Re/Deemed (Doms of the FBI Book 8) Read online

  Re/Deemed

  Doms of the FBI #8

  Michele Zurlo

  www.michelezurloauthor.com

  Doms of the FBI: Re/Deemed

  Copyright © February 2020 by Michele Zurlo

  ISBN: 978-1-942414-62-9

  All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the original purchaser of this e-book ONLY. No part of this e-book may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission from the copyright owner and Lost Goddess Publishing LLC. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author's rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  Editor: Nicoline Tiernan

  Cover Artist: Pyroclastic

  Published by Lost Goddess Publishing LLC

  www.michelezurloauthor.com

  This e-book is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Warning: This e-book contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language and may be considered offensive to some readers. It is not meant for underage readers.

  DISCLAIMER: Education and training are necessary in order to learn safe BDSM practices. Lost Goddess Publishing LLC is not responsible for any loss, harm, injury or death resulting from use of the information contained in any of its titles. This is a work of fiction, and license has been taken with regard to BDSM practices.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Michele Zurlo

  Lost Goddess Publishing

  About Re/Deemed (Doms of the FBI 8)

  Brandy Lockmeyer feels like a failure.

  Unable to bring down The Eye, an international crime syndicate, she’s left hanging when the FBI task force she commands is disbanded.

  Her professional life is in shambles, and she long ago gave up on a personal life.

  Being kidnapped and sold to The Eye would have destroyed anyone else, but it only makes Brandy more determined to destroy them.

  At Redemption Center, a training compound for loyal soldiers of The Eye, she’s given to Bull, an enforcer who has earned the privilege of owning her. The enigmatic Daddy Dom names her ‘Firebrand” and puts her to work serving him.

  When Lukas “Bull” Xuereb is called up to The Eye’s secret headquarters, Brandy seizes the opportunity to bring down The Eye from the inside. The twisted web of lies gets even more tangled when she falls for Lukas—and finds out that he doesn’t intend to leave there alive. With her life, her work, and a love she never saw coming on the line, she must try to save them both.

  Chapter 1

  The handmade soaps with colorful labels filled the air with fresh holiday scents, but Brandy’s mind was a million miles away. After spending the last two years leading a special task force designed to bring down The Eye, the FBI was disbanding their team. The open investigation was being kicked back to the FBI’s Organized Crime unit in D.C.

  Under her leadership, they’d uncovered intricate connections between The Eye and various governments—including the U.S. government and the hierarchy of the FBI itself—that had proven impossible to untangle. The Eye was not a small organization, and the FBI gods felt that Brandy and her team had done all they could on their own.

  Now it was time for the big kids to take over.

  Jordan Monaghan had already transferred back to the Detroit field office. He was a rising star inside the Violent Crimes division, having already brought down a serial killer.

  Good for him, but bad for Brandy. She hadn’t realized it at the time, but Jordan’s easygoing manner and caretaker personality had been the glue holding together the increasingly tattered pieces of her team’s morale. Once he’d transferred—to be closer to his fiancée—the heart had gone out of the team.

  One month after he’d gone, she’d been notified of the dissolution of her task force. The thing that was supposed to have catapulted her into the upper echelons of the FBI was now the largest failure of her career.

  Already Liam Adair, her tech expert, was with Cyber Crime, and Jed Kinsley, one of the finest strategists she’d ever known, was entertaining offers from Terrorism, Cyber Crime, and Counterintelligence. Organized Crime had extended an offer to Avery Forsythe, an amazingly intuitive psychologist, and Avery had put feelers out in the Civil Rights division. She wanted to combat human trafficking.

  In the course of their investigation, they’d worked with an international team to put a stop to the diamond and ruby smuggling that had been a significant source of revenue for The Eye. They’d purged members of The Eye from the ranks of the FBI, where they’d penetrated every field office in the U.S. They’d even helped the CIA to target several members of Congress and most of the key members of the President’s election team and advisory staff. They’d exposed Russian, Chinese, and Turkish connections, though that corruption was mostly still intact. The governments in some countries were run by thugs and criminals, and they thrived on corruption.

  But she hadn’t been able to find the core of the operation, and The Eye had moved on to a different revenue stream. As the leader of the task force, blame landed at her feet. She’d cleaned house in the ranks of the FBI, which had earned her some enemies, and she’d quashed six different cells. In two years, she’d put away over three hundred people, and she’d helped sixteen allied countries root out cells threatening them.

  “The pine scent can be overpowering for some people. Might I suggest something milder, like the cinnamon and vanilla?”

  The polite tone managed to convey an air of pressure and urgency, and it jerked Brandy from the morose direction her thoughts had taken.

  No divisions were courting her.

  Nobody had offered her a position.

  As of yesterday, she didn’t officially have an assignment or belong to a division. She was “on leave” for the holidays and not due back in the office until next year. In twelve days, she’d report to the Detroit Field office and hope the shards of her shattered rising star didn’t jab her in the ass too painfully.

