It was hard to concentrate with him so close. Eric was sitting at his desk, five feet away, eyes down on his phone, feet up on the desk, no jacket on. Actually, it was difficult to concentrate with him so far apart. She didn't know what kind of dark witchcraft kama sutra voodoo he did with her on their one night (and apparently one day) together, but she found herself craving him. Olivia always had higher libido than usual, especially when she was stressed. In college, sex had always been her main procrastination method. And she had so much to procrastinate right now.

Fangtasia was open again on this fine Tuesday night, there were actual guests downstairs this time, maybe two dozen. Under normal circumstances, she wouldn't sweat over it. But as things were, it was nowhere near enough. Hopefully, it would pick up a little later into the night. Or maybe she should get railed against his desk right now-

Stop it!

What was wrong with her?! There were more important things to do! Olivia had so much money to clean, and no fucking way to clean it! Time was running out - and quickly! She should be panicking! Everyone! Should be! Panicking!

"How can you be so calm right now?" Olivia snapped at Eric who had not said a word since she walked into the club tonight.

"Judging by your heart rate, you seem to be worrying for the both of us," he didn't even look up from his phone. "Plus I've made you an offer, I don't know what's taking you so long to accept it."

He spoke so surely as if she were merely delaying the inevitable. The deal was to let him drink her blood and be his. Being blood bound to Eric Northman gave her (according to him) a fighting chance of keeping her head-on, as the Queen would not (theoretically) be allowed to order him to kill her should Olivia fail her deadline. But what if she just ordered someone else to kill her instead? Would Eric fight for her? What if Sophie-Anne punished him instead? Her heart dropped four inches at the thought.

"Absolutely not."

This was her mess, and she was the one who was going to clean it. Olivia refused to be saved by a man, or woman, or anyone out of principle and there was that on that. It wasn't technically one of her rules, but honestly, it ought to be. Plus, owing this kind of debt to Eric Northman was not quite what she wanted for herself despite how her vagina felt right now. Jesus Christ. She still had no idea how she graduated with a 3.6 GPA. Every exam season she spent more time having sex than studying. God bless varsity athletes.

"How would you rather go: a classic neck bite while you sit on my lap, or should we put on a show and I'll drain you from your inner thigh?"

The visuals were not helping the current horny situation she had going on. Her downstairs brain simply chose to ignore the fact he was talking about killing her... Was he talking about killing her? "Eric!"

"Yeah, I think neck too. Less wasteful. Plus now that I know your moans are applause-worthy, I'll make sure you do that."

Olivia got up as if her seat had suddenly bit her. She could not be in the same room as this man any longer without making some seriously questionable stress-relieving choices. Fucking him once had already been enough for a lifetime. Talk about digging your own grave. "I'm going to make myself useful elsewhere."

She had to keep her mind occupied with, you know, saving her own head. Olivia bused tables and took away the usual half-emptied and abandoned drinks. Pamela, who was bartending tonight, watched her walk through the floor without blinking. The vampire looked absolutely striking tonight, wearing an asymmetrical red glitter catsuit. Pam was a perfect mix of Michelle Pfeifer and Angelina Jolie but crafted by demons in actual hell. Her piercing blue eyes followed Olivia attentively and precisely like a hungry hawk, topped with a beautifully decadent grin. Perhaps it was Pam's actual smile (she had never seen it before) but there was a dark twist to it. It had a flair of 'top 500 of the most influential persons of the south' with 'I'm about to become one of Louisiana's top 100 richest women' and definitely 'top 25 vampires in America'. Or it possibly meant Pamela was grateful for the opportunity and wanted to thank Olivia with her mouth. Yeah, that's exactly how Pam looked.

The mental picture instantly gave Olivia the creeps, so she disappeared upstairs and locked herself in the storage room. Pamela was probably one of the most beautiful women she had ever seen; God forbid she slept with her too. If fucking Eric made her this eager for more, a night with Pamela may actually kill her.

Back in the storage room, Olivia tried to focus on the task at hand. She had to use a smaller bucket this time, as there was simply not enough gross juice to fill up the utility sink. Putting latex gloves on, she started soaking and crimping the pristine cash that had been hidden in a box of paper towels. Then she pre-dried them on a towel and tossed them in the dryer, and started another batch. She was at this for a little while, until she basically ran out of her watered-down beer-whiskey-stripper-body-glitter mix.

