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If that made me as bad as him then I didn’t have a problem with that.
If it made me evil when his body started to steam from the force of the electricity ramming its way through his muscles, then I’d take that too.
“He’ll die if you don’t stop,” Conor informed me, his voice calm.
I released my rigid hold on the cattle prod, aware that Conor hadn’t undersold the strength of the weapon in my hands.
Little judders ricocheted through Reinier’s body in the aftermath, as if his nervous system were still responding to the surcharge of energy.
Picking up the flashlight I’d laid on the ground by our feet as we set this place up, I took a step into the shipping container, turned around to face my peeps, and said, “I’ll see you on the other side.”
Conor frowned. “I still think this is a bad idea.”
D clapped him on the shoulder. “That’s because you still ascribe to the patriarchal belief that men need to fight women’s battles for them—”
As Troy slammed the door closed behind me, a whistle of wind drifted into the space, sharp and bitter as I flicked on the flashlight.
It was powerful, another of Conor’s designs, and it lit up the disgusting pit that had been Reinier’s home for the last few weeks.
“The sweet smell of piss and shit,” I drawled, unsure if he could even hear me, uncaring if he couldn’t. “How well I remember it.”
I moved to Reinier's side and levered a foot beneath him to turn him over so that he was facing down in case he started seizing and choked on his fool tongue.
Retreating to the door, I leaned against it. “I never imagined when I enlisted that was something I’d acclimate to.”
And that was the sorry truth.
It hadn’t been the sex slave part of my past that had made me adapt to the most perturbing of sights and smells.
Nah, that had been on Uncle Sam’s dime.
And the best lesson they'd taught me?
Swipe Vaporub on your top lip.
Helpful, right?
For a good twenty minutes, we stayed there like that. Me leaning on the door, him face down, all while outside, I could hear Troy, Dead To Me, and Conor arguing as they prepared for Foundry's and Smythe’s punishments.
Working as a team on this was strange, awkward almost. But good. Ordinarily, I’d be in here and there’d be no one out there. I was used to that, well at ease with the solitude of working alone, yet that didn’t mean this didn’t feel right.
“Who are you?” The words were slurred. Weak.
I didn’t believe the fragility of his tone. He was running on adrenaline. Reinier knew what this had been—his only chance of escape.
“That you don’t recognize me hurts my feelings, Sheridan. I mean, you went to so much effort to eradicate me, you’d think you could remember who you tried to destroy.”
If my voice was bland, free from emotion, then so be it. If I lost control now, I’d just watch him fry on the floor of the shipping container like a piece of human bacon.
I had that in me. That rage. That hatred. And Conor had armed me with the tool to make it happen.
God, I needed to kiss him for that later—I had the best boyfriend ever.
Okay, fiancé.
Reinier finally flopped onto his back then peered at me with heavy-lidded eyes. “Star Sullivan,” he said after a long time of just staring at me.
“That’s right, Sheridan. Do you want points for remembering?”
