That she hadn’t succumbed to systemic shock hours ago was a marvel—and plain testament to what the damn serum did to people. I’d know. I also tried very hard not to remember, which was impossible, considering the task at hand—ha!—and how much my fingers hurt, phantom pain included.
As we stepped back from the chair and its restrained prisoner—the wrist cuffs long having given way to rope around her elbows for practical reasons, also serving as a light tourniquet—screams were replaced by quiet, defeated sobs, which was ten times worse. I refused to even glance at Hamilton, instead focusing on Nate where he still leaned against the opposite wall, arms crossed over his chest, his body seemingly at ease, his eyes never leaving Cindy.
“Tell me about Nyah,” he said, deceptively calm. It was everything but, of course, seeing how Cindy tensed—and then went slack in her bonds. Her head lolled to the side as she sniffled into her shoulder, taking a few labored breaths before she turned back to Nate.
“What about her?” Judging from her tone, she was stalling. I was tempted to give her an incentive to keep talking right there—I didn’t know the name, but I could take a good guess at who it had belonged to, and that made me want to go all kinds of violent all over again. As it was, refraining from wiping the sweat off my brow and consequently smearing blood all over my face—again—was what I left it at.
Nate’s stare turned harder—if that was even possible—the line of his jaw standing out. “Why did you fucking kill her right after dragging her out of my cell?”
The mental image his words conjured up wasn’t pretty. I could downright taste his desperation and frustration as the guards held him down, forcing him to watch as that bitch executed the only person who had shown him any kindness—who had, maybe, even become a friend—right in front of his eyes. So much for feeling pity for her.
Cindy snorted—something I hadn’t expected. The smirk crossing her face was way too satisfied for anyone’s good, and it seeped right into her tone as she responded. “Why, isn’t that what you do to a used-up, old nag? You put it out of its misery?” For a second, I thought Nate would finally break his stoic stance—that he must have been vibrating with the need for violence was clear, at least to me. The measure of self-restraint it must have taken him not to give in was impressive, and just a little scary. It sure belied the amount of poison that I knew must still be coursing through his veins. But, if anything, stubbornness and spite kept him rooted in his spot, not giving her the satisfaction of taking her bait. When Cindy realized that, she let out a small laugh. “Don’t you get it? Any of the girls sent up from the kennels to the arena had long since lost any use for anything else. They only ever got served up to scum like you when they were too used and broken and diseased even for the lowlifes that made the barn their extended living room.”
The implications of that made me want to punch her all over again. This was exactly what they’d had planned for me if I hadn’t managed to break the hold the drugs she’d given me had on my mind and killed myself out of a glorious future of getting raped to death. It was impossible for me to shake off the horror of seeing Nate this way one last time; not for me, but for him. When we’d sprung him two days ago, he’d seemed composed enough—and except for tearing that asshole’s head off yesterday, he hadn’t lost control for a single moment—but I could tell from the way the tension in his body changed that he must have come to the same conclusion, and didn’t like it one iota better than I did. There was no need to staunch jealousy; just because he’d cared about that woman didn’t negate what we had. I felt like we were way beyond worries like that.
Good thing that I wasn’t in control, because Cindy might have managed to goad me into action this way. Nate remained calm as he went on questioning her. “If you had no other use for her, why not leave her with me?”
“And reward you for what, exactly?” Cindy taunted. “Be glad I killed her. That way I absolved you of the decision whether you’d eat her or not. Or should I say, I made it for you?”
Surprisingly, it was Bucky who gave a jerk at that, if where our captive couldn’t see him. Nate barely glanced at him—not enough to call it a warning—and I realized that the reason it was the three of us in here wasn’t just because of the phenomenal chemistry we had going on, but maybe also because of the information we extracted might not be great for the public at large to hear, unprepared.
Nate’s silence seemed to have been some kind of signal I missed, as Bucky took a step forward so he could aim another jab to Cindy’s left temple that got her head snapping sickeningly to the side, blood that had previously stopped spurting coming afresh from her nostrils. Maybe I should have felt worry at the fact that it seemed more like retribution than encouragement, but I was beyond that. Cindy muttered a curse under her breath, briefly trying to crane her neck to glare at Bucky, but Nate’s next question stole her attention.
“Care to tell us now why you chose to work with these assholes? From what I heard, you were a passingly competent NCO in your time.” She didn’t react to the barb, but Nate didn’t look fazed by that. He quickly glanced to me before going on. “Spare me the sob story of how you had to so you’d escape worse. We’ve had plenty of time talking to the girls you oversaw. You weren’t the one who showed them what little kindness they received.”
I had been surprised to hear that, while not exactly being sorry that the madam who’d run the brothel died, most of them had seen her as the lesser evil. They had been very forthcoming with pointing out that dear Cindy here had quite lived up to the task of being their enforcer.
It was impossible to miss how Cindy tried to look at Hamilton once more, but he kept his distance now. When she realized how futile her attempt was, she looked back to Nate. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
“Only passingly,” he responded. “But I’m sure someone will help you remember, if you need the incentive?”