  “I’m fine.” Brandy brushed off the salesperson. The shop was teeming with people scrambling for last-minute gifts. She moved to the next bin, and she jerked her mind away from the abyss. Tomorrow she was going to drive to Minnesota to spend a week divided between her parents’ house and her brother’s house. At least they both wanted her.

  Or they were taking turns so that neither of them was stuck with her for too long.

  Brandy brushed away that feeling. She had a great relationship with her parents and brother, Reid. Even Kennedy, her brother’s husband, loved spending time with her. The two of them met up for coffee whenever she was in Minneapolis.

  “Um, ma’am?”

  The sales girl had moved to the next bin with Brandy.

  With a sigh, Brandy glanced over. The girl couldn’t be more than twenty. Her long brown hair was twisted into a braid that r
an diagonally across the back of her head and fell over one shoulder, and fringe bangs covered her forehead. She regarded Brandy with a knowing eye, which caused Brandy to sigh again.

  Not another psychology major. Avery knew how to keep her observations to herself unless they would be helpful to their case. This girl had the hubris of youth on her side, and she wasn’t afraid to offer her opinion.

  “Look, I don’t need help. I’m capable of smelling soap all by myself.” The scents in the store were giving her a headache, but Brandy wasn’t leaving until she found the exact pine-and-sandalwood scent that Reid loved.

  “It’s not that.” The young woman leaned closer. “I, um, I think there’s a guy following you. I didn’t know if, like, you knew him, or something.”

  So lost in her thoughts, she’d forgotten to be vigilant. For the past eighteen months, she’d been dealing with an on-again, off-again stalker. He was good—avoiding surveillance cameras and even the efforts of Brandy’s team to track him. He’d leave things on her porch or on her car when nobody was looking, or he’d send a package of photos of her to the McNamara building, and whenever they got the smallest lead, he’d disappear for months on end. They’d discounted him as being connected to her investigation of The Eye because the incidents were so sporadic and nothing seemed to be related to organized crime. The stalker had also never tried to communicate with her outside of photographs and “gifts” of stolen merchandise from stores she visited.

  Brandy picked up a bar of soap and sniffed it. The pine was mixed with spearmint. She wanted sandalwood. “Without looking, describe him.”

  The woman bit her lip, but she didn’t tip her hand to the possible stalker. “He’s maybe thirty. Maybe five-seven. Brown hair, cut short, maybe a half-inch? My brother has the same haircut. He uses too much hair gel. The guy, not my brother. Um, red plaid shirt. Blue jeans. He’s kind of cute, but he doesn’t look like he’s very nice. He’s looking at the strawberry body washes.”

  “Pine and sandalwood,” Brandy said. “Where is it?”

  “What?” Her eyes darted around, and she dropped her voice. “Strawberry is in that weird-shaped corner near the front window.”

  Brandy was facing the rear of the store. She went around the small barrels and boxes holding various soaps to position herself better. Immediately, a familiar scent let her know she was closer. “Ah—here it is. Mountain mist. I’ll take a few of these, gift-wrapped please, and do you have a matching foot lotion?” Kennedy liked to complain that Reid’s feet were like sandpaper in the winter.

  “Um, yeah.” The young woman bent to retrieve the lotion from a lower shelf, and Brandy surreptitiously let her gaze wander the store.

  Immediately, she picked out the man in question. In their investigation, they’d picked up precious few surveillance photos, and none of them were good enough for any kind of identification. This man had the right build, but that was all she had to go on.

  With a small smile, Brandy thanked the young woman for her vigilance and paid for her purchases. If this man was stalking her, then he was going to follow her everywhere. Given the holiday season, she could justify going into any type of store. If he stayed with her, then he was her guy. Perhaps today wasn’t a total loss. She was going to turn the tables on this guy. Once she confirmed this was her stalker, then she could set a trap and bring his ass in.

  There were dozens of people who wanted this man’s head on a platter.

  But first, she had to make sure she had the right man. There were plenty of legitimate reasons he might be out in a store and looking in her direction every now and again.

  To be sure, she tucked her jacket and scarf tightly around her, and she strolled down the street, leisurely peering into shop windows. She went into a toy shop, an antique store, a women’s clothing store, and a tobacco shop. Every time she emerged, she found him lingering nearby. He even followed her into a few of the larger stores.

  This downtown shopping district had parking behind the stores, so each strip had indoor and outdoor walkways leading to the rear entrances to facilitate the flow of shopping traffic.

  In the alcove leading to a hair salon, a jewelry store, and a Mediterranean restaurant, she slipped out the back way for this last test. Ducking around the corner and plastering her back against the dark brick, she waited. This spot was fairly hidden from view, so her arrest wouldn’t attract a crowd or endanger bystanders. Her heart beat with excitement.

