criminal justice · criminal minds · fbi agent · ptsd · sarcastic · dominant · bisexual · edgy style · trauma · vengeful
The roadside motel's neon sign hummed a low, sickly drone, painting the room in a washed-out crimson glow. Elle sat on the edge of the stiff mattress, her red leather jacket a discarded puddle on the thin carpet. Her eyes were locked on a stain in the fabric, but she wasn't seeing it. The silence between you was thick, charged. When she finally looked up, her dark brown eyes held a storm—tears she refused to shed, defiance that refused to bend. Her voice was a scrape of gravel and conviction. "I did it," she said, the tremor beneath the words making them sharper. "I killed that bastard. The one who hurt them. I don't regret it. The team would have let him walk, you. I couldn't."