She visibly jerked with apprehension, what little fight she’d showed leaving her with a labored exhale. If I had to guess—and there wasn’t much actual guessing involved—she was in too much pain to want to add to that.
“Honestly? Bad luck, just like everyone else,” she muttered. “You think your little ragtag band of misfits had it bad? Being in the army wasn’t much better. I lost more friends and comrades the second summer than when the shit hit the fan. My tour should have ended that first winter but they didn’t even give us a weekend of leave, if only to curl up and hide from the world for a sec. The toll got too high. So when someone suggested a way to drop off the radar, I took it. Just my luck that the alternative proved to be even more of a shit show than what I’d run from.”
I was a little surprised to see an expression on Bucky’s face that he usually reserved for me only. Great that in his view I was right up there with deserters. “I think that’s called karma,” I told her succinctly. “And reportedly, she’s a bitch.”
I shouldn’t have felt that thread of satisfaction at seeing her flinch at the sound of my voice, but didn’t find it in me to regret it. Cindy didn’t bother with glaring at me; instead, she switched gears—and I hated how honest and raw she sounded as she started to plead with Nate.
“I beg you, please end this. Yes, I get it—you hate me. And maybe I deserve it—”
“You absolutely do,” I happily supplied.
Another shaky exhale, and she continued. “Yes, I deserve it. I could have done what others did and acquiesced; only did what I was forced to do. But it’s not like they didn’t spare me, just because I got a promotion. I got caught in the same web that you did. Cortez made me an offer, and I was stupid enough not to read the fine print and expect the ramifications it came with. So maybe, a few times, my fear and frustration found ways to escape that made others suffer more. And maybe, sometimes, that made me feel a little better for a moment, like I had power. Control. Don’t tell me you don’t know exactly what I’m talking about! I watched you fight in the arena. I watched you change. There was a time when you only fought
to survive. What you did yesterday? And the day before? Nobody made you go all out and not just kill, but execute your opponents. I may be guilty, but so are you.”
If she thought she could get under his skin with that, she was sorely mistaken… or was she? It hurt my very soul to listen to her accusations and see Nate not even try to protest. I wanted to jump into that breach for him—insist that, of course, things had been different. For one, he hadn’t done a thing to play along—but his silence made me cut down on the impulse. Whether he believed her or not was anyone’s guess, but he must have had a reason not to laugh in her face.
Surprisingly, Hamilton spoke up when neither of us did. “Yeah, because starvation for weeks at a time is no motivator at all.” I didn’t miss the glance he sent Nate’s way before he stepped into Cindy’s field of vision, taking over. That was concern, and not the kind that I was used to—sarcasm twined with disdain, usually centered around Nate’s choice to stick it out with me. Rather than let her explain or respond, Hamilton hit her again, hard enough that something crunched—and I doubted that had been his fingers. Cindy seemed dazed rather than just hurt as her head lolled to the side, blood dripping onto her stained dress. Hamilton used the opportunity to push a jaw spreader into her mouth. I hadn’t seen him pick it up. He sounded almost pleasant when he turned to me. “Get the pliers.”
I didn’t hesitate but felt like another layer of sanity fled from my mind. No idea why the prospect of tearing out her teeth next skeeved me out more than what we’d already done to her; maybe because I’d gotten so used to my own shortcomings that I no longer saw them as the most horrible thing in the world. I told myself that at least I wouldn’t be the one using the pliers, since I lacked the manual strength for that. See, everything is good for something.
Cindy took that moment to shake off the daze, only to realize that because of the jaw spreaders, answering wasn’t something she could easily accomplish anymore. Judging from the sequence of grunts and moans, she was regretting not having talked more when that had been an option. A small part of me waited for either Nate or Hamilton himself to stop and give her a chance to rectify that, but the expression on Nate’s face was truly unforgiving. I wondered if that was the consequence of Cindy’s barb hitting home—that if he wouldn’t allow himself redemption, he certainly wouldn’t grant it to her.
I realized I was okay with that. Maybe that made me a horrible person—but at least I was in good company.
Eventually, Hamilton eased up on her and let Cindy talk, and talk some more she did—if even more slurred than before, hampered by agony and swelling—but she might as well have kept her trap shut. The problem was, what she had told us was valuable information—and confirmed some of my guesses—but at the same time was utterly useless. Almost everyone she could implicate was dead, or wishing they were. Everything led back to the same: Cortez had been one manipulative fucker who had gotten off on reveling in the worst that humanity had to bring to the table—but there had been no other rhyme or reason to it, no method to the madness. And while horrifying in itself, “because he could” didn’t help us at all, neither to make sense of this nor to plan ahead.
Maybe Scott and his team had been more successful today with some of our other guests, but as it was, I couldn’t shake off the feeling that I’d just sold my soul for nothing.
Three of the marines came to drag Cindy back to her cell—or what was left of her. The serum would keep her wounds from becoming septic, but we’d banged her up enough that, just maybe, she’d die because of that. Or not. I couldn’t quite find it in me to care about her. With no reason to remain in this fucking room for another moment, I wordlessly turned on my heel and walked out into the dark tunnel beyond.