Then she counted all the newly worn-out money which was still warm: 1,297 dollars in 20s, 10s, 5s, and 1s. This didn't even put a dent in the drug money they dropped yesterday, let alone the rest. At least it was ready to go for tonight. Terry had still to make his first bucket drop from the floor money which was a sign that tonight's guests were not big spenders.

"Fuck," she swore under her breath.

Was she really going to do this? Let him bite her? What was the worst that could happen?

That was rhetorical.

Maybe it would be... Okay? It was only 11:45 PM, it's not like vampires routinely try to bask in the morning sunshine just because they fed, so the chances he would find out what her blood could do were minimal. But what about the rest? He would access her feelings. Would he discover her powers? Would he force feed her his blood again to make the bond count? She really didn't want to have the dreams again or feel what he feels. She was fantasizing enough as it was these days. Eric Northman's kiss was like a fucking drug, and her body wanted to be high again. The alternative was dealing with that painfully small stack of money sitting on the counter in front of her, mocking her failures.

The last time she gave in to a vampire, it was out of emotion - this time it would be the rational choice. And Eric was, for better or worse, nothing like the Queen.

Olivia tucked away the duffel bag filled with drug money. There was still about 900 thousand dollars inside, just waiting for her, and about 6 times that amount in the bank. She always thought nothing made her hornier than money, but apparently, she was incorrect. She was very much starting to resent it. Liv rinsed the little bucket and the sink, wiped the dryer clean, and even cleaned the lint trap (which was full of glitter).

She checked her phone: midnight. It was officially Wednesday. Opening the news app, she didn't even have to search for it, the election results were on the very top: Truman Burrell had won the seat for Governor of Louisiana. She was expecting some relief from this, but it felt more like Deja Vu. Would Burrell make good on his word, or would they have to escalate the threat? How much further would they have to go? Tie Willa to train tracks?

Was this what her life was going to always be like? Crisis after crisis? Deeper and deeper into this dark never-ending rabbit hole? At this pace, she would die from stress before she ever got to retire. Olivia returned to the office and Eric had not moved an inch from where she left him.

"He won," she came back with the 1,297 dollars in one hand and her cellphone in the other.

"Why do you sound surprised?" He looked at her, smirking. Goddammit.

"Do you think he'll do good on his part?"

"I've just sent him a little reminder," he waved his phone at her, looking pretty proud of himself. "Truman and associates are being served flutes of Royale at his election night party in Baton Rouge as we speak."

Royale was Tru Blood's line of luxury sparkling synthetic blood. She could only imagine their faces as dozens of servers carried out the trays of the red bubbling liquid. That was a very dark public reminder to the Governor of who put him there, and who he served: The Vampires States of America.

"Have you told Pamela? About the casino?"

His gaze went back to his phone, avoiding her. "Yes, I did."

Olivia waited for him to elaborate, but it was all he said. "And?"

"She's still downstairs, isn't she?"

Olivia guessed that meant Pamela was on board with the Casino business. If she weren't, she would have left. Even though Eric told her Pamela left him once for 10 months years ago, it was hard to imagine such a devout progeny leaving Eric at all, even if she were always allowed to. It was also difficult to imagine Pamela not being at Fangtasia. She practically ran this place, being bar manager and house mom for the dancers. What would happen when she departs to get the Casino started? Olivia couldn't take over, there were simply not enough hours in the day for her to take on more responsibilities.

Eric's demeanor had changed, and she swore the temperature in the room dropped four degrees. "Aren't you happy? Having a Casino is a game-changer-"

"Oh, I'm quite aware, Olivia. It's fame, power, influence, and money beyond any mortal's dreams," his voice was flat and cold.

"Well, please don't hold off on your excitement. Pamela seems-"

"Ecstatic," he interrupted her, blue eyes piercing right through her eyes like ice. "But she doesn't know the cost."

Olivia knew he was not referring to what he had done to Willa and her father.

Just then, Terry walked into the office with his first drop of the evening. He was a very uptight man and usually didn't make much eye contact. Terry was extremely methodical and followed procedures exactly like she had shown him which was something she liked about him. He was a bit shy and awkward, but very polite. He handed the piles of money and told her which belonged to whom.

"This one is Jessie's, this one is Breanna's and this one is Destiny's."

