Chapter Forty-Three
Ember
The fog is all consuming, dampening everything around me. Light, sound, reality. Memories trickle through my mind—new memories of Max, but they don’t quite land with the impact that they should. They feel… distant.
I remember meeting him and offering to help him read, but I can’t find it in myself to care.
I remember falling for him, harboring a crush for years, but no emotion accompanies those images.
I exist, I think, I feel, but I also don’t. Not in any way that matters.
I was prepared to die in that car. I wanted to die in that car, and again, my choices were robbed from me. I was—am—sick of being jerked around like a puppet with no voice or agency.
I vaguely register a door opening. A familiar swath of red hair catches my eyes—Scarlett’s the only person I know with hair that red, or eyes so green.
The mattress beneath me dips as she takes a seat beside me, but I don’t look at her. I’m aware of her presence, I know I should snap out of it and engage with her—I just don’t fucking want to.
Still, the presence of someone else besides Max is vaguely interesting. Enough so that I don’t get lost in nothingness, and I give her the faintest sliver of my attention.
“Hey,” she says gently. “It’s good to see you.” A pause. “You look like a bucket o’ fuck, girl.”
I almost smile at her candor. It’s somewhat refreshing.
“I’ve dissociated hard in the past, too. Sometimes, life just gets to be too much, you know? It can be easier to just…” she pauses. “Disappear.” Another pause. “I’ve never been this far gone, though.”
We sit in silence for a while after that, but it’s not the tense sort of silence that makes me completely disconnect whenever Max is around. He expects me to respond and to engage—it doesn’t feel like Scarlett has that expectation. She’s just content to sit with me in silence.
“I nearly killed Greyson when I found out what he did.” She pauses.
“Again. I got a lot closer the first time around. I hope you know, neither him, Max, or Toby wanted anything to do with that. But… Cain’s a tyrant.
Honestly, I didn’t think he had the ability to actually care about people until he started losing his mind over that girl.
” She says that girl with a note of derision, as if she hates her on the principle of Cain liking her.
“It’s kind of weird, seeing him actually give a fuck about something aside from power.
I sort of feel bad for the girl. Maybe it’d be best if she doesn’t make it here.
Cain…” she trails off, and I feel the bed shake with her shiver.
“I don’t think sadistic is a strong enough word for him.
He’s… inhuman. I can’t imagine he’d be any kinder to her than her captors are.
If she has captors. I suppose Dagon could’ve already had her killed—”
“He didn’t.” My words are barely a mumble.
Scarlett’s inhale is quiet, but sharp enough to let me know her surprise. She’s silent for a beat. I think she’s composing herself.
“You sound very sure.”
I swallow. My throat feels dry—my mouth, like it’s stuffed full of cotton. There’s a fuzzy feeling in my head aside from the one of my own making. I vaguely recall Max feeding me pills—some of them were probably for pain.
“That’s not his style.” I let out a cough. “Azalea was a resource to Dagon. He’s never been one to waste resources.”
Scarlett’s soft hand lands on my leg, over the blanket. The gesture is casual, but the fact that she’s touching me feels unaccountably intimate. It makes reality sharpen around the edges. “Ember—”
“He wouldn’t have ordered her killed upon his death, either. Cain was a suitable rival to him. Dagon would’ve wanted Cain to live his life knowing his obsession was being tortured. Horribly.”
“Ember,” Scarlett says, a bit harsher. “If you know where she is, you should tell me. Or Max, or Greyson. Cain—” she cuts off with a harsh breath. “He’s… unwell. He’s always been a psychopath, but I think he might be having a psychotic break. If you don’t cooperate, he’ll—”
“Kill me? Hurt me?” I laugh. “Let him.”
“Ember, please. If you think Dagon is bad—”
“Don’t you dare say Cain’s worse.” My eyes snap up, meeting hers. Cold anger chills me to the bone. “You don’t know Dagon, and you’re lucky you never will. Nobody’s worse than him.”
She blinks. “Nobody’s more creative than Cain,” she says softly. “He comes up with things that most people can’t even imagine. Besides, he wouldn’t have to hurt you, would he?”
The subtext cuts me straight through skin, muscle, and sinew, and lodges deep between my ribs. Alina.
I failed in killing Tobias—I might’ve hurt him badly, but he’s not dead. I thought him claiming her might be the worst thing imaginable, but Cain deciding to take her would be much, much worse.
I have an immensely high pain tolerance. I can take just about any torture Cain could think up. Alina, however… my sweet little sister…
She wouldn’t.
And of all the horrible sins I’ve committed, giving her to a monster could never be one of them.
She’s gone from being Dagon’s leverage on me to Cain’s.
But maybe if I get my shit together, just for a little while, I’ll be able to kill two birds with one stone.
“I’ll talk to Cain,” I say, blinking again and again. I’m still a bit fuzzy—I think it’s from the pain meds, not my decision to check out from the world. Becoming aware of the threat hanging over Alina’s head is enough to snap back into it.
Fuck, is there never going to be an end to my responsibilities?
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Scarlett bites her lip. “He’ll probably torture you.”
“I’m not asking.”
She lets out a long breath. “Ember…” she sighs again. “Talk to Max first, at least.”
