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CONOR
The body bags on the ground started shuffling.
It’d have been amusing if it weren’t creepy as fuck.
“That antidote worked fast,” Troy muttered.
“Updated version,” D answered. “Good shit, right?”
Troy grunted. “I wish I’d had that in Mombasa.”
“That little issue with the US ambassador over there was you?” D inquired.
She sniffed.
D and I took that as an answer.
“I think I need to address the fact that you’re all my heroes,” I drawled.
“Heroines, dude. Get it right,” D corrected, kicking Foundry when, screaming, his hands scrabbled against the fastener from the inside out. “Shut the fuck up, you piece of diarrhea splatter.”
“Love the imagery,” Troy slotted in.
“I thought it was fitting,” D agreed with another kick when Foundry’s hysteria was shoved up another notch. “If you don’t shut up, we’ll just never let you out of the fucking bag, prick.”
His heaving breaths slowed down, but there was a whine behind them as if, in the next couple minutes, he’d be sobbing for his momma.
Smythe, by comparison to Foundry, was still, but he was talking to himself. Low mumbles that, I assumed, were supposed to calm him down.
I jerked in surprise when, from the shipping container, a scream echoed around the clearing.
Troy chuckled. “She’s still got it.”
D shot her a smug look. “I told you.” To me, she muttered, “You didn’t break her.”
I blinked. “She’s cracking his nuts?”
D cackled. “That’s a euphemism.”
“I’m not sure I want to know,” I mumbled, barely refraining from cupping myself because I knew if I did, these two would find that hilarious.
“You probably don’t,” Troy confirmed. “Lots of ways to torture people without spilling a drop of blood. Star used to—”
As if Star wanted to make it known that she agreed with her, Reinier screeched out his agony at whatever she was doing to him, stopping Troy from finishing her sentence.
For once, I wasn't altogether desperate for an answer.
“On the positive side,” D mused, “it’s shut these two fuckers' traps. Guess they know it’s best to stay off the radar before they’re dished up for the entrée and dessert.”
The body bags were still now. Smythe wasn’t even mumbling anymore. Not that staying small and quiet, no matter D’s spiel, would save them from their fates.
They’d signed and sealed that deal years ago—it was being delivered to them today.
Justice was mighty fucking sweet sometimes.
Their eternal resting places had been dug out after Star had locked herself in with Reinier.
We’d gotten confirmation that this place was a dead drop because Troy had uncovered a small lean-to that housed a mechanical digger.