It took her a minute to follow, her head was still wrapped in the Casino and Eric's seemingly discontent with her literal miracle work. On the floor, all staff were supposed to refer to the dancers by their stripper names for their own safety. Because Olivia only worked out back she wasn't sure who was who, so as a reflex she reached into his mind to get a match between the real and fake names.

What she found inside Terry's mind deeply scarred in a way she had even thought was possible. His mind had been broken, probably in Afghanistan or Iraq judging by the desert and military imagery she was seeing. She could feel sand in her clothes, under her fingernails, in her hair, between her toes. It was hot and dry in the room as if they were inside an oven. She could taste burnt flesh, hear screams of people long gone. Screams of sorrow, pain, agony and fear. It was brain-splitting loud.

Disoriented, Olivia couldn't help but stumble away, catching herself by sitting on her own desk.

"You alright there Miss Carson?" Terry asked wide-eyed.

She could also feel Eric's eyes on her from behind.

"Yes, thank you, Terry, that would be all," her mouth produced the words but she felt very detached from reality.

She had never crossed a mind so much like a black hole. Was he always like this? The war replaying in the background of his thoughts on a loop, his conscience just streaming right over it? How could someone live like this? Suddenly she felt her own predicaments to be not so terrible.

When Terry left the room, Olivia instantly felt better. She was no longer lost amidst dunes, but back in Eric's office, in her own life. Never again Olivia was going to peek inside Terry's head, she was just going to ask for what she needed out loud, like a normie. And that was a promise.

Regaining her balance, she put each bundle of money through the counting machine and tied them off with elastics, and labeled each one with a post-it note. She would sort which belonged to whom later. In her ledger, she summed the totals plus the money she had just worn out and slipped the little stack into the slot of the safe next to her desk. The 1,297 dollars were now clean.

She noticed Eric had been watching her the entire time. It was a bit odd, now she thought about it, that he didn't mention or tease her about her small "dizzy" spell earlier. Olivia wanted to go back to where they were, but the only way to get there was to be blunt.

"If you didn't want her to own the Casino license, then why did you suggest Pamela?"

He sighed, not pleased she had decided to continue this conversation. "Because it was a good opportunity, one that could save you. And I suggested Pamela because I thought I could make her…" his voice trailed off, and she may have been standing at the edge of a cliff right now.

Make her what? He could make her what?

"Happy," was his final answer. And he went back to his phone.

Olivia didn't have to read minds to know that there was way more to it than he was letting on. But this was a matter between the two of them and Olivia was at peace letting this one go. As long as they kept on schedule she had a shot at keeping her head on and her blood inside her veins. The whys and hows don't matter right now.

"Only about 6 million dollars to go," he nodded at the bundle of cash she had just thrown in the safe, wildly changing subjects.

She played along. "The Queen asked for 150, I'll give her the damn 150-"

For the first time all evening, Eric got up from his chair. Before she knew it he was just about where she wanted him to be - right next to her.

"You have made a valiant and admirable effort, Olivia, truly. But you are playing a losing game here, at the end of the night, the Queen always wins. If not in this game, in the next one. And there is always a next one," he spoke softly and looked at her with gentle eyes.

He had never looked so dangerous as he did right fucking now.

"Rule number 6: I don't lose," it's all she managed to say, trying with all her strength not to lean any closer to his lips.

He paused, looking directly in her soul, seeing her completely. "Then let me make you win."

His fingers ran through the back of her neck and he closed the space between them, kissing her as deeply as his gaze. Olivia kissed him back as if it were the last thing she was about to do on Earth because let's be honest here, it might be.

Their tongues just flowed together, his hands were as eager as they were the first time they touched her. She felt her skin burn with desire, every part of her awakened at once, begging to have him again. Begging to make her forget. Olivia found herself in an easy place to be as if his arms were a safe haven made just for her. She slid onto his desk slightly and pulled his hips closer between her legs, feeling his hardness exactly where she wanted. In a blur, Eric took off his shirt.

In the better lighting of the office, she could marvel at his beauty. He was the color of milk, his body was visibly of a warrior - pure strength and small faded scars that not even Godric could erase completely. Eric's hand traveled up her skirt, finding the spot that ached for him the most. His mouth trailed down her neck, covering it in nibbles, kisses, skinning her with his tongue.

"Be mine, Olivia," he whispered faintly into her ear.

