?" Rossi asked again, clearing his throat as he folded his hands together.

     Owen leaned back in his chair and stole the thrown of silence from right out under me. Not a soul moved nor made a sound. It wasn't until four minutes and fourteen seconds of utter stillness had passed by that I'd had enough. The stillness and resting stare of Owen's dark-brown eyes on me were driving me into a corner, and I wanted to leave this room.

     Rolling my shoulders back, I crossed my arms. "Where is Person X's body, Owen?" I asked bluntly, forcing the words out of my mouth. The corners of his plum-colored lips turned upward into a smile that used to make my heart flutter and my cheeks burn. Now, however, my stare only grew harsher in intensity, and the sight of his smile made me feel sick to my stomach.

     "God, I've missed the sound of your voice." Owen sighed; his eyes running up and down my body once again.

     "Answer the question." I snapped blankly, stepping forward. Neither agent protested or said a word; they simply let me take the floor—which surprised me.

     The man in cuffs licked his lips. "He's with his boyfriend. You remember him, don't you? Person Y?" Owen asked, quirking a brow, and a chill was sent down my spine as my breath stopped short. I could feel my heart rate speed up in a panic as he waited for my reaction.

     "Person Y was killed in prison two days, ten hours, thirty-six minutes, and fifty-four seconds ago, along with Le and Johnston by Person X before he escaped," I said, narrowing my eyes.

     "Both you and I know that's not true," Owen spoke lowly, giving me a knowing stare.

     Sucking in a deep breath and letting it out slowly, I brushed a few strands of blonde hair out of my face. "Why did you kill everyone off the team?" My question was derived from what Rossi mock-complimented him on earlier. Executing various members wasn't a new, innovative idea; it'd happened before.

     The small smirk that danced upon his face grew as he shook his head, clicking his tongue. "If you lack the humility to go back and tie up the loose ends in your past, then be prepared to forever be haunted by your ghosts, all of whom will come into your present and your future—staining everything and everyone with their leftover emotional and mental garbage," he said cooly.

     "C. Joybell C," I murmured, and he nodded.

     "She's still one of your favorite writers, I assume," Owen said, raising an eyebrow as goosebumps traveled across my arms. Realizing he wasn't going to be getting the reaction he wanted from me, he continued speaking, "When you fall in love, it is a temporary madness. It erupts like an earthquake, and then it subsides. And when it subsides, you have to make a decision. You have to work out whether your roots are to become so entwined together that it is inconceivable that you should ever part. Because this is what love is. Love is not breathlessness, it is not excitement, it is not the desire to mate every second of the day." The look on his face was an expression of duplicitous satisfaction as the color drained from my face. "It is not lying awake at night imagining that he is kissing every part of your body. I am telling you some truths. For that is just being in love; which any of us can convince ourselves we are. Love itself is what is left over when being in love has burned away."

     He was repeating the words he uttered before telling me for the first time that he loved me. And he knew how much those words meant, what they meant to me. However, if he wanted to get dirty and dig up old memories from the long-buried past, then so be it. If I could get him to shut up and finally answer questions, the sooner this would be over.

     "I don't want this. You know I don't. Being a leader means I must be violent, tough, and emotionless. Those are three things I never want to be when I'm with you." I said slowly, gradually making my way to the table. The smirk on his face was immediately crushed and I watched with silent satisfaction as he slowly shut down at his own words; drowning in the memories of that night. "Now, that I have your complete and undivided attention, it's time to answer every question both SSA Hotchner and Rossi have for you, honestly. You should know better than to try and lie in front of me. You've already lied once, I wouldn't suggest making it twice." My right hand was placed firmly on the table and I was slightly hovering over him; my expression was hard, calculated, and cold. It was the expression that I was infamously known for in the gang.

     The sound of my voice was threatening and sharp; visibly cutting his heart as the words slipped from my tongue. His eyes glowed slightly and to the others, he looked emotionless—but to me, I could see how deeply my words hurt him.

     Retreating from the table, I leaned against the wall and kept my glowering eyes trained on Owen. "Mr. Sánchez, are there any other members of the Red Scorpions that we have not apprehended yet or don't know of?" Hotch asked, sharing a glance with the Italian man beside him.