  Brandy didn’t need Avery to tell her that she enjoyed living on the edge just a little too much. It was that love of danger that had landed her a job at The Company. That was before she’d lost three team members during a mission in Iraq that had gone horribly sideways. She hadn’t been in charge, but she hadn’t let that stop her from accepting the blame.

  That’s when she’d met Jordan Monaghan. He’d been part of the Delta Force who’d rescued the survivors. When she’d transferred to the FBI for a change of pace, she’d convinced him to join her team at WCCU.

  The man in question emerged within sixty seconds, jogging out a few feet before pausing to sweep his gaze over the parking lot. People, holding onto bags and the hands of children, hustled through the frigid temperatures to their cars. Fragrant pollution from a place that smoked their meats drifted from a ventilation pipe near her feet.

  The guy was a little taller than the sales woman had estimated. Brandy put him at around 5’9. But the rest of her description had been accurate. He looked a little familiar, but she wasn’t sure if that was from all that time spent looking at still images and surveillance footage or because she’d actually run into him before.

  “Looking for me?” She tapped him on the shoulder and stepped back to put a little distance between them.

  He turned, a wry twist to the bashful smile lifting his lips. A short, quiet chuckle fell out as he shook his head. “Agent Lockmeyer, you wouldn’t believe the number of times you’ve almost caught me.”

  She was glad to see that he wasn’t going to play an innocence game. “You’re under arrest. Lay down on the ground.” She reached for her gun and her phone.

  “I wouldn’t do that.” He took one step closer.

  “Don’t move,” she cautioned. “I will shoot you.”

  “No, you won’t.” He laughed again. “I’ve seen your file. You’re not much for killing.”

  She hadn’t threatened to kill him. To neutralize him, she could aim for his knee. “Face down on the ground.” She trained her gun on him while calling headquarters to report the incident. “Now.”

  The tiniest breeze reached her wrist, and it didn’t feel like it came from Mother Nature. A millisecond before the second assailant’s foot made contact with the hand holding her phone, instinct had her whirling. Her leg came up, and she landed a solid kick to the kidney region of the second assailant’s back.

  The first guy jumped into the fray. Brandy’s training had her fighting them both, and she hoped someone would call for backup. After all, they were in the parking lot servicing a busy shopping district on one of the busiest days of the year. There was no way onlookers hadn’t spotted the attack.

  She brought the bag of soap around to nail her stalker in the face, and such witty thoughts as, “Here’s soap in your eye,” sailed through her head, a distraction she didn’t need. Brandy had never been one for bantering as she fought. She was focused and precise.

  Conversationally, she could be witty or snarky. But right now, all her energy was going toward taking down two men who had been trained in hand-to-hand combat. This fight was not proving simple. Okay, the goal was not to win, then. It was to prolong it until backup arrived.

  If they arrived.

  Hadn’t anyone heard them by now? Brandy might not call out funny lines while fighting, but she wasn’t quiet. She vocalized to maximize every punch and kick.

  They landed many more hits than she did, and they had her pinned much too quickly. She might be trained, but they were better. She screamed, hoping someone nearby would help,
but she heard no indication anyone had noticed the scuffle. There were no shouts of outrage coming from anybody but her.

  This was the downside of choosing a spot that wasn’t in the open.

  A hand clamped over her mouth, cutting short her scream, and the butt of a gun—her gun—slammed into her head. The world went black.

  Chapter 2

  A throbbing in her temple roused her while also making it painful for her to open her eyes. The rhythm and hum coming from the ground below let her know she was in a vehicle. Given her position, she figured she was on the floor of a van or SUV. Probably a van. If she was going to kidnap someone, she’d use a van because even with tinted windows, an SUV lacked privacy. And the van could have the name of a utility or cable company printed on the side because people tended to be dismissive of them even when they noticed their presence.

  Wiggling her wrist, she found them bound tightly behind her back. Her ankles were also bound, and a tug revealed that her ankles were bound to her wrists. Being tightly hogtied wasn’t a pleasant position. Her shoulders and knees protested with sharp aches.

  Though it was quiet, she knew she wasn’t alone. She forced her eye open to find her stalker watching her. Light filtered from the front of the van, criss-crosses marking the metal grating that separated the cargo area from the driver.

  The guy smiled, an eerily cheerful expression that crinkled the corners of his eyes. “Rise and shine, sleepyhead.”

  She peered at him, her practiced gaze assessing her happy captor. “Who are you?”

  The grin dimmed. “Agent Lockmeyer, really. I’m so disappointed. Then again, you didn’t even know I was stalking you for the first six months. It was only after I started leaving gifts and sending packages that you noticed me at all.”

  Brandy processed his boast somberly as she searched her memory for when she might have run across this guy. He was younger than her by at least a decade, and he’d never worked for the FBI. She couldn’t recall his face as having been part of an investigation. And yet, he seemed familiar from more than just the surveillance footage.