She wanted to be his - in flesh, not in blood. She wanted the Casino, not to stray him from his relationship with Pamela. She wanted the DEA off their backs, but not to hurt an innocent girl. She wanted the Queen to forget her, but not make an enemy out of Eric. She wanted to win, but not at the cost of this. If she was going to be blood bound, she wanted to be heart bound too. Olivia couldn't use him like this, even if Eric thought he had much to gain from it.

"I can't," she muttered, pushing his hand away.

That's the thing with Eric - it was so fucking easy being in his arms, but not at all to be in his life. Olivia hopped off the desk, closed her laptop and simply left with the aftertaste of his kiss still on her mouth. When the fresh outside night air hit her burning skin she had a bitter realization. One that filled her with far more sadness and turmoil than anything else.

It wasn't his life that was complicated to be in.

It was hers.

His eyes were eating each piece of paper up, devouring information, memorizing each detail. He had a list of names, from possible dealers to suppliers, to criminals that could link Eric Northman to all sorts of crimes. Anthony Grey sure looked sketchy, he was getting van surveillance by the end of the day. Alcide had never felt so fucking alive. Every folder he opened was more and more dirt on the cronies surrounding the vampire Sheriff. It was only a matter of time before he found the weakest link and cornered them like prey - and he was the fucking wolf.

Shreveport PD was by no means an organized, well-trained, or an efficient bunch. On the field, they had managed to pull off the biggest and heaviest raid this town had ever seen - it was the stuff movies were made of. The bureaucratic portion of the equation, however, their competence was lacking. They did some very sloppy in-take processing and didn't get any charges to stick to any of the employees which Alcide was really hoping for. It only took 1 hour in holding and Northman's pitbull lawyer showed up to release the hounds. But Alcide had names, and names with prior offenses, names with outstanding warrants, names with fake IDs. It was something.

His work was cut out for him and Costa, but just give it time and they would have that motherfucker in the silver jail cell. They would prosecute the first vampire criminal in American history. They would show the world what they really are.

It was now Wednesday, and neither he nor Glenn had had much sleep since the raid, but they both knew they were on the verge of something great. He hadn't seen his partner all morning, but he was certain he was working. Glenn was just about the only other person more obsessed with his case than Alcide was. Especially after what Northman had done to his woman. It gave him cold chills just thinking about it. Alcide was of the opinion that when you wallow with pigs, expect to get dirty. Still, Portia didn't deserve that.

Speaking of him, Costa's head popped up at the door of the tiny office. "There's a woman out front claiming she used to work at Fangtasia, and she's willing to testify against Northman-"

Alcide shot up from his chair. "Which room?"

He was ready to walk through the damn wall to finally get more than a list of dirty names.

"She's uhm… She's a bit off? I put her in room 4."

Alcide shuffled the mountain of paperwork on his desk trying to find a writing pad. "Off how?"

Costa adjusted his glasses, taking a long pause. "Fragile? I'll run her background while you go talk to her."

'Fragile' was usually code for batshit crazy, but she could be high on bath salts right now and he would have been ready to record her statement. Costa was a forensic accountant, so he did not have the clearance to interrogate anyone not relating to their financial statements (in this case, Costa could only really interrogate three people: Eric Northman, Pamela Swynford de Beaufort, his progeny, and of course - Olivia Carson. The accountant herself. So if Costa was summoning him, it oughta be good.

Alcide Herveaux B-lined to interrogation room 4, his brain was buzzing, his blood was pumping, he was ready to head into a bullfight head first. When he walked into the room, he found the furthest thing from a bull. The witness was the smallest and frailest woman he had ever laid eyes on. She was skin and bones, with poofy platinum almost white hair and way too much eyeliner. She was wearing a black and white leopard print halter dress with a neckline only suitable for the beach, and a neon pink bra under it. Her arms, neck and chest were covered in symmetrical double purple dots - fang marks. She looked at him wide-eyed, and that's when he could tell that she'd been crying. The only things that had any volume on this woman were her hair, the padding of her bra, and her undereye bags.

"Alcide Herveaux, special agent. How do you do, ma'am?" He sat down across the table from her, uneasy from being too close to her.

"Oh, okay I guess," she managed to give him a small smile. She was holding on to a mass of kleenex.

"Your name?"

"Ginger. Ginger Landry."

