The Crow & The Ghost: A Dystopian AU Simon Ghost Riley x Reader

Chapter Eighteen: Power Imbalances

Author's Note: Thank you everyone for your patience! It's been a busy week and I finally got time to write. Should have more updates throughout the weekend! I can promise you that I will complete this story, so never worry about it being abandoned. Anyways, enjoy!

You stay in your office the entire day. If Moorehouse wants to reprimand you for having a day where you didn't do shit, then she'd have to reprimand half of the entire organization. You don't really give a fuck. You stayed in your office and didn't speak to a soul. You ignored Kieran's texts at lunch, and you deleted the text thread with Riley so you wouldn't feel inclined to look at it. You keep your office locked and fought back another round of tears when you heard Kieran jiggle the doorknob from the other side and call your name, staying silent until you heard his footsteps retreat.
You had to think.
You were furious with Riley. Furious that he was such a fucking baby, furious that he was so fucking fragile. You were furious at the way he spoke to you, at the way he condescended your successes as if they were nothing but luck and good connections. You were furious at how quickly he could throw everything away, just because he felt like it.
You were in too deep on this case. You had no choice but to see it through, but the thought of confronting Meara O'Sullivan, of discovering whatever person she had become, of finding out what the fuck was going on with the Undead... it was more than you were ready to fathom. How had you been the one to be assigned this? How could Moorehouse have possibly thought you were ready? The connection to Meara had meant nothing, and... and General Moorehouse should have known that. The Undead weren't the same as they were in human life. Whatever ties you had to Meara, whatever you knew about her... it meant nothing, and it hadn't for a long time.
You worked through the details in your mind. None of it made sense—who in the Defense would be so hateful, so spiteful, so violence-driven to do such a thing? Did one of the Undead, did Meara, have something on one of the Defense members? What dirt could possibly be worth this type of danger?
Everything could spiral out of control within days if Meara set her mind to it.
If she got the right information.
But who the fuck was supplying it to her, and why?
You knew that if you were going to figure this out, you couldn't do it with Riley. You were too emotionally tied to him to be able to do your job correctly. You would be more worried about his well-being than anything else during missions, unable to focus on what needed to be done in instances of tough decisions.
It could kill you both.
But Keegan... objectively, you knew he was just doing his job. If you hadn't been fucked senseless by him the night before, you would have thought nothing of him providing all important information to Moorehouse. It was his job, and if you had been in his position you would have done the same thing. But... he had fucked you senseless. Then, within hours, he had taken specific actions to receive a certain outcome.
And that outcome was you—all to himself.
He had omitted your error with being seen by Meara and told Moorehouse only of what Riley had done wrong. Why would he do that, other than to make sure Riley was off the case and you weren't?
Was it because he wanted you for his personal pleasure... or coercion?
This was what concerned you. Him getting involved in the first place had been completely Riley's doing, just a chance encounter in the hallway that had resulted in Keegan being helpful. But his desire to be even more involved, to insert himself when he wasn't necessarily needed... what if none of it was chance after all?
Welcome to the team, you sick fuck, Riley had said to him. What a stupid fool Riley was, digging his own grave with those words.
You thought through everything multiple times, your anger simmering deep within you.
By late afternoon, you had come to only two conclusions: the first was that you had to confront Meara. There was no getting around it.
The second was that you were no longer infatuated with the two men who had stolen your breath away not even twenty-four hours ago.
You saw them both clearly now, and you had some fucking questions.
Before you could demand answers from Meara O'Sullivan, you had to get some answers of your own.