A/N: Thanks so much for all your wonderful thoughts, and I'm so sorry for the long wait. RL has been crazy. But, here we go. This chapter is one hundred percent new – an addition to the original story I wrote way back when. Hope you all enjoy. :)
Most characters belong to S. Meyer. The rest belong to me. All mistakes are mine.
So, when we last left Edward, he and Emmett were in a bit of a bind...
ToH Chapter 23 – Ritual
"Chico, you ain't knockin' out nuttin' right now, and I'd say it's you and your panita's odds that ain't looking too hot at the moment."
Despite the cocked triggers and the cryptic words of threat, the delivery of the threat is surprisingly calm. Nevertheless, I round quickly, reaching for my weapon.
"Uh, uh, uh. I wouldn't do that, pana. Primero, your head is obviously still a mess from your fight with my son, and at the rate you're moving, you'll lose that hand before you pull out your piece. Segundo, you'd be needlessly escalating the situation. Take my advice; in cases like this, you're better off trying to talk things out."
The same voice offers the pointers with the type of good intention one would use to caution a friend. Chest heaving, I pull my hand away.
The muggy, tropical heat adds to the sluggishness of my senses. Comingled with the swelter in the air, the adrenaline previously pumping wildly through my veins now has no other outlet but to release through my pores. My jaw and ribs ache like hell. My clothing stick to me like leeches, dampened as if I've taken a swim with the flamingos in the lake below. Droplets of perspiration trickle down my forehead and dip into my swollen eyes.
Frustrated, I scrub my forearm roughly against my face to dispel the oppressive suffocation. When I pull my arm away, three hulking men, all of them familiar from that street corner, stand with guns trained on Emmett and me. One recognizable face each flank either side of another man – none other than Billy Black – who stands directly behind Emmett, watching me with a wryly amused expression. Our old friend, Paul, stands behind Billy.
"Mejor? You feel better?" Billy asks me.
"Oh yeah, much," I mutter, slowly staggering to my feet.
"Good. Now, you too, Agente McCarty," he says serenely. "Holster your weapon slowly, and then keep your hands where my friends can see them so we can avoid any…incidents."
Emmett looks to me for confirmation, and when I provide it with a sharp nod, he stows his weapon, but not without sucking his teeth to make clear his indignation. Meanwhile, still trying to catch my breath, I stammer because Billy's right; the blows I received at Jacob's burly hands require a moment of recovery.
"Billy Black, I'd say…I'd say pulling guns on two federal agents is already an escalation of the situation."
In all honesty, his ensuing chuckle seems to hold more humor than mockery.
"That depends, my friend."
He sounds genuine. Unlike the rest of the men we've encountered today, there's nothing dark nor sinister in his voice, in his expression, nor in his appearance. In fact, Billy Black wears all white, like some urban deity – the patron saint of Hialeah. From his patent-leather, pointed-toe shoes to his linen pants to his guayabera shirt to his ivory hair, to the white teeth gleaming from in between a serene, placid smile, he radiates peace and tranquility.
His son, however, is the antithesis to him, dressed all in black, with angry black eyes set in a scowling dark face framed by ebony hair. Yet, he still bears a striking resemblance to his father, and much like the son, like every individual we've crossed so far on this trip, both men are built massively.
Billy peers from side to side at the men hovering at either fringe of him. He's obviously accustomed to being surrounded by his followers, to having his three-sixty guarded. Again, I'm reminded of the colorful flamingos below – birds of a feather flocking together. His hulking henchmen hold their weapons with such lackadaisical ease that for a split-second, I consider lunging…
'I don't need a fucking hero.'
In the next moment, thanks to her, I recognize the consideration for the uselessly heroic tactic, borne of desperation, it would be. What's more, instinct tells me that rather than inexperience, the devil-may-care attitudes on Billy's bodyguards signify that they'd have no qualms about pulling their triggers on command. After all, we're outnumbered and at the top bleachers of an empty race track.
Perhaps our odds really are crap, I begrudgingly acknowledge to myself.
"Mis disculpas, pero ese hijo mio no se controla. My son does not possess good self-control," Billy translates.
"So, I've noticed."
"Fuck you," Jacob spouts.
