Deception. Betrayal. Mistrust.
It seems the closer Rayne gets to the truth, the more she finds herself wanting to run away from it. It's complex and terrifying-more than she ever fathomed.
New family members, good and bad, pop out at her like a br...
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𝗔uden directed with her hands at the same time Blaine and Franki gestured with their mouths at the workers stationed throughout the front of the office. Each of them were told to evacuate without an explanation—thankfully, most of them complied silently and diligently.
The whole time, she kept her face forward. The feelings coursing through her veins the moment she started her car in the precinct lot were growing more magnified with each step she took toward the back room—toward his office.
A lot of people were hurt because of the group he worked for—a few of them she actually cared for. Her department was under federal investigation for weeks after Rueben was given a not guilty conviction for the murder of his sister in the name of their incompetence. Jonah was under so much pressure that he couldn't go home to see his pregnant fiancé.
She, herself, battled the void that paneled out from their reality.
There was more than just the reputation of the LAPD on the line here; the Torres family had not been given an ounce of closure for what happened to their youngest member. Then on top of all of that—as if it's not already bad—they find out that a second family has fallen victim to this organization's antics as well.
And she couldn't forget that Clarke watched like an innocent bystander while they investigated—he had all the answers lining the tip of his tongue and he still chose to leave them in the dark. All of the times he could have flipped the switch and allowed them to have the upper hand, wasted.
Just so he could sleep with ...?
Disgusting.
Auden threw open the back door and almost vomited upon doing so.
Swiftly covering the scene with her hand, hiding his indecency behind the fleshiness of her palm, she did her best to keep her eyes centered and her goal targeted. Though, it was an almost impossible ask when the man she's worked beside for the last eight months has his pants at his ankles and his fingers embedded in the corpse of a young woman pronounced dead just this afternoon.
"Get your fucking hands off her," Franki growled behind her, throwing something.
It wasn't until the knife whizzed by his face, scratching it in the process, did she know what it was. And it certainly wasn't until she started punching Clarke in the face and yelling at him to hide his small dick did she realize she should probably intervene.
Although, the show was definitely one to watch.
"Enough, Franki!" she commanded.
"No, no," she answered, shaking her head, "He's a pig that needs to be put down."
Clarke, now on the floor with at least his underwear on, shook his head vigorously, begging her to not let this insane monster get him. With tears streaming down his face, Franki grabbed the tossed blade and lifted it to the edge of his chin.