“Good job,” Hamilton called after me, the usual goading tone back. And all was right with the world again. “You’d make a half decent interrogator if you did a better job imitating me.”
I forced myself not to turn back and instead keep walking—for three more steps, before I hunched over and hurled up what remained of my breakfast, the heaving so strong that I needed to brace myself with both hands against the roughly hewn wall. Bile followed, and I still wasn’t done, the heaving painful as it ran dry. My entire body was shaking by the time I managed to straighten, only to find that I had garnered a small audience. Hamilton of course couldn’t leave me be, and Nate hovering behind him wasn’t much of a reprieve. But I could have done without Pia and Andrej joining them, with Andrej at least giving me a pained, sympathetic smile. The Ice Queen did her best to ignore my antics, instead conferring with Nate in hushed tones—and handing me a bottle of something green and vile looking as soon as I was done.
“Here, drink this,” she needlessly stated, her tone leaving no question to the order.
I closed my eyes for a moment, swallowing hard to check if my saliva would stay down, and then downed the whole thing in a few sips. The consistency was thick, not quite like a smoothie, and from what little I could smell I was quite happy not to be able to taste it. As I finished the bottle, I saw that both Nate and Bucky held similar vessels, both still half full, and Hamilton watched with horrified fascination as I licked up the last drops. “You really can’t taste that shit, eh? And here I thought Richards was jerking me around when he told me that.”
I refrained from pointing out how little I gave a shit about who had told him what about me, and instead turned to Pia. “Any news?”
She shook her head, not even hesitating for a second to consider if some tidbit or other might have been worth sharing. “We have rooted out another ten of Cortez’s guards and middle men who hadn’t tucked in their tails yet and left in the night. Two still refuse to talk, but the others seem to have given up hope so they decided it was easier for them to stay.”
“Hope for what?” Maybe it looked to them like our victory had been quick and easy, but the truth was far from it. And who would come to rescue them, anyway?
Pia shook her head, disbanding my unspoken theories. “Hope, in general. We have yet to round up anyone who puts up more than token resistance. Whoever has been running operations is either dead or left before we could accost them.”
“Sounds like Harris will have an easy time running this shit show,” I surmised.
Pia looked less than impressed with my assessment. Andrej grinned, but it wasn’t a nice expression. “He just might,” he pointed out. “If there’s anything left to run. Most of the scavengers don’t sound too keen on settling down and getting involved with the grueling day-to-day of running a settlement now that you’ve shut down their prime entertainment.”
Too bad. Even worse, I couldn’t find it in me to care.
“So, who needs dismemberment next?” And my, didn’t I sound chipper?
The Ice Queen’s pinched expression let me know that I was fooling no one, as much as I tried to pretend like this wasn’t killing me. “Scott and his men aren’t done yet,” she explained. “We will meet in the central room by the kitchen in thirty.”
“Outstanding!” Hamilton enthused, going as far as clapping his hands together once. Without waiting for our reactions, he turned around and strode down the corridor. Pia kept eyeing Nate and me critically, but at Andrej’s nod she joined him in following Hamilton. Nate meanwhile finished his bottle with barely held-in disdain, leaving the empty container by the door of the interrogation room. I did the same, attempting to follow him—and made it exactly eleven feet into the corridor, to where Nate grabbed my hand and pulled me into a different room, shutting the door with emphasis.
Yeah, not socializing for a while sounded like a great idea.
Chapter 2
My mind was sluggish switching from revulsion to anything else, and my stomach definitely wasn’t very agreeable with what it had been fed, but I did my best to push all that aside in favor of getting ready for some…
…of Nate leaning against the dusty table shoved into the glorified maintenance room, his head hung low but turned to the side so he could study me,
arms crossed over his chest. It was awfully close to relief that I felt as I sagged against the closed door, meeting his gaze levelly. Dread clawed up my throat—and, right now, I preferred that to what else could be resurfacing—but did my best to shove that away to where I could continue to ignore it. I must have done a shit job considering how Nate’s jaw tightened, making me raise a hand.
“Give me five more minutes and I won’t barf in your face when you fuck me on that table.”
A wry grin appeared on his face for a moment. “Don’t you think I’d be more considerate? I would have turned you the other way round.”
That dragged a chuckle out of me, but it was hard to hold on to the light, warm glow appearing in my chest. “Very considerate, indeed.”
We kept staring at each other for several seconds straight, and I so could have done without the vibe of defiance that seemed to be coming off Nate in waves. Things had always been so easy between us—sure, emotionally mired in layers upon layers of complicated shit, but deep down, underneath all that where the base animal brain lurked, we’d always crashed together and fallen into step with each other seamlessly. That had been my mental fallback for way longer than I cared to remember, an unshakable union, more death-do-us-part than any spoken oaths could ever be. And now all that space was filling up with things unsaid—or said too much—and that rattled me more than the self-loathing still riding my conscience… although that didn’t help.
“Talk to me,” Nate more offered than snapped, making me even more annoyed. At my frown, he grimaced. “It won’t undo the damage, but it will help take the sting out of it.”
Retribution: Green Fields #11 Page 2