Usually, he would offer witnesses a glass of water, but in this case, he considered offering a sandwich as well. She looked as if she were about to pass out. "Right, Ginger. My partner mentioned you used to work at Fangtasia and you have something to tell us?"

"Oh! Right. Well, the cops shook that club just about upside down on Saturday, I'm guessin' y'all have an interest on Mr. Northman."

"We do."

"Well, I know all sorts of stuff, I've been working for 'em since '94 when it was a movie rental store."

Alcide shifted on his chair to contain his excitement. "So you must know him really well."

"Oh, I know him the best! Outta all the women he employed, I was his most loyal servant."

Loyal servant? "In what way, Miss Landry?"

"I was his sex slave," she said it so cheery, it was almost like bragging. Glenn was right, she was fragile. Alcide's stomach did a full flip. Sex assault charge was not what he was hoping for, but he wasn't surprised.

"A sex slave? Ma'am, did he hurt you? Are these marks from him?" He knew Eric was a monster but to feed off this woman and leave her at this state was low, even for Alcide's standards.

"Well," she looked down at her arms, flustered. "Not exactly."

"They are not exactly from Eric?"

"No, these are from my other lovers."

"So Eric assaulted you, but did not drink your blood?"

"Well," Ginger started a whole lot of sentences with 'well'. "I was always available for sex, but you know how it is."

"No, I don't actually. Did he rape you?"

She frowned at the word. "No! Gosh, no! I said always available, but Eric is very particular with who he beds and feeds. Can you blame him? He's practically God. But lately, his tastes have taken a dive."

This… Was way more than batshit crazy. Alcide had no interest in pursuing who Eric was or was not fucking lately, especially when the answer might be-

"Okay, I am looking for illegal activities on Eric Northman's behalf, or his business partner, Pamela. Can you help me with that, Miss Landry?"

She pressed her lips together in hesitation. "What do I get? I gotta know I'm being taken care of."

"If what you tell me is true and lands Eric in jail, you'll be given full immunity."

"No, I want witness protection. And a nice condo in Miami. You ain't sending me up north, I hate the cold."

This chick was starting to piss him off. "That's not how it works. You tell me what you have, I'll tell you what it's worth."

Ginger looked at him suspiciously, thinking it over for what it felt like a lifetime. Just spill it, woman!

"He used to have a torture room in the basement," Alcide started writing furiously on his pad. "Sometimes he would bring these random people, mostly men, sometimes women, and tie them up for days, sometimes weeks on this metal thing in the ceiling. He would call them 'guests'. Whenever we had guests I was in charge of coming in for my shift early and bringing them food and water and emptyin' the bucket."

"The bucket?"

"Of their shit."

Jesus. "And what happened to these people? How did he torture them? Did he feed? Were they his food?" Alcide asked while furiously scribbling notes.

"I don't think so."

"Did they have slash marks, bruises, fang marks-"

"It's kinda dark down there, but no, not that I could see. He'd just chain the guests up and leave them sit."

"And then what?"

She shrugged. "I don't know, then one day they wouldn't be there anymore."

"Was there blood? Bodies?"

Ginger shook her head. "Never. Just shit and piss in the bucket."

No bodies? "Did you ever recognize any of them? Were they patrons of the club, or employees, business partners?"

Ginger looked as if she were doing hard mental math. "Uhh, no, sir."

"When was the last time this happened?"

"March? April? Sometime in the spring. It was five men, and one day they vanished."

So Eric Northman just dragged people down to his basement, chained them up for sometimes weeks, made them shit and piss in a bucket and then released them? And no one ever came forward? That can't be it. He wrote down 'look into missing persons' on his notepad. Alcide had put surveillance cameras all around the place and studied the footage for months. He had never seen suspicious bundles, boxes or packages leave the place that could contain human bodies. And his small team of interns had been through Fangtasia's trash countless times. The only blood they had ever found was synthetic.

"During the renovation, they got rid of the metal wheel thingy he used to chain 'em on. Or did it break? I can't remember. But yeah, it's not there no more."

Fuck. "What do you mean it's not there anymore?"

There was a knock at the door, and Glenn Costa's head popped up. "Herveaux, can you step out for a moment?"

Alcide got instantly irritated but pushed it down as best he could. He was just starting to discover how deep and dark this well went (turns out, much deeper than he thought) and he didn't want to stop. "Excuse me for a moment, Miss Landry."

