Double Agent

Inner Demons

I was shocked as I registered what he'd just said. I knew that name. I knew it well. Jonas Hartel had been on the FBI's records for many years, but no matter how much we tried to pin him down for his crimes, he was slippery, and we always fell slightly short of tossing the son of a bitch in jail. I knew that the Calaway firm was dangerous, but Hartel, he was bad news, even for someone of their calibre. If this was a fight between those two sides... this was going to turn into a war. One that had the ability of painting the streets red with the bloodshed. And one that, without the full strength of their father's army, I wasn't sure if the Calaways would win.

"Aren't you biting off more than you can chew here? Hartel has huge numbers of men at his command, without your father's help, you're vastly outnumbered." I asked, a lump forming in my throat.

I wasn't sure if the dread that I could feel circling my system was for the fate of those that I was currently living with, or for the hundreds, maybe thousands of innocents in this city that could be killed because of the fallout.

"I know. Today was just another reminder of that." He said coldly.

"Then stand down." I burst out. "Get everyone the hell out of here, go home and live to see another day."

"You don't understand!" He snapped. "This isn't something I can walk away from. I will never let him get away with what he's done. Even if it costs me my life."

"What about them? Your brother, Sage... the others. Will they die too for this crusade? Will I?"

"They'd each give their lives for what we're fighting for. But no. I won't let them die," He straightened up in the bed, his eyes locked on mine as he reached out a hand and rested it on my forearm, the touch sending a warmth up my arm and rendering me momentarily breathless. "I won't let you die."

"That might not be your choice." I managed to whisper.

"Then leave. I'll do this without your help, you don't deserve to be caught up in something you have no part in. It's not your fight, and you don't have to pay the price."

There was no coldness to his words. This wasn't him sending me away out of resentment. There was concern and care in the way that he was looking at me. It was unexpected, and I felt gratitude toward him for the consideration. But I was beginning to struggle by now. My head felt wrecked. He was turning out to be nothing like what I'd imagined. Nothing like what I had prepared for. And it was taking everything that I had to keep telling myself that he was the enemy. That I had a job to do, and I couldn't forget that. But a voice at the back of my mind broke through all of that sound, asking a forbidden question that I shouldn't have answered... Is he really the one in the wrong here... or am I?

That night, I tossed and turned in bed. Sleep refused to come and bless me with a relief from the persistent argument between my brain and my consciousness, until finally, I abandoned the warmth of my bed and slipped downstairs.

I silently crept across the rubble strewn living room, stopping by a shot up cabinet that I'd seen Eddie grab a drink from earlier. I helped myself to the bottle of vodka, pouring a large measure into the only tumbler that remained fully in-tact. The strong taste sent a sense of calm washing through my body, ebbing away some of the stress that had piled up, and allowing me to relax. Taking the bottle and the glass with me, I settled on the sofa, pouring more into my glass and curling up on the cushions. The more that I drank, the more relaxed I began to feel, the alcohol numbing the guilt and pressure that I was struggling to compartmentalise. As my eyes grew heavier, I let out a long sigh, my breathing getting shallower, until sleep settled over me.

Shuffling sounds were getting louder nearby, along with hushed voices and clinking of glass. My eyes felt heavy and closed tighter against the bright glow of daylight which assaulted my eyelids. I reached for the duvet, hoping to hide beneath it, but as my hand landed against my hip, I found a soft blanket draped over me instead. I jolted upwards in confusion, my surroundings coming into focus as I rubbed the sleep from my eyes. I was still on the sofa, but now wrapped in a luxurious silver, faux fur blanket. Bunching it up in my hand, I tried and failed to remember where I got it from, or when I'd covered myself up with it.