Page 230 of The Monster and the Masochist

She can’t be as bad as Cal…

So much for that.

As predicted, Cassandra had left me with a string of bodies to clean up. Though I wasn’t necessarily mad about it per se, I did wish she’d been a little cleaner about it.

Especially the second guy.

Holy shit, I’d never seen anything like that.

Okay, maybe I’d seen similar shit while working with Callum… I just hadn’t been expecting that level of violence from his buttoned-up, Ivy League sister.

She’d completely changed into someone else. It was almost like she shifted into a weird trance-like state. It was similar to what happened to Callum when he was triggered, but more… calculated? It’d been the strangest thing to watch.

After I shot the guy she’d manically mutilated in the prayer room, she’d almost calmly stood up and mechanically reloaded her gun without even looking at what she was doing. The switch from pure, unhinged violence to the deadly, lethal focus of a calculated predator had unnerved me, and I worked with some of the most fucked up people on the planet.

She’d already been drenched from the chin down in blood and gore before I shot the dude in the head, though the explosion of brains certainly hadn’t helped.

This version of Cassandra didn’t seem to mind that she was dripping in brains and body matter.

She almost seemed to revel in it.

When I tried to tell her not to rush out into the hallway like a dumbass–which was also very Cal-like behavior, by the way—she ignored me and unloaded another clip into that dude’s face, too.

She was lucky none of these assholes had been armed with anything more serious than a can of pepper spray.

They weren’t professionals, and I’d known that going in, or I would have made sure we had more backup. These dudes were just hired security, so basically glorified mall cops.

The most evil mall cops on the planet… but still. It typically wasn’t smart to assume your target wasn’t armed, especially in an uncontrolled situation where you’d lost the element of surprise.

But nooo.

No one ever listens to Vox.

Instead of waiting for that dude to come to us, Cassandra had gone all John McClane on me and lit the hall up like it was a Die Hard Christmas.

Idiot.

Don’t get me wrong.

I was glad these fucks were dead, and I didn’t have much of a leg to stand on when it came to judging people for messy murders…just… I would have been hella pissed if I’d had to somehow explain to Callum that I’d got his sister killed on a mission that a toddler with basic motor function could have pulled off if they’d just put their damn listening ears on.

Ugh.

Even if I could talk… that conversation would have sucked.

So… I was more than a little annoyed with her as I duct taped her guy’s hands together once I was sure the chloroform had done its job.

Now that she no longer seemed to be possessed by the spirit of John fucking Wick, she was much more open to suggestion.

When she’d asked me what she could do to help, I’d gestured toward the hall, indicating that I needed her to go check on the survivors while I got her victim into the car for her.

She nodded and left to gather up the girls, and I’d finished ensuring the dickhole reverend wouldn’t be a threat if he woke up before Cass was able to get him back to Fairview, where Cal would be waiting to help her with the rest of her plan.

I’d messaged Logan on our encrypted chat before we arrived with a single knife emoji, which he knew meant I needed a hand with something illegal. He’d told me he’d round up Ronan and Dakota and head over as soon as he could.

The survivors added a layer of complexity to this snatch-and-grab that I hadn’t originally anticipated, and I had a feeling none of them were going to feel super comfy getting in a vehicle with a man after all the shit they’d been through. So, I’d added Ronan’s sister, Ember, to our chat, hoping they all got the hint that it would be helpful if they brought a woman too.

The boys were pretty good at figuring my shit out by now.