Chapter 27

Hiccup paused momentarily at that statement. He frowned before dismissing his hired muscle with a wave of his hand. The men filed out of the room, leaving just Heather, Mala, and him.

"Now with the extra ears gone, we can speak more freely," Hiccup stated as he folded his arms. "As a gesture of goodwill, Heather will cut your bonds," he indicated. Heather produced a silver butterfly knife and stalked towards Mala. The DEA agent froze and then frowned when the ropes binding her were cut.

"Why are you doing this?!" Mala asked, now free, though Heather kept a hand on her shoulder to keep her from lunging at Hiccup immediately.

"Partially to gain your trust and partially because I know you won't attack me if you want answers," Hiccup answered honestly, which floored Mala for a moment. She clearly was expecting some grandstand monologue or blackmail. "How about we start from the beginning? A question for a question,"

"What do you mean?" she frowned while still glaring at Hiccup.

"I ask a question, you answer truthfully, you ask a question, I answer truthfully." Hiccup deadpanned. "Haven't you ever wondered why the DEA never cracked down on my operations if I was such a prolific drug dealer? Was your undercover OP even sanctioned by your boss? Where did your backup go?"

"Though, remember. I am only being this lenient because of your former colleague." Hiccup added. "She put in a good word for you when news of your capture reached me."

Mala gulped at the implication. There was never any hard evidence linking Hiccup Haddock to any murder or missing persons report, though the way he framed it...

"Very well," Mala said through gritted teeth. She, too, glared at Heather, who still had her hand planted firmly on her shoulder and the butterfly knife ready to use in case of a threat. "What is your question?"

"Why did you decide to become a DEA agent?" Hiccup asked as he crossed his legs.

"Excuse me?" Mala blinked, confused. She had expected to get right into the thick of it, but not to be questioned about her choice.

"What motivated you to become a DEA agent?" Hiccup rephrased. "Heather told me you were a go-getter from the start. A rookie who had her pick of the departments. Why DEA?"

Mala paused for a moment, gauging Hiccup before responding, "My foster brother Throk. He died of an overdose. I was an only child at first until my parents decided to foster. Throk came to live with us. His mother was absent and his father was a druggie. At first, we didn't get along, though later we bonded over our love of cooking," she muttered. "Throk was supposed to go places. He had dreams of becoming a chef. DCS removed him from our care when his father got clean. I was sad to see him go. It was only years later, when I was about to join the police academy, that I found out he'd died of a drug overdose," she uttered. "Apparently, his father was clean, but only for a few months. He would send Throk out to get him weed and meth. Throk got in too deep, dropped out of High school and started peddeling the shit," she grunted, still glaring. "He started taking it too, as his old man beat him if he didn't bring home enough money. It was a vicious cycle, and he ended up taking his own life when he was 22."

"You wanna know the fucking worst part?" Mala asked. "That bastard of a so-called father, when he found out, actually wanted to sue my parents for control of the money they had set aside for Throk to attend Culinary school!" Mala's eyes hardened. "I chose Vice and DEA to get these drug lords off the street.

"I couldn't agree with you more," Hiccup said, shocking Mala. "I have my own personal issues with drug dealing, and there are reasons why I don't allow it in my territory. Now ask your question,"

"How did you lure a good cop like Heather to your side?" She asked as she glanced behind her. "I remember you from my days in Vice. You kept your head up even with all the silent judgment. I appreciated the advice you gave me. It saved my behind a few times. So why?"

"I just made her an offer she couldn't refuse," Hiccup leaned back. "If Heather wants to share with you her backstory, she will. Something like that is not mine to tell. Just know that she came willingly to my side upon seeing the true depth of the corruption within the Berk Police department." Mala looked towards Heather, but the black haired woman simply shook her head. Hiccup respected that. Mala might be curious, but she hadn't earned the trust for Heather to divulge her past.

"My turn again," Hiccup remarked. "Tell me where you found these drugs with my family's insignia."