He left the room and stepped out into the hallway, where Costa looked pale as if he saw a ghost. "What's up?"

"Two things - Ginger Landry was never on the Fangtasia payroll."

"What?" He glanced at the woman through the door's window.

"It could mean she was just paid in cash under the table, which is technically tax avoidance, but at this scale and with Portia as their lawyer, it's a penalty fine at best."

Damn. "Okay, and what's the other thing?"

"Trahan and Jackson want to see us in his office. Must be important considering it's the two of them."

Mike Trahan was Shreveport's Chief of Police, and Nolan Jackson was their agency director. They don't work together or report to one another, and in fact, he didn't even know the two even knew each other until just now.

"Why?"

Costa shrugged, but the man was glistening with nervousness. He looked like was about shit himself.

"Okay, I'll get Ginger's contact information and I'll be right there."

Glenn nodded and shuffled down the hallway in a hurry. Alcide stepped back into the room and Ginger's spice perked right up like a ferret.

"Ginger, is it true Eric pays you under the table?"

"He always paid me in cash, yeah."

"Does he pay everyone in cash? Are you aware he can easily avoid paying taxes if he doesn't claim you as an employee on paper?"

The second question made her face go blank. He wasn't sure she understood what he was saying. "Oh fuck, did I get him in trouble with the IRS? That's like, federal-"

Was this chick for real? Because she suddenly sounded like didn't want to tell on her boss. "Ginger I am a federal agent, I-"

She was becoming agitated, and far more agitated than fragile implied. "I-I don't got a bank account! I just don't trust the fucking banks, so I asked him to pay me in cash cause I thought it was easier!"

How dumb do you have to be to not have a fucking bank account? You know what -this was Glenn's problem. Her change in conscience was his. "Didn't you come in here to testify against him?"

Ginger shed a black tear, making her bony face even more unappealing. "Yeah! Cause I'm fucking pissed at him!" She shrieked.

"For what? What did he make you do?!"

"Nothing!" She cried loudly. "He makes me do nothing! No guests, no doing the register, no doing books, not even the tips! Since she arrived, it's all been her! He only got eyes for her! I fucking hate Olivia Carson!" She then started sobbing pathetically.

Another knock on the door made his wrath start seeping through his walls. "What?!"

It was Emma what's-her-face? Mike Trahan's secretary. "Are you joining us, Mr. Herveaux?"

Alcide made fists with his hands, and he wanted to punch a dent on this fucking table. He was pissed at Eric, pissed at Emma, pissed at Ginger, pissed at Olivia, at the fucking world. Why was it so fucking hard to put bad people behind bars?

"Yes, I'll be right there."

Emma nodded and happily closed the door again. But she stood in the hallway, waiting for him. Fuck. Alcide reached inside his jacket pocket and pulled out one of his contact cards and slid it across the table to Ginger. "Leave me a voicemail with your contact information. I'll look into Eric's basement and if that leads anywhere, I'll get you that condo in Miami."

She nodded aggressively, blowing her nose in the bundle of kleenex. Alcide left interrogation room 4 fuming and followed Emma all the way across the precinct towards Mark Trahan's office. When they arrived, the secretary closed the door behind him. Glenn Costa was already there, sitting on the couch looking at his hands like a little boy who got in trouble at school. The Chief and the Director were both there, suited up in uniform with blank faces on. No one said anything.

"Sir?" Alcide asked, breaking silence. There was something seriously fucked going on here.

"Take a seat, will ya?" Jackson asked.

"I'm alright sir, I've been sitting all morning." Alcide's blood pressure was through the roof, and his skin was crawling with adrenaline. "What is this meeting regarding?"

Jackson was posted in New Orleans, and it was highly unusual that he would come to an outpost so far for an investigation (unfortunately) this small. Unless… They got something and this was no longer small.

"Son, I don't know what to tell you other than you gotta close the Northman case."

The whole room turned red. "What? Why?"

"It's the word from above, it's all I'm allowed to tell you." He clasped his hands and seemed so unbothered as if he were a dad telling him they were no longer going on a family vacation.

"But sir, I literally got a witness down in room 4 telling me he's got a torture basement. Every night people all over the city end up either in the ER or here, high off their minds on V-"

"People all over the country use the stuff, don't mean the vamp's got anything to do with it," Trahan spoke.

