EPILOGUE
Meredith White sat on a bench at Silver Lake Dog Park in Los Angeles, California and watched a young couple play with their dog, a young, playful American Bully who seemed intent on defying every stereotype of the breed by being as goofy and affectionate a dog as Meredith had ever seen.
But all dogs had potential. That was the beauty of the canine race. They’d been bred into accessories but with the right push, they could remember that they were once wolves.
Just so long as they always remembered who their masters were.
Meredith had potential too. Far more than she’d let on, even to Chastain.
If he’d kept himself under control, he might have known that Meredith had successfully commanded her dogs to do all sorts of things.
She’d even used one of her assets to complete the assignment initially assigned to her in Washington, then commanded that asset to dispose of the evidence.
When nothing remained of that test subject but his shoes and scraps of clothing, she burned them and scattered the ashes into the Potomac.
She’d lost her master, but with him, she’d lost her chains. Now she was free to exercise her potential as she saw fit.
Meredith—once known as Staff Sergeant Miranda Whitaker—removed her sunglasses and smiled at the Bully. Its owners were distracted, whispering to themselves and blushing while trying to touch themselves everywhere that wouldn’t get them arrested. Probably newlyweds. How sweet.
The Bully noticed her smile and returned a wide, toothy puppy grin.
Its short powerful tail whipped back and forth.
One swing caught a dragonfly and sent the insect careening to the ground, its wings on one side shattered.
It drew a circle in the dirt as it buzzed and kicked, unable to understand why its body wasn’t working right. The dog didn’t notice.
Meredith leaned forward, hardened her eyes, and sent a command. The Bully cocked its head, confused. Then it froze. Its tail stilled, and its eyes locked on her. It shuddered and backed up a step, and Meredith channeled her will, sending the command more firmly the dog’s way.
The Bully froze again. Its eyes flickered once more, then locked in place. Meredith could feel its thoughts squirming, jumping like fleas as instinct warned it that she was a threat, a Bad Person, and it should look away and protect its owners.
Slowly, the jumping stilled. The squirming subsided. Good. Order was good. Submission was good. Her will was paramount.
The Bully turned toward its owners. Its eyes had an odd glassy look. Its tail switched back and forth once as it tried one final time to reconcile the unusual urge that now filled it.
Then it lowered its head and bared its teeth.