"Jacobo." Eyes on me, Billy utilizes the Spanish translation to Jacob's name in a low yet no less powerful reprimand – the way my mother says, "Edward Anthony," when I've misbehaved in her presence. Billy smiles. "I told him to stay where he was and let me handle this, but he's hot-headed. Now, by showing his face, he's made things a thousand times worse. Hasn't he, Doctor Masen?"
I offer him a smirk. "That depends, my friend."
Again, Billy chuckles, recognizing the words he spoke, now echoed back to him. Jacob does not comment. There's a slight yet purposeful emphasis on Billy's last two words, unequivocally meant to convey that my alter-ego has been uncovered. When Billy returns his full attention to me, all traces of humor evaporate, though the unusual calm remains.
"Then again, none of this extended family possesses good self-control when someone threatens the well-being of one of ours."
"Good to know we understand one another, in that respect, at least," I hiss, "because I won't hold back either, not where it concerns Bella."
Billy merely quirks a bushy, white brow, whereas my statement seems to have once again provoked Jacob. Behind me, he makes a rough, hacking sound deep in his throat, and I glance sideways, catching sight of the gob of bloody saliva just as it lands inches from my right shoe.
"Masen, you don't get to call her Bella," Jacob seethes.
Pivoting once more, I find a fiery scowl spread across his face. His black eyes glow with rage. His entire stance is unmistakably tensed for another round. It's as if hearing me call her 'Bella' is the straw that broke his back. When he steps forward, I crouch, but the old man's lowly growled command reverberates throughout the bleachers, startling Jake into inaction.
"Bassstaaa!"
Jacob indeed stops, but for the next few moments, his tethered fury makes him quiver like a rabid, leashed dog. It's clear it's taking all his limited self-control to consent to his father's directive. After a few seconds, with lingering wariness, I drop my hands, though I keep them fisted and ready at my sides. Then, I turn my back to Jacob once more.
"Doctor Masen, as we were discussing, he is FBI," – Billy points at Emmett – "but you are not."
"I am."
Jacob can't resist hurling more accusations. "FUCKING LIAR! You're Anthony Masen, one of the doctors from the practice! She was gonna trust you, but you fucking turned on her! What did you do?" he snarls. "Did you give her up to the feds to save yourself? To hide the truth about what you were doing in that practice?"
With an internal sigh, I spin around yet again. We're running out of time, and I can't afford any more games or long, drawn-out explanations.
"Asshole, I am the feds. Look, I want to help Bella; it's the only reason I'm here, the only reason Emmett and I are here without backup!"
When he opens his big mouth once more, I spew out the rest.
"Jacob Black, what I'm about to tell you could get me killed if it got out!"
This clamps his mouth shut.
"Quiet now, huh? That got your attention. Listen to me. I am not Doctor Anthony Masen because Doctor Anthony Masen doesn't exist. He's my cover, carefully crafted by the agency I work for so that I could infiltrate James Penn's medical practice. I am Edward Cullen, an FBI agent who's been undercover for the past couple of years in order to gain intel on the illegal operations conducted by James and certain members of his group."
Jacob shakes his head wildly. "I don't believe you."
"I met Bella while undercover," I shoot out rapidly, "first at a medical symposium in Hawaii, where she pulled a job, and then eighteen months later, while she was posing as her own carefully crafted cover, Maria Carrera, James' girlfriend. I wasn't able to tell her the truth then…and she didn't learn the truth," I amend without going into specifics, "of who I was until less than twenty-four hours ago, when an operation to round up the perpetrators went awry, and Bella was arrested along with the rest."
"You arrested her," Jacob seethes, baring his teeth. "Those motherfuckers deserve everything she ever took from them, yet you arrested her along with them!"
"I didn't arrest her!" I bellow, fisting the hair at my crown. "I would never- Yes, she's in FBI custody, and she's going to be charged with grand theft and money laundering unless she cooperates with the FBI!"
"Cooperates?" he echoes, still not absorbing the big picture.
"She's an eye-witness, Jacob, to the murder of her parents and her own attempted murder."
His eyes narrow. "And?"
Somehow, I resist rolling my eyes. "Look, compared to everything James and his group have done, the FBI couldn't care less about Bella's crimes. If they can add two definite charges of first-degree murder and attempted murder to what they already have on James, they're guaranteed a win, which is why they'll provide Bella with immunity, with witness security and relocation if she gives them her story…if she gives them her entire story and everyone's involvement."
It takes him a couple of seconds to grasp my meaning. When his eyes pop open wide, for the first time, a hint of fear rims his dark pupils.
