Chapter 24
Zane
Witnessing someone’s heart break is a funny thing.
I’m not sure how I’m supposed to feel about it—sympathetic or mournful, maybe—but in the end, I can’t dictate my emotions. My heart does its own thing and lets me know, hey, Zane, guess what?
I’m fucking relieved, and I’m a shitty fucking person for it.
Our car ride to the bratva’s hidden medical facility known colloquially as The Box is done in complete silence.
Normally, this would be my preference. I don’t have to listen to Kane prattle on about paint colors or Mercy whine about whatever is bothering her on this particular day, which leaves me to my thoughts.
But between the shooting, intense pain in my arm and the weak flutter of relief in my chest, I hardly have any room left for coherent words, even inside my head.
What I do feel is good but also somehow bad.
As the medical staff whisks me away, I go through the motions of treatment.
Gritting my teeth when they take x-rays, closing my eyes when they set the break, sighing with relief once they finally administer pain meds in an IV hooked to my arm.
Took them long enough. I sit up in one of the beds lining the back wall of the facility and stare blankly at the partitions separating the triage and treatment areas.
The Box has experienced doctors and state-of-the-art equipment, but keeping it under the feds’ radar means that it has to sacrifice modern comforts like private rooms to remain discreet—much like how I’ve been running my life with Kane.
We keep our heads down, don’t kick up too much trouble, and lay low so that we can continue living however we want.
In the span of—God, weeks?—Mercy and Sam have blown that lifestyle to pieces.
I still don’t know how Samuel Wright found us at the cabin, but in the end, I guess it doesn’t matter.
The consequences have already begun. Sam’s either neck-deep in his father’s machinations right now or he’s treading water as he tries to resist. I’m not holding my breath for Sam’s success, nor am I delusional enough to think that he gives a rat’s ass about me or Kane.
Our lives, as far as I’m concerned, are forfeit.
It was only a matter of time, sure, but I had been hoping to steal some time back from Mercy.
Take a few years off of her life and add it to mine, or to Kane’s, like I’m some sort of powerful deity or devil who can manipulate time and space like that.
I scoff aloud at my idiocy. Going to the cabin and pretending we could somehow wring drops of life from Mercy’s body was wishful thinking, after all, and not the least bit practical.
Nothing could save us once Samuel got involved.
Heavy footfalls approach from my right. I ignore them. Kane’s likely pulling his hair out in a corner somewhere, and Mercy is trying to persuade one of the medical staff to let her use their phone to call her dad. Whoever else is around doesn’t concern me.
But apparently, I concern them.
“I did not expect to see you here,” a heavy Russian accent rumbles. I stare at the unlit cigarette Ezra Reinoff, vor to the Bratva’s pakhan, rolls between his fingers. “Did prey fight back?”
This isn’t a conversation I can ignore. I open my mouth and taste menthol on his breath. “Something like that.”
Ezra grunts. “Is target dead?”
No, she’s standing right over there.
He follows my gaze to Mercy. “She is Morningstar girl.”
I’d be surprised that he knew who she was, except that’s kind of his job as the official bodyguard for the bratva’s king and queen—Baranova something or other.
I don’t keep up with criminal royalty well enough to remember their full names.
Ezra, however, is the exception because he’s the one who contracts Kane and me for clean-up jobs.
Still, I don’t want to think about Mercy more than I already do, so I steer the conversation another direction. “What are you doing here, Ezra?”
“Physical exam is important.”
Lifting my gaze, I give him a once-over. He’s not exactly old. “You worried about something?”
“No.” After a moment, he taps the butt of his cigarette against his thigh. “But Morningstar girl is upset. Why?”
Do I really have to explain the downfall of my life to this fucking guy?
I crinkle my nose. I guess I am in his territory and using his facility and its resources without explicit permission.
Begrudgingly, I hold open the window for Ezra to peek into my life.
“Samuel Wright has dirt on her family.” I adjust my position to try and ease the ache in my arm, but nothing helps.
Sighing, I watch as Mercy thanks the staff member and runs off with a cell phone in hand.
“He says that he owns the Morningstars—all except Lilith. Not that he doesn’t want her, too, but she’s wrapped up in some other contract. ”
A contract. Legally binding. How would Wright have a document giving him ownership of people?
It’s illegal, for starters, and fucking weird on top of that.
My thoughts drift to marriage and how binding that is, tying people’s assets together under the guise of love.
It’s fucking stupid, is what it is. You don’t have to sign your independence away to prove that you love someone.
Ezra scratches the stubble lining his jaw. The tattoos wrapped around his arm shift in the lowlight. “So he owns property. Maybe in illegal trade or fine print. Easy to change document of ownership, yes, but also easy to change back. Especially if won in card game. Then it is not binding.”
I doubt Mercy’s father gambled away their home. “Morningstar doesn’t seem like the type.”
“Does Vinicius have debts?”
“How should I know?”
“Debt,” Ezra murmurs, “is pressure cooker. It builds until it explodes, and people become desperate to ease burden. But maybe not debt. Maybe…” He mumbles something under his breath, and I have to strain to hear him. “Exchange. Mutually beneficial.”
The ache in my arm spreads to my chest, and I rub my sternum. “Mutually beneficial exchanges don’t exist. Someone always gets fucked over.”
There’s a brief moment of silence. “You are bitter about girl?”
“What? No.” My cheeks burn. “She doesn’t matter.”
Then why is my heart rate accelerating like I’ve been caught in a lie? It’s not a lie. She doesn’t matter. She isn’t my end game.
Ezra flicks his gaze to mine. “If you like her, you must tell her. You will be eaten inside otherwise.”
