seeing the damage Cliff had wrought. But he hadn’t. Reordon had even allowed Bastien to resume taking Cliff hunting, though he’d put an end to Cliff’s eating lunch on sublevel 1.
“I hate to do it,” he’d told Cliff in the privacy of his soundproof boardroom, “but there were some civilians in the stairwell you stormed up—”
“I didn’t hurt any, did I?” Cliff had asked with alarm.
“No. You just scared the hell out of them. And I can’t chance your having a psychotic break like that on sublevel 1. Dealing with that isn’t part of the civilians’ job description. The guards, on the other hand, all know their position is dangerous. They know what they’ve signed up for. They’re aware of the risks. And they agreed to take them. That’s why I reassigned the guards who wanted to roast you to desk jobs at another location that will bore the pants off them.”
“I injured some of their colleagues.”
“And they knew that could happen. What they did was the equivalent of someone signing up to work at a mental health facility that cares for patients with psychological disorders that cause violent tendencies, then beating the shit out of the patients if they become violent. It was bullshit.”
Cliff hadn’t really thought about it like that. Turning to Bastien now, he held up the weapons he’d collected. “What do you want me to do with these? This dagger isn’t bad, but the rest are crap.”
Bastien produced a bag for the weapons and personal belongings of the vampires. Since the two of them had caught the vampires before they could pounce on the unsuspecting women they stalked, there were no mortal victims that would necessitate a cleanup crew tonight.
Once he tucked the weapons in the bag, Cliff bent to collect the wallets and clothing that remained after the vamps finished disintegrating.
He hadn’t seen Emma since his break. No access to sublevel 1 meant no lunches with her. And since Bastien had resumed taking him hunting two nights ago, Cliff had remained with him the entire time instead of roaming alone.
As soon as they finished tidying the battle scene, they headed back to Melanie’s car.
“You want some time to yourself tonight?” Bastien asked casually as he tossed the bag in the back seat.
“No, thanks.”
“You sure? I brought the duffel with a change of clothes.”
“No. I’m good.”
Bastien slammed the door shut and stood staring at it for a long moment. A long sigh escaped him. “That’s bollocks.”
“What?”
Lips tightening, Bastien rounded on him. “I said that’s bollocks. How long are you going to keep beating yourself up about this, Cliff?”
He stiffened. “I killed Whetsman.”
“No, you didn’t. Seth killed him.”
“After I brain damaged him beyond repair.”
“He fatally wounded Linda and left her bleeding to death in his car,” Bastien said, his voice rising. “I would’ve done the same damn thing to him. Hell, Melanie probably would have, too.” Cliff seriously doubted that. “And if she didn’t, Alleck sure as hell would have.”
Frustration rose. What did Bastien expect him to do, just brush it off as if he’d accidentally tripped someone? “He only did it because Gershom mind controlled him. And what about the guards?” He glared. “Did you forget about them? How many guards did I hurt, Bastien? How many fingers did I break when I yanked their weapons out of their hands with preternatural speed and strength? How many arms did I snap and legs did I shatter trying to get past them to Whetsman? How many concussions did I give them?”
Bastien made a scoffing sound. “How many guards did I give concussions and how many arms did I break when I forced my way into network headquarters after they refused to let me see Vince when he was suffering? Do you think I lie awake, agonizing over that?”
“This is different.”
“No, it isn’t.”
“Yes it is!” Cliff shouted. “Because you know you won’t do it again, and I know I will! And I’ll do it again and again and again until someone puts me down like a rabid dog!”
Silence fell.
Cliff began to pace slowly, forcing back the violent impulses that threatened to rise again, tamping down the voices that urged him to fly into another full-blown rage.
Bastien drew a hand down his face and let out a long weary breath. “Well, fuck.”
Exactly.
“Technically speaking,” his friend mused, voice calm now, “I don’t know that I won’t do it again because some of those guys at the network still chap my ass.”