     "Yes," he answered, his voice rough and scratchy, "but just one: Stephen Leone."

     Stephen Leone. Now, that was a name I hadn't heard in a long time, and for good reason too. He's dead.

     "Leone's dead," Hotch said, closing the opened folder in front of him.

     "No, he's not," Owen said, shaking his head. "Yes, he got shot in a shooting with the Scorpions, but he didn't die like the News and hospital claimed he did. Leone faked his death and has been living in the Oaks-Rose apartment complex in Ucluelet." It was right then that I felt as if the air had been knocked from my lungs. Breathing no longer seemed to be an option as I stood for ten seconds, frozen to the spot.

     "Let me go!" I screamed in the darkness of the night, unable to depict where I was as his clammy hands danced along my torso. My body was twisting and turning violently, but no matter how hard I fought—no matter how hard I tried, I was still stuck. Completely and utterly stuck.

     His hot and icky breath smelled of weed and beer as he whispered in my ear, "Oh baby-cakes, calm down."

     Glancing at me, Owen saw my panicked state; he saw the tormented mask that clouded my mind as I remained paralyzed and helpless against myself. For the world's quickest second, he looked remorseful and guilty, but just as quickly as it came, it left.

     From there, the rest of the interrogation carried on; the two agents asked one of the leaders of a widely known drug-trafficking gang questions and he answered in complete and utter honesty. He hadn't once dared to lie, especially after the words I'd slapped him in the face with.

     "Thank you, Mr. Sánchez, for your cooperation," Hotch said, standing up. I watched with silent eyes as the two men stood up, motioning for me to follow. Pushing myself off the wall, I had only just made it to the threshold before my name echoed from behind me, causing me to pause in my movement. Hotch's eyes locked with mine and he gave me a slight nod, indicating that I could respond.

     Spinning on my heel, I stonily swept my dark-blue eyes to his sitting figure. "I'm sorry," Owen breathed and by the gleam in his eyes, I knew he meant it.

     "You chose this life over us. You don't get the privilege to apologize, not after everything you've done." I said; not a drop of emotion was laced within my tone and my face was as blank as a sheet of paper. Owen nodded stiffly and I turned back around, slamming the door shut behind me.

────

     "YOU DID GOOD, VALENTINE," HOTCH COMPLIMENTED THE MOMENT THE DOOR SLAMMED SHUT AND I NODDED, KEEPING MY GAZE ON ANYTHING BUT THE TEAM. That was the first proper, somewhat conversation we'd had in six years and I wasn't sure how to feel about it. Or if I should even allow myself to feel anything.

     "You and Sánchez were together for a while," Morgan observed.

     I hesitantly looked to him and nodded again, "Five years." I said dully, tucking my blonde hair behind my ear.

     "What was it that he was reciting to you?" Blake spoke up, referring to the words that had once held so much meaning, but now held nothing but cobwebs and dust.

     "It's a quote from one of his favorite authors, I forgot who it was," I said, hoping nobody would press any further but in order to do their job effectively, they had to.

     "In what context had he said it to you before?" Hotch asked, turning to look at me.

     Reaching for my wrist, I rubbed my thumb against it as I straightened up my posture. "He recited it right before he told me he loved me. I was eighteen." I answered, and my eyes couldn't help but linger on the brown-haired man who'd been uncharacteristically quiet for the last three minutes and two seconds. His head was angled toward the floor and his jaw was clenched tightened; both of his hands resting in his pockets. He's angry. I could tell by the way his eyes were narrowed and how a couple of the veins in his neck were currently visibly prominent. Furrowing my brows slightly, I looked away before anyone noticed that I had been staring for over a second.

     "What lies did he tell?" Rossi asked, and I briefly met his stare.

     "He only lied about my father being dead. After that, he told nothing but the truth." I responded, letting go of my wrist and crossing my arms.

     Tucking her blonde hair behind her hair, Agent Jareau stepped forward. "How do you know?" she asked curiously.

     "Everybody has natural tells that indicate they're lying, such as body movement, eye contact, posture, breathing pattern, and sometimes even the way they word certain phrases or sentences. Owen only has two tells: his chest leans forward and his left foot taps slowly. He did that once throughout the interrogation and it happened when he claimed that my father was dead. The rest of the time his body language was normal." I shrugged nonchalantly as the BAU team eyed me cautiously. Spencer was staring at me with pride and admiration while some of the others looked mildly impressed. I suppose they underestimated me.

