I looked back to the boys, and Desmond was cringing, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe what I’d done. Holden seemed completely unsurprised. He crossed his arms and quirked his head to the side, listening as the echo of my rage petered out and vanished altogether.
When silence reigned again, I pulled my sword off the table, making sure to grind the blade against the metal so it screamed out in loud frustration. The blade wanted to be fed, and the weapon and I were of a single mind. Soon it would drink its fill, and we would both be satisfied.
“You think calling me names will solve your problems?” Her voice seemed to shift with every other word, ricocheting from surface to surface so quickly I couldn’t get a read on her location.
“Speakers,” Desmond grumbled. He must have been trying to pinpoint her as well. The speakers were in pretty damned fine condition for her to sound like she was right next to us and not talking through a radio.
“I think hiding behind your victims makes you a coward,” I shouted back, trying to match her volume.
“Do you know what they call a room like this?” she inquired.
Hell?
I refused to answer, but she went on anyway. “It’s a killing floor. Isn’t that a marvelous phrase? Usually it’s where they bring the animals to die, but in your case I think it’s almost the same thing. Not quite human, are you? No. And I hear Secret’s secret is out now. Loose lips.” She laughed, though it wasn’t as maniacal as I had imagined it might be. At a different stage of life—and if she wasn’t plotting to kill me and those I loved—it might even be a nice laugh.
“First of all, I’ve read Fast Food Nation, or at least parts of it, and it’s called a kill floor, not a killing floor. Second, stop playing your stupid mind games, Mercy, I’ve had enough.” I’d read precisely two chapters of Fast Food Nation before finding it too boring to continue. There’s not much that can shock me about food, considering I don’t eat human meals. Poop in the ground beef? No big deal, I don’t eat burgers. Once the sensationalized aspects of the book proved less than titillating, I stopped reading.
Who knew the few pages I’d flipped through would ever give me ammunition for a sassy quip?
“I see your attitude problem hasn’t diminished since our last encounter,” Mercy said.
“It’s probably gotten worse,” Holden muttered.
Nice. Thanks for the support, peanut gallery.
“You mentioned my so-called idiot henchmen earlier. I guess that was your way of saying you’d like to get to know them.” Two doors at the front end of the barn opened, and the silhouetted figures of six men filled the doorway.
That was it? This was all the men she had with her? Once we beat them down, we only had to find Mercy, get Grandmere and this whole ordeal would be over. Three against six wasn’t so bad.
Then the back door slid open. Ten more men stood there, the two wolves on choke-chain leashes. I’d been joking when I suggested tying them up.
A whistle sounded from overhead, and I looked up. At least six more men were positioned in the loft above us, and one of them had a sniper rifle aimed right at me. The handy red laser sight told me he was gunning for my heart.
I recalculated.
Three against twenty-two. Plus two wolves.
Yeah.
Our odds were great.
Chapter Thirty-Two
“Okay. This looks bad,” I announced.
“You think?” Holden replied.
“We’re not even considering if there are more outside.” Desmond might have been trying to help, but I didn’t like to imagine that we might survive the frying pan only to end up crisped by the fire.
“Fuck.” I had too many target options, and none seemed like the best place to start.
The group from the front of the barn advanced forward and the ten at the back fanned out, making sure we were trapped from all sides with no obvious exit path.
I’d have thought about fleeing through the loft if it wasn’t for the guys with guns waiting up there.
“Isn’t the sniper rifle overkill?” I asked the guy who was putting a little red dot on me. “I mean, honestly. You’re like fifteen feet away from me, and you need a scope and a laser sight? That’s pretty pathetic. I hate to use an apt cliché here, but I’m betting you couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn without those bells and whistles.”
“Shut up,” he growled.