Chapter 33 Kane
Kane
Acting as a bouncer while Zane indulges in a private moment with Mercy is a rare delight.
As much as I’d love to be involved, I’m more thrilled that they ran off together in the first place.
A new tradition is being born right here and now—having sex in unconventional places while one of us keeps watch.
I love everything about this moment.
Sam avoids wandering too close as he mingles with both acquaintance and stranger alike, catching my eye across the hall multiple times as if to ask: they’re still going at it?
I can’t keep the grin off my face.
My boy is finally living with his own happiness in mind. I couldn’t be more proud.
Mercy’s younger brother Malachi Morningstar stares at me through the lobby archway, blindly shaking hands with people who recognize him and welcome him home.
From what Sam told me before we split, he sprung Malachi from his cage so we’d have an extra pair of hands when the time comes to fuck up Samuel.
I’m all for additional violence, but I’m not sure that Mercy will be on board with us turning her little brother into an accomplice for first degree murder. Her father Vinny, on the other hand…
I’ve seen the way he looks at Samuel, and there’s not an innocent bone in that man’s body. If his hands weren’t tied, he’d slit Samuel’s throat in a heartbeat, and I love him even more for it.
I’m grinning to myself when Samuel sneaks up on me—or tries to, looking about as subtle as a king cobra sizing up its prey.
His outfit is gaudy as hell, with silver threads woven throughout his embroidered suit, the snowflake pattern lining the collar a gross display of fake winter cheer.
And his hair—whoever dyes it tries their best to hide the grey streaks, but they peek through the chestnut strands all the same.
A splash of crimson on his chest will do the man a world of good.
I’m picturing all the places I can puncture as he slinks over to me.
“Kane,” he greets, turning his nose up as his gaze travels down my body. “You never took a last name, did you? Despite everything your birth parents did for you, you chose to disrespect their memory and walk a wretched path.”
I meet his disdain with my own. “My parents were dead to me long before they burned to death in that car crash.” Abandoning their son because he became an inconvenience is unforgivable, but at least it introduced me to my real family: Zane, and now Mercy.
“I hold no love for parents who abuse their children.”
A cry of pleasure pierces the air, muffled by the door behind me but no less intelligible.
Samuel’s eyes narrow at the dead air over my shoulder.
“I see that your whore is keeping up her reputation. Who is she with this time: that man you string along like a puppet or the highest bidder for the evening?” He sips champagne from a gold-rimmed flute.
“I bet it’s her brother, now that the two are reunited. The way they cling to each other—”
My fist smashes the champagne flute into his teeth, cracking the glass and splintering shards into his mouth. I clamp his jaw shut as the flute crashes to the floor. “Chew and swallow,” I order, vibrating from the sheer force of my anger, “or I’ll shove the stem down your fucking throat.”
Eyes wide, Samuel tries to pry his mouth open, but my hands are stronger than his weak mandible. He reaches into his pocket and flings a baby pistol into the air, but it clatters to the ground when he fumbles.
“Oops.” Kicking the gun out of his reach, I grin at the panic in his eyes. “Tick-tock, old man. You gonna swallow or do you need something to wash that down first?”
Malachi appears a few paces away and blocks us from view of the rest of the party.
He picks up the gun and slips it into his pocket.
“This is a weapon-free event.” Glaring at Samuel, he stomps on the champagne flute and picks up the largest shard of glass, a teardrop shape with a razor-sharp tip.
“Good thing I don’t see any, or I’d have to do something about it. ”
Samuel whimpers as Malachi takes a step forward.
“You know, Kai—can I call you Kai? I think Mr. Wright needs some encouragement. He bit off more than he can chew, and he’s struggling to swallow. If I open his mouth, can you help him take a sip?”
“Of course.” Bloodlust shines in Malachi’s eyes.
“It’s the least I can do for my biggest sponsor.
Haven’t seen you around the institute in a while, Mr. Wright.
Until your son rang my room, I thought you’d forgotten about me.
” He grabs an empty plastic cup from a nearby waste basket and spits in it, then he holds the cup up for me to do the same.
Sick bastard.
Once there’s enough for Wright to swallow, I pinch his cheeks and pry his jaw open.