     "Who's Stephen Leone?" Morgan asked next, and a part of me was tempted to lie— to say that I didn't recognize the name, but I did.

     "Two months before the Surrey Six killings, there was a shooting between the Red Scorpions and a rival gang we referred to as the Green Snakes. They never had an official name, but we double-crossed them in a drug heist and to get revenge, one of their top men, Stephen Leone, kidnapped me. The Green Snakes held me, hostage, for five days before Owen found me. He rescued me while other members started a shooting to cause a distraction. Leone got shot and everyone thought he died, but I guess he didn't." I shrugged, noticing how Morgan had glanced over at Spencer the moment I'd mentioned Owen.

     Before anyone could ask any more questions, the Unit Chief turned to me. "If you're up for it, I would like to have you in the room with us when we interrogate Kirk Farell," Hotch said, gesturing to himself and Rossi. "Is there a problem?" he asked, noticing how my brows had slightly drawn in and how I hadn't answered him.

     "Farell and I don't get along," I said, nodding toward the first room.

     "What do you mean?" Spencer asked, creases cracking across his forehead.

     Moving my gaze to the doctor, we held eye contact as I spoke, "My father and his were together for twelve years and engaged for two before my father turned him, and the other Founding Fathers, in. In other words, he resents me to this day because of my father's actions and would thoroughly love it if I were dead." Spencer frowned at my words and the others slightly nodded.

     Rossi gestured to the room and looked at me, "Will you come in with us?" I nodded begrudgingly and followed Hotch and Rossi to the door.

────

     UPON WALKING IN, THE FIRST THING I COULDN'T HELP BUT NOTICE WAS HOW FARELL'S FEET WERE PROPPED UP ON THE TABLE WHILE HE STARED UP AT THE CEILING WITH HIS EYES CLOSED. At the sound of the door shutting, his brown eyes flashed open and instantaneously landed on me. Letting out a humorous laugh, he shook his head in mock disbelief as he looked at me. "You always were the black sheep of the Red Scorpions. I knew that one day you would eventually follow in the steps of your dead-beat father and betray us. What's that saying? Those who do not learn from history are doomed to repeat it?" he asked, quirking a brow.

     This was something he constantly did— say things he believed would crawl under my skin but in reality, only made me find him even more unbearably annoying.

     "Mr. Farell, I'm SSA Hotchner and this is SSA Rossi," the Unit Chief motioned to the older Italian man, "we have a few questions for you about the Red Scorpions."

     Rossi walked around the table and knocked Farell's feet off it. "You've made British Columbia fear you for years. What's that like? Having all that power in your hands?" he asked, and I watched as Farell smirked.

     "It's amazing. I get to do what I want when I want, and I have nobody to answer to," he gleamed, pulling his legs underneath the table.

     "You and your friends were on top of the world... So, why would you kill more than half of them?" Rossi followed up, taking the empty seat next to Hotch.

     Farell shrugged, "We needed to tie up loose ends. The Red Scorpions can't afford to have liabilities among them; we have to remain loyal, always." Lie. It was something so incredibly small that if someone wasn't specifically looking for it, they would miss it entirely, which gave him away: his right index finger twitched when he spoke. Hoping that someone behind the mirror was watching, I tilted my head to the right slightly; a gesture used to indicate something.

     "Was it only you and Joseph Arthur who murdered the one hundred and one members?" Hotch asked, glancing up for the file he had placed on the table.

     "Of course," Farell scoffed. "We'd never let somebody else do the dirty work for us. It's too much fun, you know? Getting your hands dirty." His words were venomous and despicable, and I had the undying urge to drop-kick him, but he was telling the truth. It was fun. For them, at least.

     "Why did you send in the files that proved Cara Valentine was innocent? We believed you had every intention of seeing her off to prison." Rossi said, leaning forward expectantly as he waited for a reply.

