Chapter Thirty-Eight #2
“You won’t be breathing much longer if you fuck this up,” Cain says, but he stalks into his office, leaving the three of us alone.
I think we all collectively exhale a deep breath of relief.
“This is bad,” Greyson says quietly. “If we fail—”
“Take your nihilism somewhere else; I need to focus,” Toby barks.
I don’t think it’s safe for us to leave Toby alone in an apartment with Cain right now—there’s no knowing if Cain will snap Toby’s neck in a fit of rage—but Greyson and I do head into the kitchen to give him space.
“If he fails, we’re all dead,” Grey murmurs.
“Yup,” I respond.
Grey glances at me. “Dagon’s going to request a trade for Ember.”
“Yup.”
“Cain’s going to let it happen. He doesn’t care if Ember lives or dies.”
“Christ, I fucking know!” I snap. “That’s what’s been going through my mind on repeat for the last several hours!”
“So, you need to be prepped to pitch Cain an extremely good idea,” Grey says slowly. “Otherwise, Ember’s gone. Permanently.”
“I. Fucking. Know,” I hiss.
“Greyson! Maximus!” Cain shouts.
I sigh, eyes fluttering. Time to pay the piper.
In the office, I see that Cain’s phone is ringing.
“Sit, and shut up. If I hear you breathe, I’ll put a bullet in your heads.” Cain picks up the phone.
Silence stretches, thick and loaded with words unsaid. I can feel Dagon’s amusement on the other end of the line, and I can see Cain slowly starting to lose his mind.
“Cain,” Dagon says after a long, weighted pause. “I’m sure you know by now that I’ve collected something of yours.”
“I’m quite aware.” Cain’s tone is impressively flat and composed.
No hint of aggression or the crazed fervor I’ve heard from him since he called us up.
His mask is perfectly in place, so much so that one could wonder if he gives a fuck about Azalea at all.
“I’m also impressed you went through the effort. ”
“The things we do for love,” Dagon volleys back. “I’m going to offer you a trade. One-time. Take it or leave it, right now.”
Love? Love? Dagon thinks he loves Ember? He came close to fucking destroying her!
“Azalea for Viper,” Cain says.
“Correct.”
“Done.”
My heart tightens and pain spreads through my chest, infecting every corner of my soul, of my very being.
Greyson meets my eyes. He lifts a hand and an eyebrow at the same time, warning me to remain calm. If I launch myself across the table and wrap my hands around Cain’s neck right now, it won’t mean anything good for me or Ember… or the Nighthawks as a whole.
So, I keep myself in place, and try to formulate a plan.
“How does tomorrow night sound?” Dagon queries pleasantly. “I’ll set the time and location.”
Cain mulls this over. “I set the time, you set the location. Since we’re about to do some business together, we should compromise a bit, shouldn’t we?”
Dagon releases a rough, unpleasant chuckle that sends a million invisible spiders skittering up my spine.
“You’re a funny man,” he says. “A very funny man.” His tone hardens.
“I am in possession of something precious to you. If you don’t do exactly what I say, I’ll have my men torture her more than they already are.
Then, they’ll fuck every hole in her body—and make some new ones along the way.
By the time you get her back, she’ll be unrecognizable. You won’t want her.”
I watch, horrified, nauseous, and vaguely enthralled as all the color drains from Cain’s face, and genuine fear swims in his eyes.
He’s always struck us as invulnerable—even when he offhandedly mentioned his Chosen, there was rarely any real emotion to back it.
Now, however, he’s extremely vulnerable. He looks remarkably, offputtingly human. I don’t know which version of him I prefer.
“I choose the time and place. You arrive with Ember in hand, ready to give her over. You do not invite the scum that’s been doing god-knows-what to her to the trade. You come unarmed and unarmored. Or I will devise new methods of torture for your precious chemist.” He hangs up.
Cain looks like he might throw up for a moment. Then, he inhales a deep breath, and everything changes.
His blank, typical demeanor falls over his face. His posture straightens. In a blink, none of the horror previously evident on his face is anywhere to be seen.
He looks at me, eyes swimming with calculation, but not as sharp as they usually are. There’s a layer of intensity missing, like somebody’s peeled back the surface of who he presents to the world, and snippets of the true Cain are slipping through.
No, that’s not right. His blankness isn’t a mask—it is the true him, but he has a single weak spot that can transform him into a different person.
“Make your peace and make your plans,” Cain says.
“Ember will be transferring to Dagon tomorrow. Whether or not she remains that way is entirely up to you. If you interfere during the trade and in any way endanger my Chosen, I’ll kill both of you.
Otherwise…” he trails off with a shrug that truly seems careless.
“Once I have Azalea, I really don’t give a fuck what you do.
But, until then, you stay in line or you die screaming. ”
He's given me free range to plot something, only to put me on a leash. I completely believe his threat that he’ll kill both me and Ember, because at the end of the day, we mean nothing. The girl Dagon has, however? The prodigal chemist?
She means everything to him.
“Get out, both of you,” Cain says. “Take Tobias with you. I’m not to be disturbed between now and tomorrow.”
I catch what he doesn’t say; that he’s giving us the freedom to plot, unencumbered by him gazing over our shoulders. He doesn’t want to know what we’re planning.
Greyson and I both leave.