Chapter 25 Kane
KANE
THIS TIME, KANE DIDN’T FOLLOW ZARIA. HE DIDN’T NEED TO. He knew she wouldn’t be in danger tonight.
Tonight, the danger was here.
He’d requested a meeting with the kingpin and received word that he would pay a call later tonight.
That was unusual. It wasn’t often Ward deigned to meet anywhere other than the place he was currently conducting business from.
As a result, Kane had needed Zaria to disappear.
He’d gone out to the workshop with the intention of pissing her off, hoping that would compel her to leave of her own accord, but the state in which he’d found her had thrown him completely off track.
He had forgotten to infuriate her. Instead, fool that he was, he’d tried to convince her that he cared about her.
And then he’d kissed her.
He shouldn’t have let her goad him into it.
He’d tried to tell himself it was convenient—that Zaria might trust him more if she thought he felt something for her—but he hadn’t expected the raw, animal desire that ripped his chest open when their mouths met.
Even now, he could still feel the heat of her lips.
Could still taste the bittersweet flavor of her self-hatred.
For that brief moment, Kane knew he would have done anything Zaria asked.
He would have lain down in the dirt and let her walk the distance of the earth across his back.
Then she’d drawn away, severing the connection with a finality that hurt Kane like a physical blow.
He was so irrevocably fucked.
Fletcher had retired to bed a few hours ago, but Kane hadn’t followed suit. If his friend noticed anything was amiss, he hadn’t commented on it, though he’d lingered at the bottom of the stairs for longer than usual.
Kane stayed awake, balancing a glass of whiskey on the armrest of the chair he so often occupied.
Waiting. The room grew cooler, but he didn’t light a fire.
The sky outside shifted to the navy hue of midnight, camouflaging the haze of smog, and still Kane didn’t move.
The lifting of the glass to his lips was automatic.
His eyes fixed on nothing in the corner of the room, and his mind spun and spun until alcohol turned his thoughts into something less coherent.
Until it softened the edges of whatever demon reared inside of him, snarling to get out.
Kane didn’t know what time it was when the knock on the door came.
He was drunk enough at this point not to feel anything but a mild irritation as he pushed himself to stand, abandoning his drink.
He swiped his gun off the table on his way to the door and shoved it into his waistband—a futile precaution.
When he yanked the door open, it took a moment for the figure on the top step to swim into focus.
Kane’s stomach churned. He didn’t know why. It wasn’t as if he was unprepared.
“Ward.”
The kingpin’s golden eyes found his, conveying mild disdain. He looked impeccable as always, not a hair out of place as he removed the hat poised atop his head. His black jacket was buttoned up to the throat. “Good evening, Kane.”
The greeting was disarmingly pleasant, and Kane fought to gain control of himself as apprehension sunk its claws in. He regretted the whiskey now. He preferred to have all his wits about him when dealing with Ward.
“Aren’t you going to invite me in?” Amusement lined the planes of Ward’s face as his gaze sharpened.
“You certainly took your time.”
“I did, yes.”
Kane didn’t know what to do with his body. He shuffled aside, feeling ungraceful in a way that he rarely did, and allowed the kingpin to enter.
Ward wrinkled his nose as he stepped inside, scouring the dark space before focusing back on Kane. “Have you been drinking?”
He didn’t see why it mattered. He gave a noncommittal shrug, and Ward exhaled in disgust.
“Alone in the dark, at that. Where’s Master Collins?”
Kane indicated with his chin. “Asleep upstairs. Can we get to the point? I take it you know what I wanted to discuss.”
“I can guess.” Ward’s lips twisted, wry and cruel. “Does it have anything to do with the charming Miss Mendoza?”
Her name in the kingpin’s mouth made Kane’s blood run cold. “I don’t know what you’re playing at, but I do know you’ve been trying to have her killed.”
“A hefty accusation.”
“Don’t you fucking touch her.”
Perhaps it was the alcohol that made him bolder than usual.
Either way, it was a mistake. Ward rotated to face the door, beckoning with a single finger, and the next moment two men filed into the entryway.
They were enormous, seeming to take up much of the room.
Kane recognized them immediately. Davies and Yardley tended to work alone, though they sometimes accompanied Ward to help him deal out his own personal form of justice.
Kane had never liked the men, if only because they had never been frightened of him.
They advanced toward Kane, each taking hold of one of his arms, and shoved him into the nearest dining chair before his whiskey-addled mind could comprehend what was happening. His pulse skyrocketed as he struggled against their viselike grips.
