Elena
“Are you sure you want to do this? You haven’t been in the field in six years. I’m not just your handler; I’m your best friend. I’m worried about you.” Kristie was my best friend; we had met at Quantico and went through the same training program. It was a pleasant surprise when we both were assigned to the Cincinnati field office. Kristie loved being a handler, but I didn’t. I took the job when things with Rich got serious because he expressed how worried he was for me if I was on the field. So, I made that sacrifice, for our relationship; I stopped doing what I loved and became a desk jockey.
I loved being in the field, the rush, the thrill of it. The adrenaline pumping through my veins gave me the best feeling in the world. I felt invincible, and I was. I was until I got shot in the shoulder. The docs said I would never be able to return to field duty, but I never was one who liked to be told what was or wasn’t going to happen. So, what did I do? I proved all the docs wrong and came back stronger than ever.
“Kristie, I need this. I gave up so much of myself for Rich, and then that bastard lied and cheated, throwing everything I did for him in the trash. I need to go back to being Elena, the kick ass field agent. I need to take down some bad guys. I need to feel like myself again.” It was the absolute truth. I was beginning to realize that over the past five years I had felt like a robot. Like I had only been here to please Rich, not to do anything for myself, but everything for him.
“I can’t condone that your shitty love life is the reason for going back in the field. But as your handler, I know what type of asset you are to the bureau.”
Because I’m kick ass, she doesn’t have to say it, but we both know it.
I leaned back, slightly sinking into her couch, pulling her fluffy blanket closer to my chest. “So, what’s my assignment?” I grinned like a kid on Christmas morning. Ironically, it was Christmas Eve, but still. I was experiencing the same effect.
Kristie handed me a folder, and I opened it, skimming over the documentation and photographs. “Skulls Renegade MC, huh?” I flipped through the rest of the paperwork, looking at the photographs of the main members, plus some history on each of them. There wasn’t much intel, just birthdates, socials, where they were from. “They’ve kept quiet,” I muttered. Kristie took a sip of her bottle of wine.
“Yes, they have. But not quiet enough. We have an informant saying they’re doing some major drug trading and they’re in a prostitution ring. You’re going in to find out what’s really going on. Gather enough intel, issue warrants and get out. These are brutal criminals, El. Taking them down would blow up both of our careers.”
Like I needed to know what kind of men are in the MC lifestyle? I didn’t need a reminder. “I’ve got it covered.” Kristie handed me another folder.
“This is your cover story.”
I opened it up, looking at the profile they’d created for me. Kristie knew me well enough to know I wouldn’t use it, so what was the point in even showing me? On every assignment I’d ever been on, I’d been given a profile to study: dates, times, life events, other crap. I had to make my cover real. I understand the important of that, of course, but it had always been easier for me to alter my own profile. That way I didn’t slip up. The bureau never did like the way I operate, but they didn’t say a damn thing anymore because I always got the job done.
Kristie handed me a burner phone. “You’d better call me every Monday at ten in the morning with updates. I mean it.”
I smiled at her. “You got it, boss.”
***
I left the next morning; Christmas Day. There wasn’t a point in staying around now that there was nothing tying me down. Plus, I needed an outlet for my anger and pain, and quick. This was going to be my redemption job. My way to being the Elena I could recognize when I looked in the mirror.
I packed two duffel bags full of necessities; clothes, shampoo, and makeup. I hopped in my 2017 Ford Mustang and hit the road.
Destination: Tennessee
It took me six hours to get there; the MC was located right in the mountains in the small town of Gainesville. It was truly a small town. There’s a bank, a couple restaurants, a grocery store, law office, daycare, school, and not much else.
I found a half-way decent room at the only motel in town. From the looks of it, it probably had roaches. The sooner I could get into the club, the better. I wouldn’t be getting an ounce of sleep in that shit hole.
I took a quick shower, cringing because the white tile was yellow. They had a ‘cleaning service,' but I doubted it had been properly cleaned in years.
I dried my hair, applied some makeup, and dumped all my clothes out on the bed. My plan? Go to the biker bar, get a few drinks, and make my presence known. My tactic? Easy.
I was going to dress like an Ol’ Lady, not like some stupid little skank who comes to the bar just to suck their cocks. I learned from my mother how to dress the part. Ol’ Ladies aren’t there to service the men. I sure as hell would not be there to do that either. I was going to be walking in like I owned the place because I did.
These bikers were going bow on their knees when I walked in because I bet you no bitch had ever dressed as I was about to.
I grabbed a pair of black leather leggings and black heels; the heel so thin that stepping the wrong way could crack it. I found a thin, jersey type tank top and paired it with my emerald green leather jacket. I pulled my hair out over my jacket, the loose curls bouncing over my breasts. I went into the bathroom, applied a little more eyeliner and touched up my neutral matte lipstick. I slid on my metallic aviators and went for the front door.
I was good to go.