"You can't possibly need me to tell you she'd never give you up, that she'd never give any of you up."
"No, she wouldn't," he agrees after a moment, his tone somewhat contrite. "I know she wouldn't. But you keep saying 'they' as if 'they' don't include you. You're the one guaranteed a win if they can add the Swans' murder rap to James' charges if Bella testifies as much, which she's not willing to do if it means giving me up. So, you're here to take me in to guarantee your win!"
I shake my head. "That's not why I'm here."
"Really?" Jake snorts dubiously, crossing his massive arms against his chest. "You're not here to take me in?"
"Jacob, if simply apprehending you was my main goal, there'd be an entire team of FBI agents swarming us right now. Yeah, I want you to come in, but it's not to-"
Billy clears his throat. "As I was about to say, my family and I were about to hold a…meeting of sorts before my son lost his patience and rushed out here. Would you care to join us, Agente Cullen?"
Bewildered and annoyed by the meaningless interruption, I reply with swift and impatient urgency, and without turning back to the old man.
"No, I wouldn't. There's no time for family meetings. Jake, had you remained squirreled away wherever the hell you were, hiding until you could safely leave the country, we likely would've never found you; at least, not without Bella's help, and not in time to help her. But you came out of hiding to meet us, which leads us to believe that you do want to help her, that you've got her back as much as she's got yours. So, stop wasting time, man, because it's Bella who doesn't have any to spare at the moment."
"Agente Cullen," Billy insists, "that request was more of a… cómo se dice…rhetorical question? You see, the meeting of which I speak is imperative to the issue at hand, and your presence in this meeting is more or less required. One might say you are the guest of honor."
Now, I pivot again. "There is no time!"
In contrast, Billy replies with his maddening calm. "We will make time." He hands down his next directive while he circumvents me. "Everything should be ready downstairs. Jake, Paul, let's go. Raoul, Diego, please escort Agents Cullen and McCarty, and put the guns away. I'm sure no one wants trouble this late in the game."
At once, all three men lower their weapons. Paul side-steps me as well and, leveling me first with a sneer, he moves quickly to follow Billy and Jacob. For a handful of seconds, I remain rooted to my spot, squeezing my eyes shut as flames of defiance lick at my shuttered eyelids and minuscule red dots of fury litter my vision. That is until I recall why I'm doing all this in the first place.
For her…to be her ally.
When I reopen my eyes, Emmett is watching me, with Raoul and Diego behind him, both waiting patiently. Emmett quirks a brow, and with a deep exhale, I turn and follow the Blacks.
We wind our way back down the bleachers the way we came, then past the empty betting floor, walking briskly through the promenade where at another time of year, horse hooves would be pounding the dirt. Once on ground level, Billy directs the group through a series of twists and turns, which lead to what appears to be a private and well-guarded back entrance to the casino that's on the racetrack grounds.
There's a garden just outside of the entrance. It's covered by a series of trellises that separate and portion out different sections of the garden. We cut through them to enter the casino, one trellis dedicated to various colorful flowers while the scent of herbs wafts from the one beside it. Both the flowers and herbs offset the scent if not the less-than-attractive picturesque of the pigeon and chicken coops on the opposite side. A handful of men and women tend to the various needs of the garden, smiling and nodding at Billy as he passes them, their gazes both adoring and respectful. Emmett and I shoot one another furtive, curious glances at the entire out-of-place scene.
There's another one of Billy's henchmen waiting just at the back entrance door, as big and burly as the rest of the men around us.
"Everything's ready for the ceremony, boss." As he opens the door for Billy, the man hands him a cigar and lights it for him.
Billy takes a long drag. "Que bueno. Very Good. And just in time."
At this, Emmett and I once again share a look, eyes now narrowed, and I'm sure my gaze is as tentatively alarmed as is his. As Jacob and Paul stalk past us, Billy waits for us at the door with a welcoming smile, sweeping his hand in invitation.
"Come in, gentleman, come in."
Exactly what the fuck we're walking into, I have no clue, but not only have we come too far to hesitate now, with Raoul and Diego on our heels, it's not as if we have many choices.
Inside, all those noises usually associated with a gaming hall – excited voices, slot machines, electronic sound effects, spinning roulettes, and all accompanied by loud music carefully picked to make each gambler forget they're betting away their futures – are vague and indistinct, far away as if all of it is occurring somewhere on the other side of the building.
