Disclaimer: Anything recognizable belongs to Janet Evanovich, and the rest is mine. I'm grateful she lets us play.

Warning: Dark fic. Adult language, adult content, violence, smut. This is written for mature audiences only.

Chapter 8

Stephanie's POV

I unblinkingly watch Ranger's departure with my mouth slightly agape. I'm his reason for breathing? What the hell kind of answer is that? Ranger and I have been drawn to each other from the beginning, sure, but as quickly as he is willing to get into my bed, that's how fast he leaves it again, usually with the exit strategy of pushing me into someone else's bed. How the fuck am I supposed to believe that he would rather die than live without me given everything that's happened between us?

I'm furious, but I can't put my finger on exactly why. I get in my car and drive home, wanting my safe space to let my rage out. As I get closer to home, my anger increases. This place isn't the private sanctuary I thought it was. Hector knows, yes, but now I find out Lester, and I think it's reasonable to assume, Ranger does as well. How many people have been inside, touching my things, walking in my space, without my permission?

I park, enter my apartment, and reset the sensors before letting out a massive shout of rage. I pick up my phone and call Hector. "Estefania?" he queries after the first ring.

"Lester knows!?" I spit out venomously.

"I'll be there in ten minutes," Hector replies before hanging up.

I pace the small space, turning a knife around in my fingers as I walk. There are a few things I have come to regard as factual bedrocks of my life.

1. I may have once been a good person, but I am not any longer. In the great balance of things, I have committed far more evil than good, and it is likely I will never be able to right that balance again.

2. I am an inherently unlovable person who takes more than she gives.

3. I bring death and destruction into the lives of whomever I encounter.

I have blood on my hands, and each drop of blood shed because of me blackens my soul. I'm currently stuck in a living purgatory of redemption, but the harder I try to pull myself towards the light, the more exhausted I am.

When I overheard Tank, Lester, and Bobby at Rangeman the day after Farro, I felt betrayed, but over the past few months, that feeling has evolved into something more. I agree with them, except about Ranger, but I don't expect them to know the truth about what happens when we share a bed.

I was deliberately naïve about the dangers of bond apprehension, and I ignored the consequences of my bumbling. Someone always swooped in to help me, and I selfishly took their, usually Rangeman's, sacrifice for granted. I never asked for their surveillance and monitoring, but I didn't complain when they saved my life either. When I never learned my lessons and when I failed to agree to further training, proactively seek a partner, or be more cautious about which FTA's I chose to apprehend, I selfishly took advantage of those men I called my friends.

I felt betrayed, but really, the person I betrayed was myself first and Rangeman second. I am not good, and I court the evil I cause.

A knocking on the door interrupts my cogitations, and I verify Hector is standing outside before opening the door and securing it behind him. I glare at him, my jaw set and fists clenched at my side. I trust Hector as much I can trust anyone, and he is the last person I expected to violate that trust.

Hector doesn't back down against my anger, but he doesn't confront me either. Instead, he walks into the kitchen, places a pizza on the island, and leans against the counter as he has weekly since I moved in here. Hector calmly begins eating a slice, but his eyes never leave me. It's hard to remain frigid when the smell of pepperoni fills the room. I let out a short, frustrated puff, slap a ten-dollar bill on the counter, and silently chew. I continue the staring contest, but much of my steam begins to vent.

After few bites, I place the half-eaten slice back into the box, wipe my hands on my pants, and sit down on the edge of the futon with my elbows on my knees and my fingers locked over my bent neck. "Why?" I say in resignation.

Hector walks across the room and sits beside me. "Because I care about you, Mi Angelita," he replies quietly, and I look up questioningly. "Lester discovered your home without my assistance, and I prevented him from entering. No one, to the best of my knowledge, has been inside, except you and me. Lester protected your secret, Estefania," Hector says before a look of tired compassion settles on his face.

