“I’ll be dead. But Errol will still be a dirty cop who killed himself. You won’t have a life to go back to, and you will have become what I am, the very thing you hate,” I said.
“I’ll never be that,” he replied vehemently.
“But you are. You are already. The girl. Milan’s roommate. You killed her?”
Benton glared at me, then nodded.
“Who else? How many others?” I asked.
“Enough,” he finally said grudgingly.
“So you see, you and me, we’re exactly the same. Except I never killed anyone who didn’t deserve it. Never killed anyone like Tiffany, a complete innocent. Can you say the same?”
“No,” Benton said, shaking his head. “I’m nothing like you. I didn’t have a choice.”
“Like your partner? Like all the other people who take my money and still think of themselves as noble? You had a choice, Benton, and you chose. I hope you can live with it,” I said.
I watched his expression as it shifted from rage to calm back to rage. He went silent, his face a twisted mask of rage, and then he lunged at me.
I braced myself, and when his shoulder impacted mine, I held myself rigid to keep from crashing into the wall.
He began poking at my already swollen eyes, and I twisted my body, putting my shoulder between his arms and my face. As he continued to grapple, I made my way up, the metal of the cuffs grinding against the pipe and making the most horrific noise.
Benton held me tight, tried to pull me down, but I went up and up until I was finally on my feet.
He punched, scratched at my face, but after I stood, I kicked his knee, the sound of the joint giving away ringing loud in the room. His anguished cries filled the empty room, but I kicked him again, listening as the tendons were pulled off the bone.
He fell down then, landed on one knee, his other leg hanging at his side grotesquely. Still, he didn’t give up and twisted his body and begin to crawl toward me, frantically searching his pockets for something as he tried to get closer.
I crouched down, weaving to avoid Benton’s ineffective swipes at me. When he lunged at me, I took my opening.
Using every inch of give in the cuffs, I reached for him and caught his neck in my hand. His skin was slippery with sweat, but I held strong, digging my fingers into his flesh.
He struggled to get away from me, eyes wide, but I didn’t let go and instead kept pushing.
“Don’t! You’ll die here—”
His words ended abruptly and erupted into a scream of agony as I broke the skin on his neck and began to claw at what I found there. Once I crushed his voice box, there was nothing.
I let go of his limp body and stared at him as I swiped my blood-sticky hand against my pants.
His was a death I wished I could have made last longer. He’d threatened Milan, killed her friend, tried to do the same to me. Added insult to injury by being stupid and sloppy about it. He’d caught me unaware, had gotten me off balance, but he’d squandered that advantage, all out of a desire to make me understand his reasons.
Fucking moron.
Why didn’t matter, all that mattered was the result. If he’d been saner, smarter, he would have known that and killed me when he’d had the chance.
I wiped my hand against my pants again, watched as the blood pooled under his body. I hadn’t wasted my chance like he had, and because I hadn’t, I would get to see Milan again.
I looked away from Benton and turned in a slow circle.
Now all I had to do was find a way out of this room.
Thirty-Four
Milan
“Can we ask?” I said.
Senna shook her head. “No. We wait,” she said.
It had been hours, what felt like countless hours, but she didn’t seem perplexed, or even annoyed.
I, on the other hand, was about to come out of my skin with worry.
“Don’t worry,” she said.
I must have scowled, for she chuckled. “I know, easier said than done. But even if Maxim won’t help, don’t worry about Priest. He always did take care of himself,” she said.
“I know that, but anything—”
“You like to cook, right?” Senna asked, cutting me off.
“How do you know that?” I replied, stunned. I hadn’t told her anything but my name, though I suppose that was enough for whoever these people were. Or maybe she thought I looked like I enjoyed eating, so obviously liked to cook.
She just chuckled. “Don’t get defensive, Milan. Besides, do I look like I’m in any position to judge?” As she spoke, she pointed at her own ample hips. “Now come with me. It’s almost dinnertime; you can make me something,” she said.
“Senna,” I said, forcing the word out through clenched teeth. “You’re very nice. All of this is…very nice, but I don’t think you understand. Priest needs me, and I’m not going to stand around talking and cooking while he’s dying,” I said.