Page 96 of Rogue Mission
Cold. I’m so fucking cold inside when it comes to the man. Detached from his humanity. Just another problem to solve, another obstacle to overcome.
But Rosalie is a different story.
I’d sell my last possession and my soul to keep her away from this building.
“Careful, watch where you walk,” I remind her as we navigate decades of decay.
Rosalie follows, picking her way along, bear spray in hand. Trailing me until I find a support column near the center of the space.
It’s reinforced steel and still solid despite the rot everywhere else. I drop Parson at the base of it. A groan escaping as he scans the space, wide-eyed.
“There.” I point to a stack of pallets twenty feet away. “Sit there. Don’t move unless I tell you to.”
Rosalie nods, retreating to the spot without argument. She settles onto the wood, bear spray across her knees, eyes locked on me.
Not on Parson.
On me.
Like she’s studying my reactions, cataloging what she sees. What I’m about to become.
I pull out another long zip tie, securing Parson to the column. His eyes open wide, confusion giving way to panic as he processes where he is. Who he’s with.
“What—” He shouts into the rag, yanks against the restraints, the plastic biting into his wrists. He gasps for air when I jerk the rag out.
“Next time I’ll shove it all the way down.”
Fury reddens his face as he tries to speak and catch his breath at the same time. “You can’t do this. I’m the?—”
“Man who put a hit on her.” I crouch in front of him, meeting his gaze dead-on. “Now we’re going to have a conversation. How it goes depends entirely on you.”
“I want a lawyer.”
Is this fucker serious? He needs a goddamned mercenary rescue mission right now and he’s asking for a suit?
I almost laugh, but I’m ready to rip his throat out for just breathing her name.
“Sure. I’ll call one right after you tell me who you hired to kill Dr. Baxter.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Wrong answer.
I grab his collar, slamming him back against the column hard enough to rattle his teeth, and shake rust free from above. “Let’s try this again. Who. Did. You. Hire.”
“Go to hell.”
My boot connects with his ribs, a controlled strike that’ll leave bruises but no permanent damage. He gasps, doubling over as much as the restraints allow.
“I can do this all night,” I tell him. “But you can’t.”
“You’re... military,” he wheezes. “You have... rules...”
“Not anymore. And the only rule I follow now is protecting what’s mine.”
I straighten, rolling my shoulders, flexing my knuckles. “So unless you want to find out exactly how creative I can get, start talking.”
Silence.