His tongue flails as he tries to spit out the glass, but I tilt his head back.
Blood drips down the corner of his mouth as Malachi pours the drink into Samuel’s mouth.
He chokes, gagging, until finally his throat bobs on a swallow.
“Was that so hard?” I release his mouth and smack his back as he doubles over and dry heaves into the trash can.
“Hey, you don’t look so good. I think we need a doctor.
” Snapping my fingers, I grab him by the nape of the neck.
“But you know what? I’ve been studying under Vinny for a few days. That’s almost the same thing, right?”
“Dad’s got a degree,” Malachi grunts, nodding. “He’s a whiz with anatomy.”
“There you go!” Hauling Samuel upright, I grin at my new friend. “Let’s get him in for an emergency exam.” Leaning back against the morgue door, I click my tongue against my teeth. Mercy and Zane are in the middle of fun right now, and I don’t dare interrupt. “This room’s occupied.”
“I know a place.” Malachi tilts his head back and widens his eyes, looking creepy as hell with his hair falling in his eyes like that. Guy’s a freak, I bet.
I wonder what that institute he mentioned is about and how Samuel’s involved.
As he leads us through the dwindling throng of guests, not that there were many to begin with, we catch Sam’s attention and beckon him over.
Then we slip into the storage room. “Not to be the bearer of bad news, but this is a little public for my tastes.” There isn’t even a door to the hall; it’s a heavy black curtain that hardly makes the place soundproof.
Sam crosses his arms over his chest. “What the hell are you two doing?”
I grab Samuel’s cheeks and push his lips up into a smile. “Bonding with your dad. I think he likes me.”
“You will bleed for this,” the old man garbles, spitting blood onto my hand.
“Funny, I was gonna tell you the same thing.”
A cardboard box thuds onto the floor. Malachi starts deconstructing a huge tower of them in the corner of the room. “There’s a room,” he mutters, “where no one will find us.”
I can feel Sam’s blood pressure rise as he glances back at the curtain. “That’s not the plan,” he hisses, grabbing my arm. “Let him go, Kane.”
“I’d rather not. He said some pretty mean shit about our girl.”
Sam’s hand clenches around my forearm. “What did he say?”
Another box hits the ground and spills open, throwing bleach white tablecloths onto the floor.
“Oh, you know, the usual bullshit that comes out of his mouth.” I pat Samuel’s cheek and enjoy the way he winces. “He called Mercy an incestuous whore and insinuated that she’s sleeping with her brother.”
Malachi grabs a candle holder and throws it at Samuel’s head. He misses. “Gross.”
“Exactly.”
With a grunt, he pulls the final box out of the way, creating a makeshift path that leads to a cobweb-encrusted nightmare door whose wood looks like it came from the hull of the Mayflower. When he pushes it open—because the handle’s fucking missing—it spits dusts. “Anyone got a flashlight?”
Sam pulls his cell phone from his pocket and turns on the flashlight. Inside the doorway is a narrow set of stone steps leading down into the dark.
Malachi grabs a handful of taper candles and shoves them into his jacket pockets, followed by two lighters, a hidden pack of cigarettes from a desk drawer, and a box of matches.
Then he chucks one of the white tablecloths down the stairs.
“Let’s go.” He steps into the darkness and disappears after the first few steps.
Must not be afraid of the dark or whatever bugs have infested the creepy ass cellar.
“I’ll go first.” Sam ignores his father as he steps in front of us and descends the first few stairs, lighting his own way but not ours. Great.
“You wouldn’t kick your own son down the stairs, would you, Samuel?
” After pushing Sam’s dad onto the first dusty step, I shove a folded cloth napkin into my pocket and nab one of those heavy metal candleholders, wishing I had the knife clipped to Zane’s belt.
Hopefully when he comes looking for me, it isn’t lying on the morgue floor, lost and forgotten after his impromptu romp with Mercy.
I’m a little relieved that Malachi picked up Samuel’s gun, but shooting in a dark, cramped space is risky even for me.
I’d rather handle this quietly beneath everyone’s noses—or in this case, their feet.
By the time I come up for air, Samuel Wright better have taken his last.