"My job as a liaison between the gangs and Rangeman is dangerous. Further, I live half an hour away, and I don't spend every night at Rangeman. I needed a way to protect you without being the only one. I didn't break my promise by telling Lester, because he already knew. Yes, I gave him access to the tracking data, but it was out of concern for you," Hector says seriously.

"You know that wasn't what I meant with that promise," I challenge. "You should have told me."

"If you are honest with yourself, Angelia, I think you would agree you haven't completely kept your promise either," Hector immediately replies, his voice pointed but gentle, and I swallow heavily against his accusation.

"You are alive, but are you living?" he says quietly, placing a hand on my knee, and I resume starting at a spot on the floor. Hector gives it a light squeeze before standing and letting himself out, locking the door behind him.

I thought I understood my world and my place in it. After Farro, I knew with complete certainty that I am dammed, and I have lived a life atoning for that damnation while protecting others from me. I accepted Hector's help and training, but there are clear boundaries that I think he understands and respects. He's attempted to get me to enter counseling or talk about Farro, but I made it clear that wasn't going to happen. Any amount of me bearing my soul to someone isn't going to change the facts of my life. Hector backed off, and as far as I'm concerned, I kept my promise.

I continue to work alone for several reasons. The first is the most important. I will not have anyone risk a potentially fatal injury on my behalf. The second is because I am not afraid of being hurt or even dying. Any wound I receive in a failure to apprehend someone using the best method is a reminder of my ineptitude, and my pain is further atonement for the pain I've caused to others. It reminds me that I'm alive, but others, by my hand, have died.

But Ranger, sweeping back into my life, is attempting to challenge my paradigm. He cares, Lester cares, Hector cares, and he would die without me. I stand and shake my head. Bullshit.

I push aside all lingering thoughts, and I begin making my preparations to go out this evening. I quickly shower, apply heavier make-up appropriate for the low light of a bar, and a pair of silver earrings that hang several inches below my ears, coming to in a straight point.

I tug on a pair of fishnet stockings before pulling up the front-facing zipper of a short, high backed, black bondage dress. It has two buckles cinching my waist in a corset-like vice, and I adjust my boobs for maximum cleavage over the sweetheart neckline. For footwear, I settle on a pair of stilettoed boots that rise above my knee. I complete the ensemble with my usual jacket and weapons.

I feed Rex as I review the file and my plan. They acquitted Oscar Sanchez of all previous charges, but it didn't take him long to acquire new ones. The judge set his bail at $500,000, and I know what I am going to do with my $50,000 capture check.

I get in my car, and I try to enter my zone as I drive to the 609 Club. I am almost able to clear my mind, but then snippets of my conversations with Ranger and Hector wander back. I care about you.

I hit my hand on the steering wheel, and the sting brings me back to reality. I put my blank face in place and stride confidently into the darkened bar and perch myself in the center of three empty stools. The barkeep remembers me and sets a double tequila, twist of lime, on the bar top, nodding his head to the corner booth behind me. Bingo.

I throw the drink back and seductively amble to Oscar's self-made throne. I can feel every eye in the room on me, and my skin begins to crawl. I reach the side of the table and wait for Oscar to undress me with his eyes before purring, "Thank you for the drink, Mr. Sanchez."

Oscar chuckles, pushing the girl beside him away. She gives me a dark look as she scurries to the rear of the bar. I slide into the vacancy, but I stop with several inches between Oscar and myself. I take a closer look at the people surrounding me. Across from me are two Latino gang-bangers, and they lean forward with leering expressions as settle into the seat. I sense a presence to my right, and Caesar bends over, whispering into my ear, "Good to see you, baby. Are you available?"

Chills run down my spine, and I try to ignore the clenching in my stomach. Why do I feel guilty about this? I'm here for a job, and I will do what it takes to get my man.

I give Caesar a smirk before turning my attention back to Oscar, taking a sip of the drink freshly placed before me. He finishes his conversation in rapid Spanish with the two men in front of me, and I gather they are making arrangements for a drug shipment. I pretend I don't understand, continuing to sip my drink while Oscar begins to trail a hand on the outside of my thigh, grabbing the knee to open it towards him. I reluctantly slide closer as he hooks a finger under a thread of my stockings, pinching the soft flesh.