     Farell glared over at me as I remained stoic, the all too familiar coldness stinging my eyes. "Oh, trust me, I was all for her going to prison. I would love nothing more than to see her rot in a cell; going insane at the fact that she is completely isolated and alone; to drown in the reality that she has no one left that cares about her. But my wonderful, beautiful, dreams were crushed when Arthur decided it would be better to set her free; that way we could punish her like the others," he finished, and I narrowed my eyes.

     Hotch furrowed his brows as he sat up even more. "The others?" he asked, eyeing the man before him.

     "Oh—she hasn't told you?" Farell asked, gesturing to me with his cuffed wrists. He needs to shut up. I silently breathed in deeply, knowing very well what it was he was alluding to. "All those who betray, or fall out of line, are placed on a stage. Members get to bid on what method of torture they would like to see performed, and the equivocator gets served their punishment." The well-known Red Blood punishment was something I had never been a victim of but something I'd forced upon others. It was a ritual that scared the living hell out of everyone and left them with permanent scars, both internally and externally. However, it came as part of the territory of being a Scorpion. "Caralyn Valentine has been on that stage many times. Primarily on the giving end. This time, however, Arthur said that the punishment would solely be up to me and I could keep her as long as I wanted to." The smile on his lips was sickly sadistic and his words were callous.

     Narrowing his eyes, the Unit Chief slowly closed the manila file. "Why would Arthur promise you that?" he asked.

     "He knows our history and I gave him something he wanted in return," Farell was smiling as he spoke and his hazel eyes landed on me; a crazed gleam reflecting in them. Chills crawled up my spine and I felt my chest tighten.

     "And what would that be?" Rossi asked, raising a brow.

     "Person X." Farell breathed, sending a wink my way as it was taking every ounce of self-control I had not to respond physically or emotionally. Unlike Owen, Farell wasn't lying about my father. He was telling the truth.

     Sharing a puzzled look with Hotch, Rossi glanced back at the leader, "Owen told us that Person X was dead, was he lying?"

     Holding my breath, I watched as Farell replied with a simple "No." Lie. I pulled my hands behind my back and hooked together my forefingers, letting others know that he was lying.

     "Thank-you. That'll be all for now." Hotch said, and I was the first one out of the room—walking past everyone and exiting the interrogation wing. There was a river of inescapable panic whirling in my stomach and I felt as if I could barely breathe. I could physically feel the tension boiling up into my limbs and face while my mind kept replaying his words; my breathing becoming more rapid and shallow.

     In moments like these, before my personal hurricane of mine arrived, I was able to understand what it felt like to be a drug addict—an alcoholic. The inside of my mind was a carousel of fears spiraling out of control; each one shoving my thoughts into an endless black hole.

     As I pushed past people, the ground felt as if it were melting underneath my feet; the sound of someone's voice was close behind me, but it was distant and muffled. Turning left, I entered an empty hallway and placed my left hand against the wall as I tried to steady myself. The sound of my breathing was raspy and fast-paced; I felt like I had just run a mile without stopping and was just now trying to catch my breath.

     A gentle touch curled around my shoulder and I immediately pulled away, looking up to see the magnificent eyes of Spencer Reid peering down at me with worry. Without hesitation, he brushed my hair out of my face and began talking, but I could barely hear a word he was saying. "Breathe." That was the only word I managed to pick up on as he continued to gaze at me; his brows scrunched together in concentration as he tried to calm me down. "Focus on me." My mind was spinning so fast that the only thing I was able to focus on was his eyes, which were darting back and forth between mine.

     In the current lighting, his eyes were a hickory brown that was as rich as the earth's soil; stained with the color of hot chocolate on a cold, winter night that wrapped around someone like a blanket; engulfing them in its warmth and making them feel at home. Those deep pools of dark cinnamon swirls seized the depth and heaviness of one thousand untold stories, which imprisoned the sweetness of saccharine chocolate and the bitterness of strong coffee. They consisted of raw emotion and if I stared long enough, I found myself falling into them; revealing the exact thoughts that crossed his ominous mind.

     "You're doing good, just keep looking at me." I nodded gently, and he gave me a reassuring smile. I continued to gaze into his eyes, allowing myself, at this moment, to drown in the smoothness of them. I allowed myself to feel the beat of my heart against the bare bones of my ribcage and how anxious I felt due to how close we were. I allowed myself to soak in this minuscule moment that may not have meant a thing to him but meant something to me.