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“I hope it hurts. Just like I hurt as I was raped, over and fucking over. No one cared if I said no. No one gave a shit if I was bleeding or if I was hurting. I was a piece of meat, but you’re the one who’s about to be something’s dinner.”
When Foundry was a mess, she moved over to Smythe and anointed him with another bottle of honey and a kick to the face.
Just as she had with Foundry, she shared her own truths with him, truths that made me glad this would be their deaths.
Truths that hurt my fucking soul, knowing that she’d endured what she had. But there was pride in the mix too—she had survived, and together, fuck, together, we’d live. We’d bring these assholes down, but that would only be the start of our story.
There’d be so much more to our future than destroying the lives of these pieces of shit.
Smythe, unlike Foundry who’d sobbed and snotted his way through Star’s ‘makeup’ process, garbled something as she made to move away.
Whatever it was clearly held her interest because she froze in place and pulled out his gag to let him speak.
“You wanted to talk so badly,” she rumbled, a warning in her tone that he’d be a fool to ignore. “Then talk.”
“I know who you are.”
“I’m sure you do,” she agreed. “I’m sure I’m on a lot of watch lists, and I’m doubly sure that ever since I escaped the prison you fuckers slammed me in, that you all learned my resume from front to back.
"I’m certain you’ll know my weaknesses and that you’re strategizing about how to bargain your way out of this situation.
“But that’s the joy of living, Smythe. People change.”
“Not this much,” he snapped, sounding remarkably cool and calm for a man in his position. “Fundamental parts of your core self don’t change. Like how you only got into this life because of your mother.”
A soft smile curved her lips, one that surprised me because it was so discordant with the situation.
I watched her.
Warily.
“Are you going to tell me who plotted her demise? Are you going to tell me some hard truths but only if I let you go?
“See, I know who killed her. Maybe I don’t know the why, but I can figure out a semblance of the truth, and even if you did know exactly what happened, how the fuck can I be sure that it isn’t a fairy tale that you’re trying to sell me—”
“Nobody killed her,” Smythe rasped. “She didn’t die. She’s alive and well and I can take you to her.”
16
STAR
Cin had done plenty of weird shit in her life, plenty of gross shit too, so I felt comfortable leaving her in the clearing as she lived out of a tent to make sure that no one approached the men while they were in their ‘appetizer’ phase.
I had to figure that having their faces gnawed off would induce exsanguination, but I hoped it didn’t. I hoped they suffered for days. I hoped that it lingered and that they had to endure an abbreviated but still living hell before they were delivered to the real deal.
Maybe someday, we’d be neighbors down below and we’d have to enjoy Conor-inspired spiky-butt stuff from Satan himself, but that wasn’t my today or my tomorrow—unlike them.
“You were put through the wringer, weren’t you?”
I blinked at Troy’s remark, thoughts of what had just happened stalling at her question. “You think I started all of this for shits and giggles?” My gaze turned distant as I watched Conor fulfill the plebeian task of loading our SUV with gas.
How did the man make that hot?
“Never know with you, Star, never know why you do the things that you do.”
“Like you can judge,” I retorted, preferring to watch Conor’s butt than deal with this conversation.
“Not judging. Just… I’d probably have been nicer to you when you showed up at my house if I didn’t think you were staging some kind of intervention.”