The pain that normally drives me suddenly is paralyzing as I flashback to the gentle security of Ranger's embrace.

"I never forget a beautiful woman," Oscar states, turning his full attention to me. "I believe we were in the middle of making a deal when we were unfortunately interrupted. I had hoped you would return," he continues, brazenly cupping my womanhood roughly in his hand. Caesar places a hand on my shoulder and is pushing his fingers into the upper hem of my bustline.

I stand abruptly and slide out of the booth, but Caesar blocks my path towards the exit. "I'll be right back," I say, biting my lip, and head towards the bathroom. Caesar follows me, but I hold out my hand as I begin to close the door. "Not yet, big boy," I smirk, and he frowns threateningly at me.

I cough, doubling over as I do, before gripping the edge of the sink and stare at my reflection in the mirror.

Babe, it doesn't matter to me what you've done, who you've slept with, who you've killed or hurt, or anything else. It matters to me who you are, and you are the best person I know.

I can't do this. I can't be this person tonight. I haven't cared which way my moral compass pointed as long as I got my man, but staring at myself, I realize I can't fight darkness with darkness tonight. I need to go home.

I unlock the restroom and begin to walk towards the exit when someone suddenly pushes me against the wall. "What are you playing at, puta?" Caesar says, his narrowed, dark eyes boring into me. (Slut)

"Another night," I shrug. "The tequila isn't agreeing with me."

"That doesn't matter for what I have in mind," he says in a low voice, quickly locking my arm around my back and forcing me towards the rear of the bar again. For the first time since Farro, I feel fear, and my heart rate explodes. I try to remember my training, but my brain is fighting wave after wave of invading panic.

I'm pushed through a door and stumble up a narrow stairway. I begin to cough as my breath becomes shallow, and it causes me to trip, and my knee scrapes against the rough wood. I let out a small cry of pain against the sharp stinging of my torn flesh. I suddenly feel aware of my humanity, and I don't want to hurt, and I don't want him to fuck me. I care about you. I feel a burst of desperate hope, and I use the distraction to reach inside my pocket and push the panic button on my fob.

Caesar hooks a hand under my elbow in a vice grip and yanks me back onto my feet. "I remember how you like it. I can play unavailable just as well as available, baby," he says, breathing into my ear before roughly turning my chin and licking the side of my face.

We resume our assent upstairs, and Caesar pushes me down a narrow hallway into a vacant office. Caesar pushes me roughly into a room halfway down, and I land on my hands and knees as my heels catch on the shag carpet. "While I like the view, baby, this party won't begin without Señor Sanchez," he says, slapping my ass so hard that he pushes my face into the carpet. He laughs as he exits the room, and I hear the door lock behind me.

I stand, involuntarily trembling, as I take in my surroundings. Imitation wood paneling is covering the walls. The carpet is orange, and there is a single bulb hanging from a heavily popcorned ceiling. There's a metal desk with two folding chairs near one wall and a lumpy brown couch against the other. The walls are bare, and the room is windowless. I try the door in vain.

My breath is coming in short spurts. Breathe, Steph, I tell myself. You can handle this. My chest vibrates, and I pat the front of my jacket frantically before unzipping a pocket and pulling out my phone. Think, Steph.

There's a voice message from Hector, and I ignore it, punching in a number I know by heart.

"Babe," Ranger answers before the first ring ends, and I'm suddenly fighting the urge to cry, something else I haven't done since before Farro.

"I'm sorry," I said brokenly, sinking to the floor in the farthest corner of the room.

"It's okay," Ranger soothes. "I'm coming. Tell me where you are," he directs.

"609 Club. Oscar Sanchez is FTA. I," I falter. "I couldn't do it. When I tried to leave, he had me intercepted. I'm locked in a room on the second level, third door down on the right."

