Beca's PoV

Beca was mad. Beyond mad. So mad that she knew looking Jesse in the eye would result in her fingers around his throat and that little hidden knife up her sleeve dug deep into his chest.

Her fingers never shook when she strangled someone.

Or aimed a gun, or held a knife.

Funny.

And God, sitting here, with less than a metre between her and the fucker who just (figuratively) stabbed her in the back? Yeah, not helping. Really, she was counting down the seconds until she got to kill him.

He'd betrayed her. Both as a professional ally and a... friend? No, not a friend. Beca Mitchell doesn't have friends. None. Ever.

She was still allowed to be mad though.

Chloe - the angel - kept on trying to catch her eye in the rear-view mirror, but Beca refused to acknowledge her, partly because this was her attempt at pretending not to care about the beautiful redhead seated in the passenger seat, but also because a small part of her knew that at times like this her eyes were probably diluted with bloodlust, and the scary glint that would simmer in them was almost definitely not attractive, and would either disgust or scare the hell out of Chloe. Jesse was on the list of people to ignore too, but she could practically feel him staring at the side of her head, waiting for her to look at him and trigger a stupidly apologetic string of word vomit, not unlike the past ones that the boy was almost famous for.

Posen was being ignored too, but that was more because Beca generally didn't like her, and would therefore never willingly exchange a polite conversation with her.

Unless it was about killing people, because Beca knew a lot about that. Really, she had to stop thinking about it.

Her fingers were twitching, not due to the horrific nerve damage previously inflicted on them for once - because her body literally ached from withstanding the urge to plunge her hidden knife into Jesse's face.

Over-reaction? Most likely. Justified? Hell yes.

He'd spent $15,000 of stolen money on drugs over the past 6 months, part of a scheme him and the idiot in the alley had thought up, and now the Silver Bullets had realised and sent their topdogs - including Bumper fuckin' Allen - after the two for ripping them off. So now Beca would have to pay his debts off for him, beat the shit out of him for going behind her back for a little bit of extra cash with the bonus of a couple free scores, and write some stupid motivational speech about how - even though they just lost a member - the Quick Skulls would soon win this ridiculous 3 year-long-and-still-going turf war.

Usually Beca would leave it at that. In fact, most of the time she'd simply hand over which ever moron had lied to her right into the arms of the Silver Bullets, just to see if the fucker came out the other end in one piece, but Jesse gets special treatment because - despite being unable to do anything else right - he was possibly the best guy to have behind the scenes, clicking his way through a firewall and being the best all-round tech nut in Barden.

But because Jesse was insanely valuable, she had to protect him, no matter how stupid he could be. And so dumping him in the police station where she could keep an eye on him and ensure he was safe? Perfect plan.

If it weren't for the fact that she was still daydreaming about slaughtering him for angering their biggest enemy whilst they were in the middle of a crazy gang war.

"Let's not be lyin' now Becs, we both kno' your only really mad 'cos he did drugs without tellin' ya."

She internally sighed. Hi to you too John.

"Plus he knows 'bout ya' moth'r, which means he prob'ly kno's your gon' mess him up bad for pullin' the same crap I did."

Well, cutting right to the chase then.

Jesse cleared his throat, snapping her out of her thoughts but not prompting her to face him. The window was way more interesting and capable of mantaining an intelligent conversation.

But some people just can't take the hint.

"Becs... um, I'm sorry." He spoke timidly, fear all too present in his voice. Both Chloe and Posen visibly perked up in the front of the car.

Deep breaths. Deep breaths...

And maybe for once the universe decided to do the estranged criminal a favour, because right before Beca turned to shove his head out of the window - glass shards be damned - Posen pulled up into her reserved space outside the brick building and parked efficiently.

Beca instantly sprung out of her seat, slamming the car door a little too forcefully, and strode purposefully towards the main entrance of Barden's Police Station, completely ignoring the two cops that exited the vehicle seconds after she did and the criminal struggling to get out of the car with his handcuffs on behind her. Let him struggle. He deserved it.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

It was weird sitting in an interrogation room without handcuffs. Beca was so used to pairing small, poorly lit rooms and moronic, easily manipulated detectives with cold metal clamped around both wrists, sometimes digging deep enough to break skin and allow little pools of blood to stain the steel - and so sitting here, alongside the cops? God, it was beyond strange.

Really, the lighting seemed different on this side and everything.

Jesse looked remarkably uncomfortable, to her amusement, and Beca was trying to hold back a smirk.

Smirks either meant two things when Beca made use of them: she was going to either fuck you or kill you.

The first option was disturbing. Imagine Jesse - ew.

The latter was a little too tempting.

"You've really gotta' stop tryna' kill ya' friends Becs, we talked about this before y'know."

Chloe sat on her left, with Jesse seated across the desk visibly wincing at the cold metal chair he was forced to sit on and hesitantly making fleeting eye contact with them.

Coward.

Beca knew that Posen - who had given her a stern look as if to say 'don't you fucking dare kill him, or I'll bury you where no-one will ever find you' when they had briefly made eye contact in the corridor outside - was watching from the other side of the dark glass, no doubt with multiple armed officers accompanying her.

Beca scoffed slightly under her breath. They actually thought they could stop her if she tried to kill him? They hadn't even realised that the clothes she was wearing - and the knife tucked up her sleeve - were all courtesy of a hundred bucks in exchange for a quick bag swap. Or that she'd stolen a warden's key to her cell last night and could - at any time she wanted - leave. Or that she had the backstory of almost every cop on the team memorised incase blackmail became an option in the future.