Instead, we're greeted by a dark, smoky, and narrow hallway lined with chairs on which both men and women, young and old sit and wait for…something, while the main sound is that of drums emanating from somewhere close by. A few shelves line the walls, and as we walk further in, I note that each shelf holds what looks like a soup tureen – a sopera similar to the one Bella and I saw in the museum in Brooklyn, carvings and all. Each sopera, however, bares different carvings and overflows with a distinct collection of items ranging from the mundane to the highly peculiar – metal crosses, multi-colored beads, pebbles, wood carvings of chickens, crowns made of copper, glass jars of water infused with flowers and herbs, stones, and laminated images of semi-human stick figures, of huge eyes, and of tongues speared through with rosaries. A lit candle rests on each shelf, with a lone, rippling wick swaying in the relative darkness. The scent of cigars and burning incense hangs thick in the air.
The waiting individuals all offer Billy smiles and greetings, and he accepts their greetings with smiles of his own, shaking hands, ruffling the hair on a handful of children sitting on their parents' laps. In contrast, their eyes sweep over Emmett and me with an unsettling amount of eagerness.
Emmett whispers close to my ear. "What fucking kind of casino is this, and what are these creepy things on the walls?"
"They're just shrines to orishas…to deities," I murmur, though in truth, I can't help thinking that these shrines are nowhere near as benign as the one Bella and I saw in that museum.
"Well, I don't know about you, but I feel as if I've just walked into the Twilight Zone. And I get the distinct feeling that as much as all these people are strangers to us, we've been expected by them."
"I get the same feeling."
"But for what? What fucking ceremony…?"
The hallway finally gives way into a larger space, a room that causes Emmett's whispers to trail off. Despite all my attempts to remain calm and in control of myself, if not of the situation, my breath hitches. Startled into inaction, we both pause in our steps, taking in the scene before us slack-jawed until Raoul and Diego nudge us.
"Keep moving."
We advance further into a candle-lit room, where a crowd of about a dozen adults gathers in a circle around the room's periphery. In one corner, a man kneels on the ground and plays the set of wooden drums that have been audible since we entered the building. At every other corner are altars similar to the shrines we just saw but on a much grander scale, with more and larger items, including plates of food and mugs of coffee. One ornate altar in particular has an actual throne. It's decorated with flowering wreaths, with black beads, and with rocks that resemble meteor stones. Billy and Jacob head toward this throne, where Billy turns slowly and takes a seat, while Jake remains standing to his right.
"Familia, demos la bienvenida a nuestros invitados. Welcome guests, welcome."
Billy gestures for us to move in further still. As a series of murmurs rise in the air in supposed welcome, Emmett and I approach the middle of the room with admitted reluctance, while most of the people waiting in the hallway trickle in. One of these is a young woman who shoulders everyone aside in her haste to reach Jacob. She cradles his bruised face between her hands, and after a few moments, her eyes flash to me with an accusatory scowl on her face as if I'm not sporting my own visible and non-visible bruises. Then, she returns her full attention to Jacob, and I watch their ensuing, fiercely whispered conversation inquisitively, wishing I could read lips in Spanish as well as in English. All I catch bandied back and forth between them are the words, "Bella, cárcel, and peligro."
When the room is packed to about double what I'm sure is its maximum allowable occupancy, the door behind Emmett and me shuts with a loud creak and an ominous-sounding bang.
"Oh. Fuck," Emmett breathes.
I swallow hard myself. Jake's girl eyes me menacingly as she snakes her way back into the crowd.
Abruptly, the drummer in the corner calls out, "Para Chango!" and a woman in a yellow, island-style dress with a matching yellow headdress steps forward. She glides toward Billy and his majestic throne, bowing before him before uttering one word.
"Chango."
The rhythmic drumming starts again, and the woman begins a dance where she tips her upper half up to the ceiling, swaying her shoulders from side to side, holding up her flowing skirt, and singing in a language I completely fail to recognize. After a few bars, a choral chant and response begin between her and the crowd, while her sensual dance continues. All the while, Billy sits on his throne, observing it all with blank-faced impassivity. When the woman drops to her knees and tips her head up, shoulders pushed back, chest heaving, the entire thing ends abruptly and silently. Without another word, she moves away and disappears back into the crowd.