"We're five minutes out, Babe. Keep talking to me," Ranger replies, but I hear the background noise go silent, and I assume he's placed me on mute.

I remember I'm armed, and I pull my weapon out of its hidden compartment over my heart and hold it loosely in my shaking hand. I'm silent as words fail me, but I press the phone to my ear as a lifeline.

"Don't get shot," I finally say, knowing I wouldn't be able to survive if he did.

"Don't go crazy," Ranger says, and I hear the slamming of a car door as the line goes dead.

A minute later, I hear distant footsteps and banging from outside the door, and the panic creeps closer, pushing against the demands of my rational brain. No, I won't be helpless. With a burst of energy, I stand and assume a defensive position behind the door but far enough back that the door won't hit me if it slams open.

I tense when the door shudders against a weight before the frame splinters, and Ranger enters the room. He has his weapon drawn, but his back is to me before he quickly swings his weapon around, securing the space. I lower my S&W to my side as my eyes lock with his, and he closes the distance between us in two steps. Ranger pulls me against him and kisses the top of my head.

"Are you hurt?" he asks without releasing his grip.

"No," I say into his chest. He's wearing a flak jacket, and the canvas is rough against my cheek, but all I feel is relief. "Let's go."

Ranger pushes me behind him, and I follow him out of my would-be cell. Hector locks eyes with me for a split second as I exit before facing forward to retreat down the stairs. Hector covers my rear as we walk out of the bar towards my CR-V. I fumble for the keys, but I'm struggling between that damned cough and unsteady fingers, and Hector reaches over to extract them for me. Ranger opens the rear door, and I sit woodenly while he walks around to the other side, and Hector begins to drive before he closes the door.

"Sanchez?" I question, wondering how safe we are, wrapping my arms around my body but continuing to hold my weapon.

"Lester is bringing him in," Ranger states, edging closer to me.

My vision is beginning to tunnel as I fight the war of emotions. "You guys do care," I say to myself before unexpectedly bursting into uncontrollable tears. Huge, racking sobs take over my body, and I gasp for air. I feel my revolver being removed from my grip before Ranger wraps me in a gentle embrace in the center of the backseat. I lean into him, but I reach out my right hand and clutch Hector's shoulder. His fingertips rest over mine, and I feel my barriers shatter.

"I'm sorry," I repeat over and over. I know someone is saying something to me, but I can't hear whoever it is as memories consume my mind. I see every person who has died because of me fall again. I relive every person I've injured and their expressions. I see Ranger take bullets for me, jump off a bridge for me, and run into danger for me.

Then, with my eyes pressed tightly closed, I see Ranger before me, Hector beside me, and Lester behind me. Light surrounds them, and as they step closer to me, their light becomes extinguished. "No, stop," I plead, and I cover my ears as the ringing that has plagued me since Farro increases.

I feel hands rest over my own, and my eyes fly open as I push myself back against the seat. Ranger is there, and his hands fall away as I move backward. His lips are moving, but I'm unable to receive the input. I realize the vehicle is in off, and I scoot across the seat towards the door as it opens. Ranger looks beyond me, and I turn my head in that direction as I begin to push my legs outside. My legs wobble as I try to support my weight, but I don't notice as I look around frantically. Home. I'm home.

Hector catches me before I fall, running an arm around my back and under my shoulders. "Estefania," I catch faintly, and my eyes search out his with furrowed brows. I shake my head and rub my ears. "Estefania," he says again, only slightly clearer, but I nod my understanding. We walk the short distance to my apartment door, Ranger on my other side.

Once all three of us pass through the small entrance, I stand in the space between the bathroom and closet. I wait there stupidly as my eyes rapidly shift between the two men, suddenly not knowing how to proceed. I know they are trying to talk to me, but the ringing prevents me from understanding, and my breathing accelerates, prompting another cough.

