threat. Way too much in her opinion but Fitz was the overkill king. There was no way eight men…
No , she corrected herself as her gaze cut to the man lying in front of her. There was no way seven men could decimate the forces sent after them. Not unless they were adding some Chuck Norris and Rambo DNA into the Lycan mix these days.
Wilson whistled. “Fuuuuuck me. How many made it back?”
“Not many…and most of the survivors are in the infirmary. The place is rammed. So if you got any walking wounded, I’d get your section medics to deal with them until things calm down.”
“Yeah, sure thing. We just got some cuts and scrapes. Nothing serious though. So…you going to let us through or you want to flirt with me some more? We’re carrying a live Lycan and I know the boss lady’ll want him in a cage before the bastard can wake up.”
“What the…” The guard’s tone sharpened at the mention of a Lycan. A second later the gate buzzed, and Toni’s enhanced hearing picked up the whir of the motors as it started to lift. “Why didn’t you say something, man? I’d have let you straight through.”
Wilson chuckled. “What, and deprive you of the pleasure of my charming company?”
“Dickwad.”
“Asswipe.”
“Fucktard…now get through. Beer after shift?”
“You bet your ass. It’s your round.”
A clunk rolled through the metal frame as Wilson put the truck into gear and it lurched into motion. Toni leaned her head back for a second, watching out the open back of the truck as the guard waved the others through after them. But when Wilson turned left just after the gatehouse, the rest of the convoy turned right, peeling off toward the motor pool.
She took a deep breath, and then another. At least she had a couple of minutes before they rolled up to the labs to get herself together. The truck leaned and wove over the damaged road surfaces around the outside edges of the camp before reaching the loading area behind the labs. Fitz’s camp upgrade had ended with the defenses and the main areas. The roads were still shit, puckered with holes, and half the barracks were falling down. The barracks didn’t bother her—they were used to house the Lycans anyway—but it would have been nice to be able to drive around the base without feeling like her spine was being jack-hammered into her skull.
Not long now though.
She swept a glance over her prisoner again. Darcy. What an odd name for a guy these days. She could only assume that his parents didn’t like him, had a sense of humor, or wanted to toughen him up in the schoolyard by giving him a feminine-sounding name. Possibly all three.
The truck slowed and pulled to a stop. Hearing the handbrake come on, Toni moved to the back to start undoing the tailgate. Idly, she listened to the sound of Wilson’s footsteps as he headed into the lab to grab some medics and a trolley. Preferably one with bad-ass straps on it, because when Foster woke up, he was not going to be a happy bunny.
The last latch gave and the tailgate swung down to smack into the bumper mounts. A metallic clang rang through the air, the blow reverberating through the vehicle. She shot a glance at Foster, just in case he’d regained consciousness. He’d seemed out of it, but she’d made that mistake too many times already today. He lay still, sprawled across cold metal like a rag-doll. Only the rise and fall of his chest and the warm, vital, wild scent filling the small cabin assured her he was still alive.
Corpses smelled different to her, even ones where the heart had just stopped beating. It wasn’t just a smell, it was a feeling—as though the dead part within her could recognize its own kind. Guilt clawed at her chest, trying to get a purchase. It would be easier for him if he was dead. At least he’d be beyond whatever Fitzgerald and the Project could do to him. Beyond forcing him to betray the men in his squad, because she had no doubt that he would talk. They would make
No , she corrected herself as her gaze cut to the man lying in front of her. There was no way seven men could decimate the forces sent after them. Not unless they were adding some Chuck Norris and Rambo DNA into the Lycan mix these days.
Wilson whistled. “Fuuuuuck me. How many made it back?”
“Not many…and most of the survivors are in the infirmary. The place is rammed. So if you got any walking wounded, I’d get your section medics to deal with them until things calm down.”
“Yeah, sure thing. We just got some cuts and scrapes. Nothing serious though. So…you going to let us through or you want to flirt with me some more? We’re carrying a live Lycan and I know the boss lady’ll want him in a cage before the bastard can wake up.”
“What the…” The guard’s tone sharpened at the mention of a Lycan. A second later the gate buzzed, and Toni’s enhanced hearing picked up the whir of the motors as it started to lift. “Why didn’t you say something, man? I’d have let you straight through.”
Wilson chuckled. “What, and deprive you of the pleasure of my charming company?”
“Dickwad.”
“Asswipe.”
“Fucktard…now get through. Beer after shift?”
“You bet your ass. It’s your round.”
A clunk rolled through the metal frame as Wilson put the truck into gear and it lurched into motion. Toni leaned her head back for a second, watching out the open back of the truck as the guard waved the others through after them. But when Wilson turned left just after the gatehouse, the rest of the convoy turned right, peeling off toward the motor pool.
She took a deep breath, and then another. At least she had a couple of minutes before they rolled up to the labs to get herself together. The truck leaned and wove over the damaged road surfaces around the outside edges of the camp before reaching the loading area behind the labs. Fitz’s camp upgrade had ended with the defenses and the main areas. The roads were still shit, puckered with holes, and half the barracks were falling down. The barracks didn’t bother her—they were used to house the Lycans anyway—but it would have been nice to be able to drive around the base without feeling like her spine was being jack-hammered into her skull.
Not long now though.
She swept a glance over her prisoner again. Darcy. What an odd name for a guy these days. She could only assume that his parents didn’t like him, had a sense of humor, or wanted to toughen him up in the schoolyard by giving him a feminine-sounding name. Possibly all three.
The truck slowed and pulled to a stop. Hearing the handbrake come on, Toni moved to the back to start undoing the tailgate. Idly, she listened to the sound of Wilson’s footsteps as he headed into the lab to grab some medics and a trolley. Preferably one with bad-ass straps on it, because when Foster woke up, he was not going to be a happy bunny.
The last latch gave and the tailgate swung down to smack into the bumper mounts. A metallic clang rang through the air, the blow reverberating through the vehicle. She shot a glance at Foster, just in case he’d regained consciousness. He’d seemed out of it, but she’d made that mistake too many times already today. He lay still, sprawled across cold metal like a rag-doll. Only the rise and fall of his chest and the warm, vital, wild scent filling the small cabin assured her he was still alive.
Corpses smelled different to her, even ones where the heart had just stopped beating. It wasn’t just a smell, it was a feeling—as though the dead part within her could recognize its own kind. Guilt clawed at her chest, trying to get a purchase. It would be easier for him if he was dead. At least he’d be beyond whatever Fitzgerald and the Project could do to him. Beyond forcing him to betray the men in his squad, because she had no doubt that he would talk. They would make
Similar Books