This was officially the fucking twilight zone. "Are you fucking kidding me right now?!"

"Agent!" Jackson barked. "Show some respect!"

"I apologize sir, but with all due respect, I will not be closing the case. Costa and I have found a historical amount of evidence so far, and it's only the tip of the iceberg. You should be giving us more resources, not shutting us down!"

"Herveaux, I like you," Jackson said sternly. "I really do. But case 6412009-3 is closed, and you will be reassigned."

"Did you not hear what I just said? Eric Northman is torturing people in his basement! He chains them up to the ceiling and make them shit and piss in a communal bucket-"

"We raided the basement on Saturday, Herveaux, and trust me, if that were true this would be a very different conversation. The basement was just a small room where they stored barstools and kegs. There are photos of it on the report." Trahan added.

None of this made any sense. Was Alcide so blinded by his own pursuit of justice he was just believing what he wanted to believe? He thought of Debbie. He thought of the kind woman she used to be. Then he thought of all the evidence. No, it wasn't possible.

"Costa, you'll be going to cybercrimes in Mobile. Herveaux, you should hear about your new assignment in a couple of weeks, once you are done closing."

There was a long pause. A very long pause. Alcide looked at the Chief and Director - men he used to admire and look up to. Now they looked small and old. If Jackson's pride was hurting he didn't show an ounce of embarrassment. This command came from above - how far above? And why? It sure as fuck came from a vampire. Suddenly Alcide Herveaux felt small too. And helpless, and powerless. The game was rigged from the inside. Years of training at the academy, and for what?

He nodded, defeated. Jackson and Trahan shook hands and said their pleasantries. Costa stood up and shook Trahan's hand as he left the room without looking Alcide in the eye. Nolan gave Alcide a pat on the back and said some bullshit lie like "maybe another department higher above picked the case up, you never know!" but Alcide was no longer listening.

Eric Northman won. Olivia Carson won. They would go on selling drugs and wrecking this town, racking up dirty money unpunished and leaving behind a trail of ruined lives. There would be countless more Debbies and Portias, and there would be no justice for them. Alcide joined this agency to help people, but it was clear to him they were just political pawns. 'War on crime' was a joke. He was merely a show pony, given busy work to meet quotas and then put away when he got too close. Glenn and Alcide went back to their pathetic office which they barely fit in both at the same time. Glenn immediately started putting papers inside file boxes.

"What are you doing?" Alcide rumbled.

"Closing the case, weren't you there?"

"So just like that you're gonna give up on me? We can't close the case, Costa."

He forcefully closed and taped the file box on his table. "Alcide, wake up! We don't have jack shit, and the little we have is two degrees away from being considered fruit of the poisonous tree. It's gonna get thrown out in court."

He could not fucking believe Glenn folded that easily. "But Ginger-"

"Is fucking crazy." He said bluntly. "She's only here because she's a wronged lover, Portia would discredit her as a witness, not even 3 seconds after she took the stand. Just go home Alcide, and be thankful you still got Debbie." Costa must have seen the sheer look of shock on his face because he continued. "Look, I know Debbie isn't the same person you knew when you loved her, but at least she fucking remembers you, man."

Alcide felt a tightness in his chest that barely let him breathe for the rest of the day. He spent the rest of the day looking at a blank page, lost, while Glenn unpacked behind him. After about 30 minutes or so, he left without a word. When Alcide got home, he had driven in complete auto-pilot, he had no memory of actually leaving or which route he took to get here. He sat in his driveway for a long time. It had all been for nothing. All of it. Alcide made a promise to help Debbie, and he could not stand the thought that he had let her down.

Alcide dialed a number on his phone, and the call rang twice before she picked up.

"Hello?"

He tried to make the words come out. The words he thought so surely he would never have to say. But the wrong he lived in had belonged to vampires for much longer than Alcide had known. This was their game.

"Hello?" Olivia asked again.

"I want that deal," his lungs were finally able to take a full breath. He only had Debbie to lose at this point. And he just couldn't. "I will close the case and you will cut Debbie off vamp blood."

A.N.

I'm speechless. Damn, what a chapter!

I'm so mad I don't have more time to sit down and write because this story is getting SO GOOD! But little by little I will get it done, just bear with me and savor each update as they come. As always, drop some love in the comments and tell me what you think!

xoxoxo