Hector is standing between me and the exit, and he takes a tentative step forward, his hands in front of him. With another short stride, he is beside me, and he slowly places his hands on my shoulders to begin removing my jacket. He takes the coat and hangs it on its hook near the door, and makes a point of showing me my keys and loops the ring onto the nail. Home. I'm home.

I begin to unzip my boots, and Hector squats to help me. I pull my knives out and pass them to him before stepping onto the cold ground. I wrap my arms around myself for warmth as my eyes seek out Ranger. His immediately lock with mine as I watch him place his 9mm on the small breakfast bar and unzip his Kevlar vest. Hector walks towards him, removes his flak jacket, and he says something I can't make out, before opening my kitchen cupboards and pulling out a stack of clothes.

I continue to watch Ranger, but in my periphery, I see Hector place the clothes onto the closed toilet seat before standing in front of me. "Angelita," I hear distantly, and I silently stare at him. "Any other weapons?"

It takes a second for me to absorb the words, but when they catch up with my brain, I unbuckle the corset with unsteady hands and pull several razor blades out of a sleeve on the inside of the belt. Hector takes them from me, nods once, and points to the bathroom. "One minute before I check on you," Hector says seriously, closing the door behind me.

I focus on the task at hand, quickly unzipping the dress and pulling off the ruined stockings. I throw the fishnets into the trash, and I'm relieved when I see Hector placed a bra and panty set between a pair of loose-fitting yoga pants and a sweatshirt. I'm pulling the hoodie over my head when I hear a rap on the door. I open it before wordlessly turning back to remove the earrings, scrub my hands, brush my teeth, and wash the streaked make-up off.

I pick up the dress and toss it into the hamper before pulling my first-aid kit off of the top shelf of the closet. Ranger is immediately beside me and takes the kit from me before I sit on the futon.

"Babe?" I hear, and I shake my head slightly, glad the ringing is beginning to decrease. I turn my head slightly to look at him with a searching expression. "Babe?" Ranger says again. "Can you hear me?"

I nod once in response, and he looks relieved. "What's hurt?" he asks, opening the first aid kit on his lap. I keep the futon flat as a bed, and I scoot back across the center, pulling a pillow behind my back with my knees triangularly bent before me. I pull up the right leg of my pants as Hector sits on my other side. There is a modestly deep cut on my knee, and I hadn't realized how much blood had seeped down my leg. Hector cleans it with warm, damp paper towels before Ranger applies antiseptic and secures several bandages.

I lean my head back against the wall and close my eyes for a second while I gather my thoughts. They flutter open again when I feel a glass of water placed in my hands, and I drink it gratefully. I know what I need to do.

"I'm sorry," I say, looking at the blank TV screen. "I'm fine. Really. You don't need to stay."

"Babe," Ranger says from my left. "We're not going anywhere."

I purse my lips together. "You need to. It's not, I'm not," I try, before wiping my hands over my face. I sit up straighter, my resolve increasing. "I don't want to hurt you," I state firmly, looking between the two men flanking my sides. "I get it. You care, but you can't," I say, and neither one of them move.

"Why not, Babe?" Ranger says softly.

"Because you're good, and I'm me!" I exclaim in frustration.

"Angelita?" I hear Hector say, and I turn my head to look at him.

"You call me that, but we don't have the same destination in mind," I retort, and Hector looks confused. I push myself off the futon, stand, favoring my left leg, and look at both men equally. Ranger keeps the same relaxed posture, but I know him well enough to know that he is ready to spring.

"You guys cannot stay with me. I will only hurt you," I say emphatically, not understanding why this is so hard for them to get.

"Where do you think you are going, Babe?" Ranger asks evenly.

"To hell, obviously," I state, throwing my hands into the air, "And I don't want to take you with me, so really, I'm fine, but you need to go. Thank you for helping me tonight. I," I shake my head. "Anyway, thank you." I cough into the crook of my elbow before pointing to the door.

"Why do you think you're going to hell?" Ranger presses, ignoring my dismissal. I drop my arms to my sides with my hands rolled into fists.

