Bleeding Edge: Elliot Security (Elliot Security Series Book 2) by Evie Mitchell (short story to read .txt) 📗

“Em–”

“No, Lucien! No. These guys cease to exist for you. Tomorrow I’m leaving. You don’t look for me, you don’t look for them. They will hurt you. I’ve seen them kill people. They destroyed some guy’s life by exposing everything online. The private pictures of his wife, his bank account, they got him fired for things he didn’t do. It was awful. I won’t have any of you tarred by that.”

“Emmie, if that’s happened, then you have to report it. We can help you.”

“Luc, the guy it happened to reported it, and he died!”

“Did the guy have a whole team of hackers and investigators in his arsenal?”

“Luc, I can’t ask–” He pulled me closer, halting my protests.

“Shut up, Emmie, this is happening. This is what friends do.”

I shook my head. “No, it’s not.”

“Emmie, please. Let your friends help.”

“I said no.”

“Keys–”

“Fuck, no.” I reared back, pointing a finger in his face. “Don’t you nickname me, you jackarse! Let me go.”

“Emmie–”

I pulled out of his arms and threw myself off the couch. Whirling I struck the universal I-am-pissed-at-you pose. One hand cocked on my hip, the other stretched out, finger directly in his face.

“You don’t get it, Luc. I am walking out of this door, and I’m gone.” I whirled to go do just that, but Luc stopped me with a hand around my arm. He gently swung me back.

“I thought we were past this. We’ve got your back. We’re not letting you go. I’m not letting you go. The last three months have been torture for all of us. You, me, our friends. I get that you’re scared. I get you got hurt. But seriously? It’s time to fight.”

I blinked.

“Life should be lived to the fullest, not in fear. You have people who care about you, and not one of us is letting you just disappear from our lives.”

I felt myself waver, my body sway slightly towards him. “I can’t keep you safe if you don’t let me go.”

“And I’m telling you, Keys, I’m here to keep you, you, safe.”

Fear flooded my system. “Please, Luc, let me disappear.”

“Can’t do that, Keys. You know I can’t. Pax would kill me, Addie would chop off my balls, Jetta would give me that sad little face she has, Kel would wear my dick like a goddamn necklace, and Jarrett would be holding me down to let them do it. And that doesn’t even cover Ben, Jack, Sawyer, or Brean. You have to trust someone, Emmie. You have to trust we can protect you.”

Something in me shattered. I wanted to. I badly wanted to trust that they could do this. But experience, years of experience, had taught me to never hope. To only rely on myself.

“I don’t want anyone to get hurt.”

“Trust me, Emmie.”

Tears burned. “Please, Luc. Please don’t get hurt. I couldn’t handle it.”

He pulled me into his arms as I sniffled against his chest.

“Are you going to stay?”

I drew in a shuddering breath. “Yes.”

For now.

Chapter Thirty

Emmie

We’d named our secure meeting room, The War Room. Located in the basement of Elliot Securities, reinforced by titanium steel doors and inches of sound-proof padding, we used it for the big jobs. Jobs that required utmost discretion and hours of planning.

Today, that’s me. Me, the one they’re planning for. Me, the one who is standing awkwardly at the front of the room while Addie shuffled the coffee cart about. Me, the one who people were reading about in the briefing material.

Me.

A throat cleared. Someone sniffled. One of the guys swore softly under his breath.

Me.

My history. All I knew about the group named God’s Patriots filled the background brief. All the information I’d kept locked in my brain for years.

The brief provided a rundown of my part in their group. Where my skills came from, my age, my date of birth, my family history, my siblings, my knowledge of Edward and David, my experience with the group.

My sham marriage.

My husband.

My rape.

My crimes.

All of it in black and white print. Words I’d written on a page. I’d spent the night diligently writing my history out, line by cursed line. With the slash of a pen, I’d relived every moment. Every sentence felt like I’d bled evil onto the page.

Me.

Not Emmie Franklin. Not the woman who people admired and respected. I’d once been good and pure and worthy of their regard.

The words on the page were the real me. I’d been cut open, flayed, exposed, one line at a time by my own hand.

Anxiety and fear waged with an almost overwhelming need to retreat to numbness.

It never paid to care. Caring gave people the power to destroy you. If I felt nothing, no one could hurt me.

“Emmie?” Paxton’s soft voice drew me back to the room. All eyes were on me. No one showed any emotion. Shame caused my cheeks to flush and my eyes to burn.

“I’m ready. I’m good,” I reassured him, before speaking to the room at large. “Last night Luc brought a file to my apartment.” I hit the power point remote, brought up an image of a letter I’d received via Elliot Securities.

“Letters and photos, postcards and images were sent to our mailroom addressed to me under my current name.” I ignored the soft murmurs that followed. “Dolls with burned genitals and breasts were also received.” I clicked to the next slide, a composite of images, all with dolls showing damage. “All together over one hundred articles have been received in the last week and a half.” I clicked again, bringing up a still from a video.

“It looks like a YouTube video was posted back in February. I happen to appear in the background.”

A quick search last night uncovered the video of Jetta and Luc performing at the nursing home. It must have been how they’d found me.

“They must have tracked Jetta and Paxton down, then figured out my connection to them.” I shook my head.

I missed it. They didn’t.

I clicked to the next slide, turning the