Out of the Storm - COMPLETE

Chapter 50

Theo

MARCO IS ON the floor, lifeless, lying in a pool of crimson blood. There is a bullet wound to his forehead. The gun is on the floor beside his hand. It looks like he did this to himself, but he wouldn't do that. Then again, how well do I actually know him? My best friend, the guy I viewed as my brother my entire life seems like a stranger to me, and now he's gone.

Now, as I fall to my knees, all the ways I was angry with him dissipate. My knees don't even hurt as they crash into the stained concrete floors. My body is numb. My vision becomes blurry, and my chest tightens to the point I can't take the pain any longer. I wrap my arms around myself and let the emotions drain from me like the blood that's left Marco's body.

Who the fuck did this? He wouldn't have done this. Who did this? Who did this? Who did this?

A jabbing finger on my shoulder brings me out of my head. "Theo." I know that voice. "Theo." Someone's shaking me.

Why am I hearing that voice here?

Glancing up, I swipe the water from my eyes. Yeah. It's who I think it is, but why is he at Marco's? Why is he wearing a hat and a vest that both say 'FBI'? Adrenaline fuels me as my body springs back to life. I grab him by his vest and shove him against the wall. "What the fuck are you doing here? You did this?" My fist goes back and flies at his face like a rock in a slingshot with perfect aim for his jaw. The fucker doesn't even try to stop me. He just stares at me. He doesn't turn his face, he doesn't grab my wrist. What kind of fucking special agent does that? "Are you even really FBI?"

He rubs his chin, and I see his tongue tracing the inside of his lip. His silence only increases the temperature of my already hot temper.

I shove him against the wall again, like he can go back any more than he already is. "Answer me, dammit."

His blue orbs never look away from me as my arms are restrained in no time. "Get him out of here, Hawke, before he contaminates the scene."

Jake said a team was coming to meet me here, so I know these guys around me are FBI, but they know him. They called him Hawke. And I know he's wearing the gear, but it's just not sinking in that he's an actual agent. He's not fit. He didn't even try to defend himself.

He rubs his jaw one more time. His eyes look anguished, but I'm not sure if it's because I just took weeks' worth of frustration out on him in one lick or if it's something else. All I know is none of this would have happened if it weren't for him. Or what if it was Jules the whole time? Because he's clearly FBI. I just don't even know what the fuck is going on, and I grasp the strands of my messy hair and yank them as I scream in frustration, anger, and despair when I see Marco out of the corner of my eye.

He finally averts his gaze to one of the agents. "Call Jules. Tell her to come get him now that it's all over."

I stare at him, deadpan. "Why would I want her to come get me?" My gut is torn between not knowing the full extent of what's going on here, wanting to stay, wanting to interrogate this fuck face about his involvement in it all. He's not innocent. He can't be. I've heard the shitty stuff he's said. And what about Jules? Is she FBI too? Did she know he was working with the FBI? Was she playing me? How the fuck can one person hurt so much? Choking back the sobs, I glance over my shoulder one last time at Marco.

He didn't do this to himself. He wouldn't. Someone killed him, and I'm going to find out who did if it's the last thing I do.