Pay It Forward Criminal Minds Novels & Stories

I pray I am playing the part well. “After You’ve Gone” begins to play and I close my eyes and allow the words to crash down upon me. The mental image moves around me and I am no longer here, no longer on this dance floor with these dangerous people. I am only a bird, free and angelic, flying somewhere far away. “Open your eyes,” Comes the demand and I am suddenly back, shackled and empty. Domenico stands there, a look of contempt on his face. His fingers are wrapped around a glass of whiskey, certainly not his first of the night. I pray he is not a violent drunk.

He turned and hurried back to the guard station, phone pressed to his ear. ​It’s happening. ​I walked to my cell. My heart was beating a slow, steady rhythm of anticipation. I sat on the bunk. Tiny was gone, probably in the yard. ​I was alone. ​I stared at the ceiling and counted. ​One. Two. Three. ​The Kill Switch wasn't instantaneous in its social effects. It took time for the notifications to hit. It took time for the wire transfers to fail, for the automated payments to bounce, for the vast, intricate web of bribery Thomas Parker had built to snap.

And that’s enough for me. “I’ll pay you back little by little, I promise,” Camile says firmly. “Don’t even try to argue. Spare us the fight.” I laugh softly and nod. I know she’ll spend her life dropping every spare penny into my account. There’s no stopping her. “All right. We’ve got a probable address and the amount Be owes. Now…” I say, determined, “we just need to find the guys.” “No. Not that. It’s insane to go to some place we know nothing about.”

"Nine years ago. One meeting. One payment. He was twenty-three and it was peripheral and it didn't get flagged because it was too small and too isolated to seem significant." Cameron looked at the name. He looked at the case summary. He looked at Nyla. "The experience didn't make him worse by accident," she said. "He already had the seed of it. The meeting with Robert's network, the payment — something was already there. And then the return—" "Accelerated it," Cameron said. "Or freed it," she said. "From whatever was keeping it managed." She looked at the name on the page. Thirty-two years old. Four years since the clinical death. Three years of being whatever the return had made him, operat

"First, she wired five thousand dollars to my account for good-will and for something the authorities would see when and if I was caught, as the original payment for the crime I commited" "So there's more?" I asked with an arched eyebrow and he nodded. "I was only to do the act IF Mia gets caught before she um- she kills the woman. I was instructed to only act if she gets arrested. " He hung his head in shame as my anger boiled again. This all could've still be avoided. "You were going to kill an innocent woman? That's completely against what you PLEDGED! How many murderers have you taken down huh? Now you want to be one of them?"

Ian muttered, fiddling with his tie. Zhedya just smirked. "You'll get used to it. This is your world now." Then the parade started. Zhedya dragged him from one stuffy suit to another. "Commissioner, meet Ian Parker. The genius behind 'Feral Minds'. He took down the Swift Strangler, you know. My brilliant boy." Ian wanted to sink through the floor. My boy. The words felt like a collar. Across the room, Callista watched it all go down with a bad feeling in her gut. Zhedya never let Ian breathe.

"Good. I will wire the first payment tonight." The line went dead. I did not move. Could not. Every nerve in my body was screaming at me to run, but my legs had forgotten how. I stood frozen in the shadow beside the door, listening to Adrian set his phone on the marble counter. Listening to the zip of his toiletry bag. The ordinary, domestic sounds of a man who had just arranged his brother's murder like it was a line item on a budget report. Wire the first payment tonight. He was already paying someone. It was already in motion.

"I'll beat you to death, you piece of trash!" I crouched on the ground, clutching my head as blood ran from my nose down past my lips. Despair filled my chest. What did I even do wrong? I kept asking myself. It was just two letters. How did that turn me into some unforgivable criminal? Then I suddenly remembered something a friend once mentioned. There was an underground therapist out in the suburbs. Someone who specialized in handling… strange cases. With nowhere else to go, I took the few hundred dollars I had left and followed the address my friend had given me.

Thіѕ man whо calls hіmѕеlf an unсlе whіlе gіvіng tо charities, іѕ at hеаrt the worst type оf сrіmіnаl. Everything I’vе learned from Sаrаh’ѕ dіаrу and Blаkе’ѕ іnvеѕtіgаtіоn соmеѕ tоgеthеr іn mу mіnd lіkе a gіаnt рuzzlе. Sоmеhоw, wе’vе bееn рullеd іntо the web of a mаѕtеr сrіmіnаl.

I walked up to them, they held their gun tight and requested for an identity verification. "Hey, hold it. Where's your ID?" They asked. "Fuck am showing you my ID for?" My voice protested, taking my facial expression on the same path. They looked at each other and faced their front, like I wasn't there. Like I never existed. They had the fucking gut. "Allow me. I have an unfinished business with Jigsaw. He hooked me up with some old pal and I'm here to pay him back, in kind…" but the heavy and disturbed chorus in my voice said otherwise.