Meanwhile, across the city at Astrid's office, the day had begun as usual. Ever since the news broke out, there have been stares. Curious stares, envious stares, and uncomfortable stares. It was nearing noon when Astrid walked into the break room to fill up her thermos with some of the swill that was office coffee. Hiccup had spoiled her with his imported Arabica blend. Ryker made an amazing Galão, and surprisingly, Snotlout had good taste as well. The conversation near the watercooler stopped as she walked into the room. Three ladies from her department stood there, silent, staring. Truthfully, Astrid was getting fed up with this.

"Take a picture. It will last longer," She grumbled. The ladies turned away quickly, but they stayed huddled together as she poured her coffee and added three teaspoons of creamer.

"Are you alright?" One of the ladies spoke up suddenly, startling Astrid.

"Excuse me?" Astrid blinked, now confused.

"You aren't being forced, are you?" The second one asked, clutching her hands around her mug.

"Forced? What? Where is this coming from?!"

"Uhm, well, you know the rumors surrounding your boyfriend, right?" The third asked, rather bravely, too.

"Rumors are rumors," Astrid replied tersely. "You shouldn't believe everything you hear." 'They probably should, but Hiccup never leaves any evidence behind,' she thought absent-mindedly.

"We're just worried that you aren't being treated right!" The first one spoke up again. "You still drive that beat-up old car of yours, and well, you don't wear any brand-name clothes,"

"Is he treating you alright?" The third asked once more.

"Are you seriously shitting me?!" Astrid growled as her eyes narrowed. "The times I arrived in my fiancé's town car or the times I came to the office wearing a Chanel suit, he got me all I got were jealous stares, sugar baby jokes, mean comments, and whatnot!"

"Yes, my soon-to-be-husband likes to spoil me, but it's you lot that judge me for wearing his gifts," she hissed. "What was it Alexa from Accounting called it, oh yes, wearing clothes above my means,"

"I have a lovely son, an amazing fiance that encourages me to be financially independent, a best friend that has my back and I hers. I shouldn't give a rat's ass about what you lot think, but I did. That stops now." she growled. "And for the record. That beat-up old car. I bought that with my own paycheck when I was struggling as a single mother. It's that car that got Hiccup and me together in the first place! Who else can say they met their husband by hitting them with their car?"

"Uhm," One woman gulped at Astrid's furious display.

"If you think being treated well by your partner means that they have to buy you brand-name stuff, then that's your inner gold digger talking," she continued. "Hiccup cooked for me just because he wanted to. He's tender and caring when I am sick. He goes out of his way to ensure that Damian and I are happy. I honestly couldn't ask for a better man to be my future husband. I don't need some silly Burkin bag to feel loved. You lot should seriously reevaluate your standards." With that, Astrid walked out of the breakroom without looking back.

When she got back to her desk she flopped down in the chair, kicked off her heels under the desk, and pulled out her sandwich. Perhaps she should take up Hiccup's suggestion of finding a new job. Her colleagues were making up all kinds of outlandish rumors and even her boss was tiptoeing around her as not to incur her fiancé's wrath. She hated to say it, but she actually missed her retail job and her former colleagues there.

She was nearly halfway through her sandwich when her cellphone vibrated on her desk. The caller ID showed that it was the VP of her son's school.

"Hello?" she answered, confused and worried why the school was calling her in the middle of the day. Countless thoughts ran through her mind. 'Was Damian sick? Did he get into a fight?'

"Miss Hofferson," the male voice on the other end asked.

"This is she,"

"I am afraid that there has been an incident concerning your son. Currently, your assigned security is holding them off but there are two people here, claiming that they are the boy's grandparents and wish to take him out of class."

"Where is my son?" she asked as she stood up, sandwich forgotten.

"Still in class, ma'am, though his teachers have been notified, as these people have not been registered on your approved list of who we can release your son to," the VP replied. "The altercation with your bodyguards is getting rather heated and school security has been alerted to step in and get the authorities involved if the situation becomes physical."

"I'm on my way," She said before ending the call and grabbing her handbag.