Page 73 of Sloth
Movement behind him drew her attention. Her sister took hold of Max and dragged him away, and the worst thing was, he let her.
“Max!” Louder this time.
No response, only his back turning on her. Only the sight of his broad shoulders hunched as he walked away.
Sloan struck the glass. Pain engulfed her fist, but she soaked it up, stored the memory of the knifelike sensations for later use. Her skin was protected, just bruised. She punched again, this time, shattering the window, but with all modern vehicles, the glass was tinted. A film held the window together, only letting her wrapped fist through. It was enough for her voice to carry. “MAX!”
His shoulders lifted, tensed. A whispered word from her sister, a warning perhaps. He kept walking and got into an awaiting car. Range Rover. Black. Dark tint. License plate…no plates.
The stench of kerosene wafted into the car, snapping Sloan’s attention back to her immediate surroundings. A new sense of panic rose. White robes flashed in her periphery. Two Faithful, one on each side of her car. The moment the car drove off with Max inside, they sloshed kerosene on her car. The horror of what they were about to do dawned on Sloan.
Max must have made a deal for their safety.
That damned dumbass sacrificed himself and, despite this, whatever deal he had made, they weren’t going to keep it.
If she couldn’t get out, they would burn alive.
Resolve hardened in her gut. Leaning back, Sloan kicked out with her boots. The entire window flipped out of the car.
Snarling and full of rage, Sloan dove through the gap. Tucking and rolling, she somersaulted onto the concrete lot. She landed awkwardly on her shoulder and pushed the pain outward in a reckless arc, hoping Beatrix would be safe inside the vehicle. She didn’t wait to find out. In one swift movement, she whipped her gun out and aimed at the two sniveling Faithful, moaning on the floor in a puddle of spilled kerosene. Flammable. The puddle connected with the car. She couldn’t shoot. Too dangerous. Instead, she hit the closest Faithful with the butt of the gun. He passed out.
She tugged the white mask off the second Faithful. Beneath was a scarred and puckered face. He’d already been burned alive. He knew the pain it caused, and he was about to do it to an innocent girl. Anger bubbled in Sloan’s blood and she grasped him by the scruff at the neck.
“Where did she take Max?” Her voice cut like a knife.
The man ignored her, just peered vacantly to the right of her face.
“You wanna do this, asshole? I can make you hurt.”
He brought his gaze to hers. “Pain is a construct.”
“Yeah it’s a fucking construct, and I’ll construct it right up your ass if you don’t answer me.”
“Nothing you can say will make me betray my makers. Nothing you do to me will be carried to my next life.”
She let loose. Her fist smashed his nose, spurting blood everywhere. She did it again. And again. He laughed through it all, which made her even more furious. “Where did they take him!” she shouted, shifting her hold on his robe to hold him up.
He craned his neck to lean closer and peer into her soul. “You can’t hurt me.”
“You’re insane!” Sloan shoved him to the ground. He laughed and laughed, giving her a perfect view of blood covered teeth.
She roared in outrage and paced up and down next to him.
She needed him to talk. Gritting her teeth, she pointed her firearm at his head, but he just smiled calmly.
He wanted to die.
The knowledge hit her like a sledgehammer.
A few months ago, Evan had first encountered the Faithful in the streets of Cardinal City, and he’d discovered they’d all made an agreement with the Syndicate. These sick, injured, scarred, deformed and disabled people made deals to become virtual suicide terrorists, all so their DNA would be used to bring them back as healed, and genetically enhanced new beings. Clones of themselves, but better. Replicates, was the name they’d been called. Wyatt’s psycho ex Sara was a replicate. She’d killed herself in a bomb. Her DNA had been salvaged from her dead body, and used to create another version of herself, except that version had an expiration date. The replicate project hadn’t gone according to the Syndicate’s plan.
Evan had destroyed the replicate lab.
They thought the replicates were done… but from the sound of this fanatical man, he still believed he would come back as a demigod among men. Then, the only thing that would get him to talk, wasn’t to threaten his life, but to keep him alive.
A slow grin formed on her face. “Oh, you’ll talk all right.”
His smile dropped.