Cops were the epitome of unobservant.

But, Bumper - unlike her - didn't have the guts to bring in the boys in blue, and so staking out in Barden Station? Beca was proud of herself for that one.

Jesse didn't look proud in the slightest; more like terrified.

Beca's resolve broke and she flashed him her 'I'm about to kill you' smirk, and he visibly trembled.

But maybe the beautiful cop sitting next to her picked up on her twisted intentions, and quickly interrupted the silence that had decended by briefly listing both his name and the date for the hidden recording device - where the Hell did they even put those things? - and then starting the interview as if the air wasn't tense with excessive urges to kill on Beca's part and pathetic needs to run on Jesse's.

"I'm Detective Chloe Beale, this is my temporary co-worker Beca Mitchell, and we need to ask you some questions concerning both the nature of you relationship with Bumper Allen and why he would target you." Jesse nodded affirmatively, attempting to relax but unable to in the crudely designed chair, "Firstly, it is common knowledge that you have worked with and alongside the Quick Skulls gang, can you detail what exactly you specialize in, if anything?"

"Really, what he 'specializes' in? Jus' knock him 'round the head a couple times, do 'im some good."

The boy - he was actually the same age as Beca but she would never acknowledge it - glanced at Beca, momentarily disregarding his fear of being murdered by his boss and hesitating long enough for the eye contact to be percieved as a silent question: "The truth?".

Beca nodded, confident that him explaining his job and all it entails wouldn't be too big an issue.

He spoke briefly, carefully, as if ensuring nothing he said have away too much. "I deal with the computer stuff, y'know. All the logging and research. Becs tells me what to do, I do it - usually I have no clue what she'll use the info for, but the pay's good."

Beca saw Chloe nod out of the corner of her eye, but didn't let her death gaze wander from Jesse.

"And what was your relation to the latest victim? We have sources that claim you worked with him."

Correction - a source of varying reliability.

Jesse wasn't watching Beca anymore, instead watching the table in front of him as if it held the keys to the universe, "I did, once," he rushed to emphasise the solidarity of his actions, "and it was a mistake."

Beca snorted, but her knee shortly recieved a nudge from the redhead's that hit just hard enough to be percieved as a warning. A silent 'shut the heck up'.

"Why did you do it then?" Chloe persisted.

"I needed the money. Our... society, was in a bad place finance wise, and Fernand - the dead guy - offered me money and... drugs."

"How long were you using for?" Beca cut in, voice a steely contrast to the comforting nature of Chloe's - who turned to give her a sharp look but didn't interupt her.

Jesse gave her an apologetic look, and replied, "6 months? -Ish? It wasn't anything serious, just a ploy for some cash that came with excess material."

"Idiot. Fuckin' kill 'im already."

"You know the rules, right?"

"Fuck yeah he does!"

Chloe interrupted her border-line hardassment to say, "what my temporary colleague means is, were you aware that by doing so you were essentially aiding an enemy gang?"

Jesse hesitates. "No...?" He speaks unsurely, sinking slowly into his chair.

Beca laughs without a trickle of genuine amusement, because - seriously - this guy was so full of shit. "Stop lying through your fucking teeth; you just lost me a shit ton of money through selling fucking Heroin behind my back, under my fucking name and then proceeded to take most of it yourself!" She yelled, voice increasing in volume as she rose from her chair, the redhead next to her attempting to interrupt but being overwhelmed by Beca's anger.

Jesse too rose to his feet, suddenly losing his temper as well as his reluctance to speak out against her, "What - are you suddenly gonna' kill me 'cos you were too caught up in your own grief to keep track of your damn records, eh? You shut us out in the middle of a fucking war, what did you expect me to do!"

"Kill 'im."

The door kicked open and Posen rushed in, followed by a familiar looking officer who instantly rushed for the argueing criminals. Beale was attempting to restrain Beca, who was struggling against her, arms reaching around her (remarkably fit) body to grasp Jesse's shirt over the table. His cuffed hands struggled fruitlessly against her as she tightened her grip as best as she could given the cops holding her back around his neck, and he frothed profanities at her.

Beca could hear Posen's piercing voice calling for the pair to stop, and Beale's hands had joined Jesse's in trying to pry away her fingers from the boys bruising neck. She was barely aware of the familiar looking uniformed man with earing scars - oh yeah, Tom - grabbing her waist, pulling her back and pinning to the wall behind her, parrallel to the tinted glass on her left. She lost her grip on the boy, and he staggered backwards, gasping.

Posen was suddenly there too, snapping a fresh pair of cuffs over her wrists as Tom held her arms still in front of her. She could see Jesse sitting back down calmly, or as calmly as he could after nearly being choked to death, and mentally cursed him for possessing the self-control that she clearly didn't, as she continued to fruitlessly fight, while cuffed, against the two officers holding her.

The last thing Beca saw before being shoved out of the room and rushed down the corridor was the redhead returning to her designated seat, ignoring the toppled one (when did that fall?) and watching Beca leave with a melancholic glint to her eyes.

For a second the degenerate criminal thought it could be sympathy, perhaps sadness, but, then again, who the Hell could give a shit about her?

A dead man's voice answered her inner thoughts, "No-one."