Emmett and I glance at one another, eyes wide, both of our chests heaving as well. Meanwhile, Billy nods as if bestowing his approval to the performance, and the drummer calls out again.
"Oriate!"
Another individual leaves the crowd and approaches Billy's throne. He carries a leather satchel and a small, fold-up table with him. Opening up the table in front of Billy, he empties the contents of the satchel on the table, and out tumble out yet more black pebbles, about a dozen ivory cowrie shells, and a couple of dozen colorful beads. He arranges them carefully mid-table and then looks up at Billy, bowing.
"Chango."
Once again, Billy nods. "El oriate de Chango ahora comenzará. Chango's diviner will now begin."
The man begins tossing around the objects on the table in intricate patterns, sliding pebbles to one side, then pushing shells to the other. He lines up the beads in between both, then with a swift backhand, undoes the entire pattern and creates another. His hands move swiftly and expertly as if it's all some sort of puzzle only he knows how to solve. The whole time, the crowd watches in rapt amazement. After toppling four separate patterns, the man ends his performance as abruptly as did the dancing woman. He looks up at Billy and shakes his head.
Billy sighs, smoking his cigar. "Trae el obi de Oshun. Bring Oshun's obi."
The man slides his objects back into his satchel, folds up his table, and moves back into the crowd. Now, another woman, also with a satchel and fold-up table, slips out of the crowd, approaches Billy, and bows. This time, four equal-sized pieces of a dried-up coconut shell fall out of the satchel along with one cowrie shell. The woman quickly begins casting the items about the table in a manner eerily reminiscent of those street-corner card tricksters. She weaves the pieces back and forth from side to side, her palms splayed flat over them, and the cowrie shell unseen. When she stops, I almost expect her to look up and instruct us to pick a card, any card. Instead, she chooses which coconut shell to lift. When the cowrie shell is indeed under the coconut shell, I assume it's some sort of win. However, based on the loud, shocked rumble that reverberates throughout the crowd, my assumption is wrong.
The woman looks up at Billy apologetically. "Oshun no puede ayudar porque Chango requiere un sacrificio."
This time, when Billy sighs, his dark eyes meet mine, and no translation is provided for either the woman's words…or his subsequent ones.
"Muy bien. Pasemos a la matanza."
The thing is, I've only required translations for the ritualistic, Santeria words he's used, not for the statements in Spanish. I completely understand their exchange, and it's his reply which makes the fine hairs on the nape of my neck stand on end…
"No way!"
Which makes me reach for my weapon in one swift motion as Emmett follows suit, and the door behind us opens.
The room explodes in mayhem.
Shrieks and shouts rise up all around us while dozens of feet stampede as people sprint for the door. Emmett and I stand back to back, protecting one another's flanks, while Paul, Diego, and Raoul surround us, their weapons out. In less than a minute, the room clears of everyone except Billy, Jake, Paul, Diego, Raoul, Jake's girl, and an unknown, older man standing by the door.
"Everyone, set down your weapons," Billy calls out serenely.
"Go to hell," I hiss. "We're leaving now, and Jake's coming with us."
Jake watches me, expressionless, while his girl returns to his side.
"Agents Cullen and McCarty," Billy says calmly, "this is our sacred ritual room. Please lower your weapons."
When we fail to obey, he sighs once again. "Agent Cullen, I see you misunderstood."
"No, I understood well. Pasemos a la matanza," I sneer. "Let's move on to the killing."
Paul's gaze pans to his buddies, and the three suddenly share snickers.
"Paul." Once again, Billy's tone is admonishing, and the three men's amusement instantly ends. "You, Raoul, and Diego, put away your weapons. You know the rules in this room." The three men obey at once. "Now, Agents, please holster your weapons and take a closer look at the man standing by the door."
With my gun still trained steadily on the men before me, I offer Emmett nonverbal instruction to keep his eyes on them while I rapidly glance behind me at the man by the door. When I do, the man lifts an object in his right hand high for me to see.
It's a chicken being held by the neck.
"Are you fucking…?" I trail off, bewildered, while Billy takes up an explanation.
"Agents, I am a Babalawo, a Santeria priest. This afternoon, you took part in a ceremony of divinity, first with a diviner promised to Chango, the fire god of war, and then with a diviner promised to Oshun, the river goddess of-"
"-of divinity, of femininity, of fertility, of beauty, and of love." All the while, I hear the description spoken in her voice. I recall that museum stroll with Bella, that part of our conversation clearly etched in my mind because of the way she opened up…because of the way she shared parts of herself and of her family with me. Those recollections she shared with me meant even more than I realized at the time.