“What the hell?” Kane spat, wildly seeking Ward’s impassive face. “What is this?”
Ward watched the scene play out with icy disinterest. “You know, boy, I’ve been watching you. Making sure you don’t step out of line. A good thing, too.” He nodded to Davies, and the enormous, well-dressed man grasped Kane’s jaw roughly with a hand.
Pain lanced down into his neck, cutting through the haze of intoxication. He attempted to turn his face away, teeth clenched, to no avail. “I haven’t—done anything.”
“Ah, but is that the truth, Kane?” Footsteps sounded beside him, and Ward’s face came into view a moment later. His eyes were liquid malice. “Tell me, then: When I gave you this assignment, what was the main thing I requested of you?”
Panic spiked in Kane’s blood, and he had the wild thought that he was glad not to be sober just now. “I don’t—”
Ward held up a hand. “Before you proceed unwisely, I recommend you take a moment to consider your next words. If you lie to me, Kane, I will know, and it will be all the worse for you.”
It was the truth. Ward had always known when Kane was lying. It was impossible to con the man who had made him so good at it.
The kingpin laid a hand on Kane’s cheek.
His skin was cold. Ward hadn’t touched Kane like that in years, and Kane hated the yearning it instilled in him.
He wanted to push the feeling away. To lock it up in a tiny box and throw away the key.
He was not the boy he had once been, desperate for validation and tormented each time it was withheld.
He was no longer the child who had so badly wanted a father figure.
That child was broken. Mangled by reality, crushed by false hopes, and bruised by disappointment.
Kane would have slapped Ward’s hand away, but his arms were still restrained by Yardley and Davies.
He settled for jerking his chin to the side.
“I’m doing everything I can to bring you that damned necklace.
If you’re going to be picky about the circumstances under which I obtain it, perhaps you should have done it yourself. ”
He knew it was a mistake the moment he uttered the words. There was a reason Ward had brought these men with him: Dainty inked x’s weren’t going to cut it. Not this time.
Yardley grabbed Kane by the throat, his thick fingers unyielding.
Kane gasped and choked for breath, having no free hands with which to fight.
Shadows began to fill the edges of his vision.
His head throbbed and spun. For the first time in years, death seemed like a real, immediate possibility, not a threat looming in the distance.
He hated Ward. Hated him with a passion unmatched even by his desire to impress the man.
Sometimes, when I watch other people die, I imagine they wear his face.
It was what Kane had told Zaria in his bedroom. And yet it only seemed to be true half the time. Kane didn’t know how to reconcile the two halves of himself that Ward had created.
“Enough.” Ward’s voice sliced through his fury. “I think he gets the point.”
Kane glowered, straining against Yardley’s grip.
“What did I make you promise me?” Ward asked. He tilted his head, surveying Kane as if he were a dissected specimen flayed open on a table. “When I ordered you to the steal the necklace, what did I say?”
There was a pause. The moment stretched until it circled the perimeter of the room, then tightened. Kane felt as though the space were getting smaller. His thoughts were a jumble, each one tinged with anger he had no means of expelling. Ward waited, cool and collected.
Through gritted teeth, Kane finally said, “You told me not to tell anyone about it. Nobody but Fletcher.”
Ward’s face turned sad. It was a false kind of sad, and it made Kane more nervous than anything. It was the face Ward made when he was about to do something cruel.
“That’s right. And did you listen?”
“I—”
“Do you seek to infuriate me, or is it just that you are unable to follow the simplest of instructions?” Ward’s fingers trailed Kane’s cheek, nails scraping skin. This time Kane didn’t flinch away. “Did. You. Listen?”
“I needed help! Once the necklace was moved to the Crystal Palace—”
Davies’s fist hit him square in the jaw. Kane ought to have seen it coming, really. His head snapped to the side, and he let out a growl as he turned back to face Ward.
“No, okay?” he snarled. “No, I didn’t listen.”
“Right. And you didn’t tell just anyone, did you? You told Zaria Mendoza.”
“She’s only a girl—”
“Only a girl?” Ward showed all of his teeth. “She’s a dark market alchemologist. She’s Itzal Mendoza’s daughter.”
Kane tried to exhale, but the air kept getting stuck somewhere along the way. When he finally replied, it sounded strained. “What does that matter?”
Ward’s eyes flashed. “Oh, it matters.”
“You leave her alone, or I’ll—”