꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎
after joining the bau, madelyn mortier's hazy past clears--allowing her a fresh start. she endevers in this newfound family but will the demons of her past seep back in to destroy it? can she start anew and put aside her ghosts to focus on...
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╭──╯ . . . . . VIOLENT DELIGHTS ܴೈ
✧.* ONEERTAXEA . . . . . ╰──╮
october 19th, 2009
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. rossi 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."
