Breaking Her Biker (Renegade Interrogations)

Breaking Her Biker - Chapter 4

WARNING: This work of fiction contains graphic sexual situations, and is therefore recommended for a mature audience of 18+ years of age ONLY!

Meredith walked into the interrogation offices.  There was a bank of video monitors on the wall, one for each interrogation room.  She scanned them, and saw Manolo Matalón seated at a table in the center of room 2.  She walked down the hallway to the anteroom to room 2 and walked in.  Two other agents were in the room.  They were shadowing her this week.  She called them Frick and Frack.  Rookies.

“You two can leave, “Meredith said with the warmth of an ice cube.

“We’re supposed to watch you…” Frick started to protest, and she cut him off.

“I don’t care what you’re supposed to do.  I said get out.  Now.”  Meredith flashed a ‘don’t fuck with me today’ stare at them.

“Look, Agent Hardin,” said Frack.  “We’ve got our orders from Unit Chief Nelson to learn everything we can from your interrogation of this Matalón character.  We’ll let him know you kicked us out.”  They stood up and headed for the door.

“Wait a minute,” Meredith said.  She didn’t want to disappoint her boss, but she couldn’t let these two witness what she was planning for señor Matalón.  Her look turned to pleading.  “I understand, but not this time, OK?  You can watch the tapes before I turn them in.  And I’ll answer any questions you have later.  Deal?”

Frick and Frack looked at each other, shrugged and nodded her an unspoken OK.  They left the room, and Meredith locked the door.  She raised the shade and looked through the two-way mirror into the interrogation room.

Matalón was facing her.  His hands were cuffed behind the square metal chair.  His ankles were shackled to cleats in the floor on either side of his chair, which forced his legs to spread wider than the chair he was sitting in.  His face was unshaven, and his short black hair was tousled.  He wore a white sleeveless t-shirt and she could make out his abs underneath the tight shirt.  He was wearing the same leather pants as he was in the photo in his file.

Meredith felt her stomach flutter when he broke out into a broad, white smile.  There’s no way he can see me through the glass, but he was staring at her and his hazel eyes burned through her.  Am I really going to do this?

She knew she couldn’t let something as small as ethics get in the way of this opportunity, and she felt a tingle start between her thighs as she thought about what she had planned.  I am going to do this!

.  She walked into the room and placed his file on the desk in the corner, and turned to him.

“Manolo Matalón,” she said.  “I'm special agent Meredith Hardin.  I’m going to call you Mano.”

“Whatever, bitch,” he said.  “You ain’t gettin’ shit from me, so you can call me fuckin’ Santa Claus if you want.”  His smile disappeared.

“Ho, ho, ho,” Meredith quipped.  She crossed her arms and stared at him.  She knew her first move was to try it the old way.

She walked back over to the desk and grabbed his file.  She had her notes on top, and she started with the basics.  Name, age, parents, address.  Every question she asked was unanswered, and Matalón stared into the corner of the room.

She probed for an emotional response when she described one of his father’s beatings detailed in a police report she held in her hands, and she got a quick flash of something from him.  Meredith though it was contempt.  This isn’t working…time to start with the big guns.  She walked over and stood in front of him, and he turned his head away from her.

“He must have been a real pussy, Mano, if his little boy had to stand up for him,” she said.

He whipped his head around, and his eyes raged.  He tried to stand, but the chains kept him in his chair.  He rattled them like hell trying, though.  She smiled at him and chuckled.  Frick and Frack were watching her on the video monitors.  There was no sound, but they watched.

“My, we are a little touchy, Santa Claus,” she mocked.

“Nobody calls my old man a pussy,” he screamed.  “Especially FBI bitches like you.”  He spit at her, and it hit her arm.  She looked down at the spit dribbling down her sleeve and then back up at him.

“Look, Manolo, all I want is to make sure you’re the right guy.  What if you’re not the Manolo Matalón we are looking for?  Maybe you’re a guy who was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“You know I’m the right guy lady,” he said.  “You know I gutted the asshole that was beating my father, and you know I cut his fuckin’ head clean off.  And you know it made me who I am.  So stop fucking around and leave me alone.  I ain’t gonna tell you anything else, so go fuck yourself.”  He sneered at her, but she just smiled.

Meredith said nothing for at least a minute, staring at him, smiling at him.  She wanted him to know he wasn’t in charge here.  But she felt something she never thought she’d feel as she watched this psychopathic biker gang leader start to tear-up.  He must have been thinking about his father.  She must have struck a nerve, and she felt a strange mix of pity and anger for this man.  She walked over and stood in front of him and crossed her arms.

“I’m going to do something I don’t usually do for shitbags like you,” Meredith said.  She uncrossed her arms and took off her navy blue jacket.  She used a tissue to wipe the spit from her jacket.  Her breasts strained against the smooth blouse, and she turned so he could see her bra through the gaps between the buttons.  She hung her jacket on the back of her chair, and then walked behind him and whispered something in his ear, and she smiled.  In the other room, Frick and Frack looked at each other and shrugged, again.

“You’re going to tell me everything, Mano,” she whispered, letting her lips brush his earlobe.  She walked over to the two-way mirror and closed the blinds, and then walked over to the control panel near the desk in the corner.

“I’m turning off the microphones and video, boys,” she said into the video camera.  “Please do not interrupt me.  I have protection, so no worries.”  She patted her shoulder holster for them to see, and for Matalón to see, too.  She switched off the microphones.  Then she flipped another switch, and Matalón saw the little red light on the video camera shut off.  Then she walked over to the door and locked it.

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