Meanwhile, both Billy and Jacob's eyes pop, and while Billy quickly camouflages his shock, cloaking it with his practiced expression of composure, Jacob's mouth falls open. He and his girl share a look before they both turn their eyes back to me.
Billy nods. "Correct. I see you're somewhat familiar with our religion."
"Somewhat," I reply vaguely.
"Agent Cullen, both rituals were inconclusive, which is why Chango demands a sacrifice; hence, the chicken."
"Hence, the chicken," I echo, holstering my weapon and signaling for Emmett to do the same. "Billy Black, with all due respect to your beliefs and your religion, get that man and that chicken out of here."
"But, Agent Cullen-"
"Enough wasted time!" I bellow. "How many rituals were you planning on conducting before concluding that there was nothing you could do to help Bella?"
"That is not true." There's an edge to his tone now.
"That's bullshit, and you know it. Billy Black, let's lay all our cards out on the table once and for all because you see, I've done my research, and through piecing together the puzzle the way your diviners just pieced together those pebbles and coconut shells, I see exactly what you are."
"Oh?" He grips the throne's arms tightly, knuckles white. His nostrils flare, and for the first time all afternoon, Billy Black's feathers appear ruffled. "And what is that?"
I swallow hard because right now, I'm either going to alienate this man and possibly get Emmett and myself killed, or…
"Bella's mother, Renee, was your goddaughter. You and her father grew up together, and both became small-time crooks together. During a botched burglary in which you were both busted, only Renee's father served time because despite witnesses putting you both at the scene, only Renee's father's prints were found. How did that happen, Billy?"
Billy's mouth forms a tight line, and he swallows hard, his large Adam's apple bobbing furiously.
"Renee's father was killed in jail, while you got off scot-free. And when Renee's mother disappeared one day, you took over the job of raising her because you felt guilty."
"It wasn't guilt." All the while, Billy scowls at me.
"But I'll hand it to you; you took your job as her guardian seriously. Records indicate that Renee did well in school, that she stayed out of trouble, for the most part, and that she had a normal childhood – for the most part." My eyes scan the room meaningfully. "She has a couple of incidents on record, but nothing serious. Meanwhile, you kept a much lower profile and left behind the small-time burglaries and petty crimes, which left you exposed, for the much more lucrative business of loan-sharking and money laundering. Which is how you've made your money since. You keep your hands clean while others get them dirty."
He grins coolly.
"All the while, Renee grew up in your household, almost as your daughter."
"Almost? I loved her like a daughter-"
"Which is why you felt betrayed when she fell in love with a cop of all professions, married him right away apparently. Bella was born nine months after their marriage."
He smirks.
"If Renee was anything like her daughter, fierce and determined…tell me," I muse, "because, on paper, one would think it was Charlie's idea to move out of Miami. After all," I shake my head, "it couldn't have been good for his career to be married to a small-time mobster's goddaughter. But it wasn't his idea, was it?"
Billy shakes his head, pursing his lips. "She became completely devoted to him instead of to this family. No, it wasn't Charlie's idea to move to Tampa. It was her idea…to put some distance between us."
"Well, she had a new family, Billy. You understood that, didn't you?"
He evades my gaze.
"And she visited Miami yearly with her family, never forgot her roots. Yet, as much as you loved Renee, you resented Charlie. Did you resent Bella too?"
His eyes flash. "That child is my family," he hisses.
"But Charlie wasn't your family. And he was a detective, and an honest one to boot, one who wasn't wild about you either and served your family no purpose. So, when he took it upon himself to investigate your mutual friend's shady murder, you didn't lift a hand to help."
"Do you think I wanted him and my goddaughter to die?" His voice catches, part rage and part lingering pain. "Do you think I would've ever wanted Bella to die along with them?"
"No." I shake my head. "No; you would've never wanted your goddaughter to die. I do believe that. And you probably wouldn't have wanted Bella to die either. You were probably relieved that at least she survived the murder attempt. But your goddaughter did die. And your goddaughter lost her father when she was young, and Bella lost both her father and mother and throughout it all, you've done nothing but hold divination ceremonies and sacrifice chickens to the gods-"
He jumps to his feet and points an indignant finger at me, spitting out his words while his features contort with anger.
