Page 264 of Bad for Me

“Master Raul?” Fifi ventures in a quiet voice, looking like she’s about to start crying, or throw up, or hell, maybe even both.

“Go,” I say thickly, my voice bitter. I don’t look at her, though. I stare Misha down instead even as I address Fifi. “Emergency quarters. You know the procedure. Just… stay there until someone comes to get you.”

Hopefully that’ll be before she and everybody else down there dies.

Fifi nods. “Thank you, Master,” she whispers, before she runs off.

All this arguing means the intruders are probably almost at the manor. I don’t have time to argue with Misha.

He finishes dressing, and he crosses his arms in front of himself. “What’s the procedure?”

“If you wanted to know, you should’ve gone with her,” I snarl. I shake my head and go to the safe, deftly entering the passcode and pressing my finger against it. I only keep a gun in here, along with some cash, but I know I’m not slipping out of here unnoticed. All I can do is try to keep Misha in line and keep him out of the line of fire.

Misha comes up behind me and grips my wrist. I stare, shocked at the open disobedience, as he takes the gun from me.

He checks it and removes the bullets with practiced ease.

“Who the fuck are you?” I ask finally. “You aren’t some poor schmuck who got dragged into our organization.”

“I’m not,” Misha agrees.

He’s definitely too smart, too kind. Jaded, but not. And a high school dropout who’s been coasting from paycheck to paycheck wouldn’t have been able to afford BDSM clubs either.

Part of me already knows the answer though. I just don’t want to believe it.

“You’re a fed,” I whisper.

Misha nods. “I am.”

The floor drops out from under me, and I stagger. Misha’s strong hand catches me, keeps me from falling, and I shake my head in denial.

Denial, and fear, and shame, and…

Guilt.

So much fucking guilt, because that means this raid is all my fucking fault.

“How did you get word to them?” I croak. “How…” The sense of betrayal I feel is ridiculous. It makes no goddamn sense, but I feel it anyway. I’m not going to say that I’d thought we’d had something; he was a slave, and I was his master.

At the same time, though… Maybe I really had thought we’d made some sort of connection that wouldn’t have been possible between a federal agent and a slaver.

Misha laughs bitterly. “It wasn’t even me. I was still trying to figure out how to do that. No, you’ve got another mole in this organization.”

Another mole? I don’t even know how that’s possible. Everyone who knows the ins and outs of the business has proven themselves time and again. They’re all vetted, or they’ve done terrible things that could get even a federal agent a prison sentence.

But then I think back to that meeting with Avery and Stevens last week, and I remember thinking there had been some crack in Avery’s veneer for just a fraction of a moment before it had vanished. I’d convinced myself it hadn’t meant anything, but apparently, it had meanteverything.

“The pedophile,” I say flatly.

“You and your family are the pedophiles,” Misha counters, the accusation a kick in the gut even though I know he’s not lying. He starts going for the door. “Your family members are the ones who are selling children.”

“Not all of us,” I say. “Some of us actually give a fuck, all right?”

Misha stops at the door and turns around. “That could work in your favor. If you actually let those kids go. If you… if you feel any remorse at all, just give yourself up.” His voice cracks a little as he speaks.

“I didn’t let them go to work in my fucking favor,” I say, raking my hand through my hair. “Fuck. Fuck!” I slam my fist into the wall.

Everyone’s always said I’m the fuck-up, that I’m the one most likely to be responsible if something happens to this family and its… assets.

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