∗ ࣪ ˖༺ violent delights ༻˖ ࣪ ∗

let it happen

the field office feels cold, the hum of computers and the shuffling of files filling the air. we sit around the table, faces grim as we review the details. "this isn't random," hotch says, breaking the silence. "these kills... they're deliberate. precise. it's business, not pleasure." i lean forward, thoughts spinning. "it's possible we're not dealing with just one unsub."

morgan nods, "if they're this organized, there's a chance it's a network of hitmen." we toss around theories, piecing together clues, but something keeps gnawing at me. these kinds of operations don't just happen in a vacuum. someone knows something. i can feel it. i clear my throat, breaking into the conversation. "i think i can help. i've got... old contacts in the city." the team falls silent, all eyes on me. hotch raises an eyebrow. "contacts? do i want to know?"

i hesitate for a second. this is a part of my life i don't talk about—not with the team. "no, but i can reach out." i don't tell them about my time overseas, mixed in with different mobs. how i let some things slide back here in america because these men showed me kindness in my worst moments. they don't need to know that part. hotch studies me for a moment, then nods. "just be careful."

later that evening, i drive out to a bar just outside the city. it's one i know well. a dive filled with smoke and shady men. the kind of place where questions get answered, but only if you know the right ones to ask. as soon as i step inside, i'm hit with the familiar scent of cigar smoke and spilled whiskey. i see a man at the bar, wiping down the counter with an old rag. he doesn't even look up. "we don't open till five thirty." he grunts.

i nod toward a coat hanging on the back of a barstool. "i'm looking for the owner of that coat." he looks up, his irish accent slipping through. "is that right?" he says, standing up, his eyes narrowing as he approaches. without warning, he starts to pat me down, hands rough and quick. "not with this, you're not." he says, pulling my gun from my waistband.

he turns to his two friends at the door. "check the front and back," he orders. they leave, and suddenly it's just the two of us. the irishman presses the barrel of my gun into my stomach, leaning in close. "now, you're either a dead woman or a cop." "right now, i'm just an old friend." i reply, holding my ground. the floor creaks behind me, and i turn slightly to see ray. his presence fills the room instantly, calm but dangerous. "madelyn." he says, voice cold but familiar. "ray," i nod. "it's been a long time, no?"

he grabs a bottle of whiskey, pulling two glasses from behind the bar. "almost two years. you look good." "yeah," i say, following him to a booth. "you too." ray pours two drinks, and we settle into the booth. "so, you left interpol, and joined the feds." he says, raising an eyebrow. i sip the whiskey. "i needed a change." "and what, matt's death had nothing to do with it?" ray asks, his voice bitter. i don't flinch. "things got messy. i did what i had to do."

i lean back, taking a long drink. "you know, at the very least, i thought i'd see you at his funeral." "i had knots to tie." ray says and i don't question it. i can feel the weight of matthew's memory between us, ray had been a close contact back when i worked in iraq. he helped me communicate with mobsters back in america, making my job easy overseas as i had to gather intel to report back to interpol. matthew always kept and open eye out for ray, keeping him below radar. "listen, i need a favor." ray doesn't even look at me. "he loved you, you know. as much as you loved him." "i'm not here to talk about matt." my voice is sharper than i intend.

"what are you here for, then?" ray asks, lighting a cigar. i explain the case, leaving out as much as i can but giving him just enough. i know how this works. i dangle the right bait, and maybe he'll give me something useful. "you saw the news?" i ask. his eyes darken. "you think i'm involved?" i shake my head. "not you. but someone you know might be."

ray watches me carefully as i describe the unsub—calculated, methodical, using a zip gun and leaving strange signatures behind. he leans forward, blowing out a puff of smoke. "you're walking into stupidly dangerous territory, madelyn." "not as stupid as the one sean walked into." i say, referring to the irishman patting me down earlier. "he's on trial for weapon transportation, no doubt for you. and that rico beef? it's hanging over your head like a noose." ray laughs. "you always were a smart girl."

"help me, ray, and you'll assist in a federal investigation. i can make things disappear for you." he smirks. "what's that gonna do to my reputation?" "if you don't help, you might not have a reputation to protect." there's a long silence before ray finally speaks. "there's one guy who fits that description. bosola." the name hits me like a punch. i've heard it before. "bosola?" "he's a character from a play. 'the duchess of malfi.' he brutely slaughters the duchess." ray explains. i sit back, piecing things together. "is this bosola local?"

ray doesn't answer immediately. instead, he asks, "what about sean?" i play along. "federal prison. out in two, with a good judge." ray finally nods, slipping me a name. "i'll bring bosola to you. midnight, my bar. bring backup, and for your sake, don't let him smell the feds on you."

i leave the bar, feeling the weight of the conversation settle in. as i drive back to the field office, my phone buzzes. "mortier." i answer. ray's voice crackles through the line. "don't screw this up. most people only meet bosola once. you and i? we're lucky if we walk away from this."

i hang up and head inside to brief hotch. i leave out the part about my history with ray—he shouldn't know the details. hotch offers to come with me, and even though i know it's risky, i accept. later, as we sit in the suv, i glance over at hotch. "you didn't have to come. it might've been safer if you didn't." he doesn't take his eyes off the bar. "i'm responsible for you, and i wasn't going to sit back and wait."

the clock ticks closer to midnight, and i feel my nerves creeping in. hotch looks over, his face softening. "well, in that case, thank you for coming." i say. hotch's expression softens. "anytime." the lights in the bar flash out of the corner of my eye. "did you see that?" i say. just as we move, a flash lights up the bar. my heart leaps into my throat. "fuck, he's already in there!" i exclaim, jumping out of the car, gun drawn. hotch is right behind me.

the team storms in, but the place is too quiet. my eyes scan the room until i see ray, slumped over, a pool of blood soaking through his crossword puzzle. "shit." i mutter. we were too late.