"Don't tell me I haven't sacrificed! I LOST MY GODDAUGHTER!" he bellows. "Now, I've lost Bella! So, what am I supposed to sacrifice," he sneers, retaking his seat, "my son? Do you propose that be the final price for the sins I've committed against my goddaughter and her family?"
"Your goddaughter paid with her life, with her husband's life, and now, her daughter's freedom will be added to the price they've paid. Meanwhile, you've sat back and watched your son commit crimes that can be traced back to him. Billy, Jacob will have to hide for the rest of his life. I'm giving him an opportunity-"
"An opportunity?" he snorts derisively. "To go to jail along with Bella? I'm supposed to sacrifice them both to atone for all my sins?"
"No," I say through clenched teeth. "As I've tried to explain, the FBI is desperate right now, and if we play our cards right, both Bella and Jacob can get off free. But the only way that'll happen is if Jacob returns with me, and…" I swallow hard, "and if Bella sees that her only choice is to demand Jacob's immunity as well as her own in exchange for her testimony against James. If she remains silent, she'll go to jail for a long time…and Jacob will always be on the run. What's more…I won't just let him go."
He nods slowly as he takes my meaning.
"And if my son is taken into custody and forced to serve time because he's not given immunity, Agent Cullen, I'll no longer be considered a small-time mobster because I'll come after those responsible for that."
I return his nod as I take his meaning as well.
"You've played your cards well up to now, Billy Black, literally and figuratively," I smirk, jerking my jaw toward the spilled satchel of beads and shells before him. "Small-time laundering and gambling, remaining behind the scenes. Charlie Swan took on the issue with Harry Clearwater, so none of that can be traced back to you, and Bella and your son's theft ring was carried out without any overt assistance from you. You left it all on their shoulders. You could've stepped in, but instead, you allowed Charlie to take on the investigation all by himself, and when he and your goddaughter were murdered, you allowed Bella to take on the job of seeking vengeance. You have made an artform of washing your hands. Now, you owe a huge debt, Billy."
"And again, you believe I should pay with my son?"
"Enough."
All eyes turn to Jake. He's stood by silently throughout the entire exchange, but now, he and his girl share a long look, and when she nods, he takes a step forward.
Rapidly and anxiously, Billy reaches out for his son, but Jacob evades his grip.
"Jacobo, no!"
"Dad, enough!"
Jacob approaches me, and in the tense silence that follows, Billy Black and his son switch places before my eyes. It doesn't happen in any physical nor tangible sense; there's no magical role reversal. But the serene demeanor previously displayed by Billy shifts palpably. His eyes wild and aflame, he balls his hands into fists, lips pulled back and baring his teeth. Despite his previously soothing appearance, now he projects every bit the dangerous wolf I've inherently sensed in him from the beginning.
In contrast, Jacob radiates a thoughtful stillness, the meditative stance of a man on the verge of a decision which will define him…and his future.
"Renee was like an older sister to me, and Bella and I were close all our lives despite living in different cities. For a while there…" He swallows and looks over his shoulder at his girl, and with a smile, she nods again. "For a while there, we were more, but after what happened…she wouldn't let anyone in. Leah, my girlfriend, is Harry Clearwater's daughter."
Caught by surprise, I jerk back my head as I take in Jake's girl – Leah – through new eyes. She holds my gaze impassively.
"Leah and I have a kid on the way."
"Jacob." Billy's tone is now one of warning; Jake is sharing too much.
Unable to pause for a moment of outward or even inner reflection or relief at the fact that, whether Jacob and Bella's relationship was ever romantic, it no longer is, I expel the rest. Besides, if I do take a moment, I'll realize that it doesn't make a difference at this point anyway because not only will Bella never thank me for any of this, she'll never forgive me.
"Jacob, I know you need to protect your family. I get that innate need to protect the one you love-," I stumble and correct myself, "I get that innate need to protect. But Bella is willing to rot in jail to protect you, and I can't allow that."
"Neither can I."
Once again, Jacob looks over his shoulder, this time at his father.
For a long while, both men silently hold on another's gazes…
"I'm doing this with or without your approval. Take care of Leah."
Finally…Billy nods.
Jacob turns back to me and draws in a deep breath. "Let's go."
A/N: Thoughts?
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