"I'm bad, and despite my best efforts, everything I do ends up fucked up. You guys are too good to be taken down by me," I explain, hoping it makes sense to them now.

"Estefania, what do you mean?" Hector says, his head tilted to one side, a somber expression on his face.

Why is this so hard for them? "I'm a murderer! I get involved, and people die," I state emphatically, my volume increasing. "Before you respond, yes, I know you've both killed people before as well, but what you did was for the greater good, whether it was in service to your country or to save lives or to make peace. You guys are heroes. There isn't anyone that doesn't understand and appreciate your sacrifice. You have killed, yes, but you were righteous, and you are good. I'm not, and I can't make things better. I've come to terms with that, and I'm fine with it, but I can't hurt either of you as well." I explain pointedly.

Hector looks horrified, and I think he must be starting to get it. Ranger leans forward slightly. "What did Farro say to you?" he asks quietly, never taking his eyes off mine, and the words piece through me.

"What?" I gasp, staggering back in surprise.

"As Farro was dying, what did he say to you?" Ranger repeats with slightly more intensity.

How does he know? The room begins to fade away, as I remember the day I will never forget. "He called me Little Girl," I whisper. "When he," I start, and I'm aware of my hands covering my chest, and I push my body against the wall behind me. "After I shot him, these tiny drops of his blood covered me, and he fell to the floor," I continue, rubbing my hands against my arms. "He put his fingers into the wound and then held them up to me, dripping," I recollect, demonstrating.

"He said, 'You killed me, bitch, all because you wouldn't spread your legs like a good girl. Do you see that picture on the fridge? That's my wife, Stella, and my daughter, Amber. Are you going to tell them you're the reason I'm dead? That you stood there and did nothing as you watched me die?' And I did. I just stood there and watched as the puddle of blood spread underneath him, and he understood. He said, 'Or are you going to slither away knowing you're a killer who destroyed a family?'

"I couldn't move. We stared at each other, and I watched Farro die. His last words were, 'You're a murderer. Live with that,'" I say brokenly, but the tears don't fall. I can't cry over truth.

"I saw the picture on his fridge. His wife and daughter are beautiful. I tried to talk to them a dozen times since I killed Farro, but I can't. I am the evil snake who took a husband and father away. I've tried to live with it. I've tried to atone for my sins," I say, my words gaining in energy. I want to stop my mouth, but now that I've started, the words keep pouring out of me.

"I'm trying to live, but I feel dead inside. I was good once, like you, but I have too much blood on my hands. I've worked hard to get better at my job, and I keep bringing people in, and no matter what I do, it's still fucked up," I explain forcefully.

"When I heard Tank, Lester, and Bobby talking about me after Farro, I felt betrayed. With time, I realized they hadn't betrayed me, but rather I had betrayed them. I bring death and destruction with me. The only thing they got wrong, and you seem to have wrong, is that you'll live just fine without me," I push out, looking at Ranger.

"Your lives will be safer, more secure, and happier if I'm not in it. I let our conversations over the past twenty-four hours get into my head, and tonight, I lost my nerve. If I hadn't, I would have been able to do what I needed to do. For a second, I began to believe that I am lovable, but I know that isn't true. You can't love someone that is evil!" I finish, dropping my hands to my sides. "Now you know why you need to leave, so go."

Ranger and Hector stand in unison, and I let out a long breath before dropping my chin to stare at the ground. Finally, they get it.

A/N: Holy moly you guys. You did it again. You broke the single day views and number of comments for a single chapter records all over again. I refreshed my stats page in disbelief Monday morning, humbled and thrilled. I want to thank each of you for your enthusiasm and engagement. I'm posting this chapter a day early in response. I don't have a set posting schedule in mind right now other than at least one guaranteed posting every Sunday evening or Monday morning per week. Please consider every additional posting a bonus.

My beta, misty23y, is a fantastic partner on this project. She's been instrumental to me working through Tank's storyline in particular, and I'm grateful for the work she does to support my stories.