“Eaten up inside,” I correct, scowling.
“You understand. Good.”
No, I fucking don’t, because that’s not what’s happening here.
But Ezra’s lack of comprehension isn’t the problem.
“We need to check who owns the mortuary.” Maybe that will give us a clue as to what’s going on.
Property ownership is public record. Finding out should be easy.
As for person ownership, Sam’s on his own for that one.
I may have a few black market connections, but we deal in detached body parts, not living human beings. The market is different.
“Strange business,” Ezra murmurs offhandedly, “to keep the dead. For what? Sake of living?” He blows out a breath. “You cannot bring dead back to life. Holding memory is painful. You must let go.”
My eyes widen as gears turn in my head. I understand dead bodies, and Samuel understands living ones. But who negotiates between the living and the dead? Who has an invested interest in both?
I stand as quickly as I can and walk carefully down the aisle.
One of the medical staff calls out to me, but I ignore them and walk faster.
Pushing open the exit, I search for Mercy and follow the sound of her voice.
Around the corner, behind a stack of empty wooden pallets, I find her on the phone with someone.
Kane paces back and forth in the middle of the alley and looks up at her every few steps, clearly not fully listening to her conversation, but invested enough to keep an eye on her.
When he sees me, some of the melancholy clouding his aura dissipates.
“Hey,” he murmurs, closing the distance between us. “I didn’t realize you were done.”
They haven’t discharged me, but whatever. “Who is she talking to?”
“Her sister, I think.” Kane immediately shifts gears and takes my hand, pulling me to the side. “Can we talk?”
Anxiety prickles down my arms. “Not now.”
“Soon?”
I meet Kane’s soft blue eyes. Whatever he has to say must be important, because he’s never this formal about anything.
Tension pulls at my spine. I’m going to hate this conversation no matter what he wants to discuss.
“Soon,” I promise, pecking his lips. The little smile he gives soothes my aching heart more than should be possible.
Taking a quick breath, I press on. “I think I know why Samuel’s interested in Mercy’s family. Sort of.” It’s a long shot, but the theory makes sense in a roundabout way. “They met after Sam’s mom died, right?”
“Yeah?”
“What if they conducted the funeral service?”
Kane presses his lips together. “Um, no offense to Mercy’s family, but they aren’t exactly…” He searches for the right word. “Rich. A job like that would pay a fuck ton.”
“What if they were friends, then? Before Sam’s mom died?”
There has to be something connecting their families; something that goes beyond Sam and Mercy’s relationship. Wright shouldn’t be interested in his son’s girlfriends. There’s something else. There has to be something else.
“You think Samuel fucking Wright is friends with Mercy’s dad?”
“No, not Samuel. The mom. Ingrid and—” I forget Sam’s mom’s name. “—Mrs. Wright. Maybe she requested their services while she was sick in the hospital. Some people add funerary clauses to their wills.”
Kane rubs the back of his neck. “I dunno, babe, that still doesn’t explain why he would want to own the Morningstars.”
Why does Samuel want to own anything? Leverage.
Power. Possession. He’s doing the same shit with his son, trying to take over his life.
“Maybe he’s trying to control Sam, then, and is using the Morningstars as collateral.
” That could work in the bastard’s favor. “How close is Sam to Mercy’s family?”
Something shifts in Kane’s eyes. “Close, I think,” Kane softly replies. “Sam called them our family. Not just hers, but theirs.” He glances over at Mercy. “Like how you’re mine.” A gentleness in his gaze makes him appear ten years younger, like a boy falling in love for the first time.
My heartbeat stills. Seconds turn into minutes that feel like hours. We both stare. Kane at Mercy, and me at Kane. The way he glows for her—
I choke on frigid winter air when I try to take my next breath.
While I’ve been falling in love with him, he’s been falling in love with Mercy.
I always knew he would, but the realization that it’s happening now and not in the distant future makes me feel untethered.
I’m not surprised, not really, because this is what Kane does—he falls fast and loves hard, no matter who he latches onto.
That’s just… who he is. How he’s always been.
It’s why I love him so goddamn much. His heart is ten times the size of mine and beats twice as loud.
“You love her.”
He tries to cover it up, steeling his expression as he turns back to me.
But the damage has been done; I saw his heart break in the dining room hours ago, only to witness him taping the pieces back together so that he can hold onto that love for her a little longer.
I don’t think he means to set himself up for failure or heartache; he’s just…
in love with love. No matter if it’s for me or Mercy or both of us at once.
“It’s okay,” I tell him, trying to be supportive.
My heart isn’t fully on board, but I can suck up the pain if it helps him heal.
“It’s also okay to be sad that she loves someone else.
That’s… life.” The smile I give is meant to be reassuring, but the tears stinging my eyes make it as watery and pathetic as I feel.
Of course Kane loves Mercy. She’s perfect for him.
“I’m not leaving you.” Sliding his hands into my hair, he pulls me close. “So don’t you dare try to pull away. I can love more than one person.”
But how much can he give either of us if his heart is split two ways?
Shaking my head, I close my eyes. I know that technically, he’s right. He can love two people. If anyone has the capacity for it, it’s him. I just don’t want to lose him… and now, after all this time, he knows that.
God, I’m a terrible boyfriend. I’m supposed to be reassuring him, and he’s the one reassuring me.
I rub the tips of our noses together and take a deep breath. “We’re a mess, aren’t we?”
“The messiest,” Kane agrees, smiling against my lips. “But you’re my mess, Zane Hunter, and I’m yours.” The kiss is soft and sweet and a little sad, but maybe that’s our new normal.
Soft touches, sweet whispers, and sad hearts.