Prologue

March, 2018

"Alright, ladies! Let's get this fucking thing going!"

I can still hear Jesse St. James' booming voice ringing in my ears as if everything had happened just yesterday. "Welcome, welcome tonight to the main event. We are so..." Jesse shifts his weight from one side to the other, making the crowd go wild. "...elated to have you along with us this fine evening. Before we begin tonight's festivities, we only have one rule in this establishment. So, let's go over that pesky thing right now." Jesse does a quick spin on stage. "Here at Adrenaline, you have to ask yourselves...can you touch this?" he grins, rubbing his chiseled chest. The ladies in the audience roar back with their obnoxious calls. He nods his head. "Fair enough, fair enough...what about this?" He turns around and flexes his butt, giving each cheek a light tap. "Can you touch this?" he asks, as the ladies continue to scream in the crowd. Jesse clears his throat to get their attention. "Part three is where things get a little...sticky. Can you touch this?" He points to his package and gives it a quick squeeze. The sound of their claps and cheers echo through the entire building, filling it instantly. "The laws around here say that you cannot touch any of it. But wouldn't you know it...I can see a lot of lawbreakers here tonight. And you know something else?" Jesse pauses for effect and looks out at the audience. "I don't see a single cop in sight."

I have been told that no matter how many years you have spent working in law enforcement, the chill inside of an interrogation room never becomes familiar. You can feel the cold air coursing through your veins the moment you walk through the door and believe me, it's enough to cause your entire body to shake and your head to pound from lack of oxygen in the room. In terms of time, 9 months isn't long, but that was all it took for my first official case as an FBI field agent to be blown completely out of the water. Deputy Director Will Schuester told me that if I blew this huge opportunity, I would be back at a desk faster than my head could spin. Anything would beat sitting here in an over-sized FBI t-shirt and a pair of gray cotton sweat pants complete with a red satin thong — which is sticking to places where it has no business being on a grown man. I can tell you that being assigned a desk and pushing paper the rest of my career sounded like a dream right about now. I stare at the shiny handcuffs around my wrists. At Quantico, they teach you to relax your hands because this helps to avoid cutting off the circulation to your fingers. Along with my sanity, all of my training seems to have disappeared the second I was put in this room. Now, all I can do is pray for the moment that my supervisor walks in to unchain me from these awful things before they do any serious damage to my now swollen, discolored digits.

They say that life is all about taking chances. My brother always says that the joy is in the journey and whether you win or lose, all that matters in the end is the paths you took to get to your destination. Take me, for an example. A year ago, I was as green as they come, a rookie desk agent flown in practically overnight from a small field office in New York to the bustling beach town of Myrtle Beach, South Carolina. I had no idea that when I walked onto the job site that June morning that my first - and only - case would ultimately lead to my undoing.

"Agent Hudson," I hear the FBI's field director say as she opens the door. The glow in her eyes is enough to tell me that she is pissed off as she glances in my direction. I force myself to look into her eyes again and this time all I can see is disappointment.

"Director Sylvester," I say, trying to stand, instantly forgetting the ankle cuffs with very little give. She furrows her brow and waves me off, taking a seat across from me. She reaches into her jacket pocket and slides the handcuff keys across the cold metal table and waits for me to unlock them from my wrists and ankles. "Thank you for meeting with me, ma'am."

"Meeting with you?" she chuckles, shaking her head. I notice immediately that she is holding a manila envelope out in front of me and I take it without hesitation. "Agent Hudson, Deputy Schuester has briefed me on your conduct while undercover in Myrtle Beach. I know about the entire mission. I have seen all of your field notes. And I have to hand it to you, Frankenstein, it's not impressive."

"Shit," I murmur to myself as Sue Sylvester glances over at me. "Great," I stammer as she looks at me once again. "Does this mean that the charges are being dropped and the investigation into my conduct is finished?"

Sue hangs her head and looks at me. "Listen, Hudson. I don't know the entire story. I wasn't there. But, what I do know is I left my Deputy Director in charge of this case. Now, I personally trained William Schuester myself so I know that there is no one better, and you, his star pupil, were going undercover for his first field assignment. This case should have been easy - a real no brainer - and you both royally blew it."

"I understand, ma'am," I reply, as I begin to tap my fingers on the table nervously. I notice the gold hued body glitter sparkling on my arms. I know I look like a joke and a real disgrace to the badge. "I want you to know that I completely understand if you want to transfer me or put me back on desk duty. I know that my judgement, or lack there-of, was wrong in a lot of ways. I also know that the media attention could really tarnish the agency's image. And for that ma'am, I am sorry. But I didn't know what else to do and..."

Sue puts up her hand. "Agent Hudson, why don't we just start from the beginning?"

"The beginning, ma'am?" I question.

"Yes," Sue nods, as she opens up the composition notebook in front of her and removes a small gold pen from her lapel. "Why don't we start from the beginning? And try not to leave anything out, Finn. Your freedom depends on it."

I close my eyes, take in a deep breath, and the first thing I see is her face.