Page 7 of The Wild Charge

A thought that he would have to unpack and examine later.

Tenny stepped up into the trailer. “I’d tell you not to try anything funny,” he said, “but then I wouldn’t get to have any fun.” He grinned in that sharp, eerily inhuman way that Fox did, sometimes.

It must have unsettled Luis, if the way his sneer slipped was anything to go by.

They got him up, and between them marched him down out of the trailer and across the floor toward the chair. His knees buckled twice and they heaved him forward; Reese didn’t know if it was because his legs had gone numb in the trailer, or if he was crippled by nerves. They pushed him down in the chair, and held him there, hands on his shoulders, while Carter stepped forward and secured him to it with duct tape at his ankles, his wrists bound behind the chair back.

Then they stepped away.

All but Tenny, who had thislook, fingers still knotted in the fabric that covered Luis’s shoulder.

“Tenny,” Reese said, and earned a huff, a roll of eyes – but a step-back, too.

They cleared a space – Reese maneuvered so he was at Tenny’s side, close enough to grab at him if he lost his head again. Reese didn’t think he would, though; that last time hadn’t been about the interrogation at all, Reese didn’t think, but about inner turmoil.

Mercy stepped forward, smacking a pair of pliers against his palm.

Luis made a brave show of not reacting, but Reese saw his throat move; saw the sweat begin to gather at his temples.

“Luis,” Walsh said in a bored voice, pen poised and ready. “I don’t think I have to explain this to you, but I will anyway. I have a list of questions for you, about your plans, and about Abacus. Each time you refuse to answer, Mercy here is going to make you answer. Do you understand?”

Mercy chuckled darkly. “Please,pleaserefuse to answer.”

Luis stared at Mercy, and though he kept his face admirably blank – it was a kind of blank admirable only in a civilian. In someone who’d never been in this position. Someonesoft. Reese could see the fear behind the trembling mask, swore he could smell it.

He didn’t think it would take much to push him over the edge.

Walsh said, “Your father is Doug Cantrell?”

Luis glanced toward him, frowning. “You fucking know that.” Gone was the superior, suave persona, the cockiness he’d flaunted on their previous encounters. Now he was cornered, and angry, and snappish.

“Only checking,” Walsh said, unperturbed. He hadn’t looked up from his clipboard. “Did you offer an alliance with the businessman who calls himself Mr. Shaman?”

Luis huffed. “You know that, too.”

Mercy stepped in close, a sudden movement, and gripped a fistful of his long hair; jerked his head back until he bared his teeth in pain and terror, rather than challenge.

Mercy rested the cool metal of the pliers against his chin. “When I say you get extra points for being a smartass: trust me, that’s not something you’re gonna want,” he said, his accent deep, his tone low and dark, and anticipatory.

Beside Reese, Tenny whispered, “Jesus.” He sounded impressed.

Luis gulped audibly.

“What did you want with Shaman?” Walsh asked, tone harder, now.

Luis looked, for a moment, like he meant to hurl another retort. But Mercy still gripped his hair, the pliers still against his chin. He swallowed again and said, “He seemed like the kinda guy who would appreciate what we’re doing.”

Mercy turned loose of him – Luis gasped – and said, “Elaborate.”

Luis offered one more mulish look – until Mercy grinned at him, then he turned toward Walsh and started talking.

“If Shaman thinks his background is some big secret, then he’s kidding himself.” He wasn’t sneering anymore, but he didn’t seem able to check the derision in his voice, at least not all of it. “Everyone knows he used to be a whore.”

“Watch yourself,” Mercy threatened, gesturing with the pliers.

Walsh said, “Who is everyone?”

“Abacus. The very powerful people you pissed off by dragging me here and keeping me locked up in a horse trailer.”

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