“No.” My voice is harsh enough to make her flinch.
I might feel bad if I were all there, but I really can’t find it in me to give a fuck about anyone other than Alina. I’ve been running on fumes for the last five years—now, I’m running on empty.
“It wasn’t an offer.”
Those words don’t come from Scarlett—they come from Max, who’s made his appearance in the doorway.
He’s disheveled. His hair is sticking out in every direction. His eyes are bloodshot. His biceps look marginally smaller.
I might take pleasure in his pain if I cared.
“Scarlett.” Max doesn’t have to say anything else. Scarlett squeezes my leg, stands, and leaves. I watch her hurry by him in the doorway and register that there’s no tension between them whatsoever.
“If I’d known all it took to get you back was Scarlett, I would’ve brought her in here a week ago.”
At another time, I might have a witty comeback of some sort, but I don’t have the brainpower to spare right now. My gaze lowers to my hands, and I examine them distantly. They’re dry. Cracked. My knuckles are bloody—I’m not sure from what. The car crash, probably. One of my fingers is in a splint.
I hear Max’s footsteps taking him closer to me, feel the bed dip under his weight.
I’m not sure what else I would expect, but the feeling of his hands lifting me out of a pile of blankets and pulling me onto his lap still comes as a surprise.
He wraps his arms around me and buries his head in my neck, inhaling deeply against my skin, as if he needs all five senses to confirm that I’m really here.
“Flame,” he whispers. “I’m—”
“Don’t.” My tone is flat and harsh. I didn’t pull myself out of a comfortable fog for him; I did it for my sister, and I have some serious negotiating to do if I want to assure her safety.
“I’m not letting you talk to Cain.” His voice rings with finality.
I’d laugh if I had the effort to spare. “Then he’s going to burst in here and drag me to a cell in the annex soon. And it won’t be that cushy one I first met him in.”
“Tell me what you know.” Again, Max says the words like I’ll bend to his command.
“No.”
“Ember. You’re playing with—”
“Fire? If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that I was always meant to be burned.”
He argues with me, but I stonewall him. He threatens to punish me or perform his own sort of interrogation, but I don’t bend. I don’t want to talk to Maximus. I don’t even want to be in the same room as him.
I have no real appetite to speak to Cain, either, but it doesn’t seem like I have much of a choice on that front. I’ll do what it takes for Alina—like always.
I think that’s something I understand about Cain. We both have a single weakness, and that weakness is being used against us. In my case, he’s the one using Alina against me… but this gives us some form of common ground.
Eventually, Max relents, but he doesn’t take me to Cain. Instead, he calls Cain here. He sits on the couch in silence, posture tense, silently seething as we await Cain’s arrival.
When the man in question enters, I’m showered, dressed, and sitting at the table. Cain, on the other hand, looks like he hasn’t had a shower in a month, has a bloodshot gaze to match Max’s, and looks on the verge of going completely insane. There’s mania stamped on his normally-blank expression.
He doesn’t waste any time. “What do you know?” he hisses.
“Probably enough to save her.” I don’t make any promises I can’t keep—there’s a chance I’m wrong. It’s slim, but it exists.
“Probably.” He releases a crazed laugh. “Probably? I could skin you alive—”
“Go ahead.” My voice sounds as exhausted as I hear.
“Or, we can skip the fucking posturing. You have the power to hurt someone I care for; I have the power to save someone you care for. I’m here to negotiate.
If you want to waste time on threats, be my guest, but every second you delay is another second Azalea is going to be hurt. ” I pause. “Badly.”
Cain’s Adam apple bobs as he swallows. My God, he really does care for this poor girl. Maybe he even loves her.
“What do you want?” his tone retains its typical flatness, but there’s also something resigned to it.
“Three things. Number one, you never hurt or threaten to hurt Alina.”
He laughs. “What gives you the impression that I’m a man of my word?”
“Many factors. Namely, the fact that I understand you seldom give it out. Ergo… it must be worth something to you. But, beyond that, you’ll keep your word because you’ll announce it to all of the Nighthawks in a public address.
And, during that announcement, you’ll also give them permission to mutiny should you ever break it. ”
His jaw works. “Clever little bitch, aren’t you?”
I’m threatening the one other thing he cares about; his power. If he does what I ask, then he’ll be binding himself to either respect his word to me or have to face down a mutiny of assassins after he loses their respect.
“Occasionally.”
“Fine. Done. I’ll make the announcement as soon as you tell me—”
“You’ll make it before I tell you. Right after we’re finished negotiating.” I don’t give him a chance to disagree. “Second, you prevent Tobias from claiming Alina.”
“No.”
“It’s non-negotiable.”
“Everything’s negotiable. This is a negotiation, isn’t it?” he glares at me. “I won’t prevent him from claiming someone he has a history with. The likelihood of a favorable outcome is too great.”
This is part of maintaining his power, then.
He wants to control the Nighthawks by getting leverage on every single one of them through this little tradition he’s instating.
And, if people start to fail and relationships don’t take root, that’ll hurt him.
“Then I’ll be pleased to inform you that Azalea will likely live a long life, but it won’t be a good one.
Dagon’s men will have sadistic orders straight from him.
It won’t be long before packages with pieces of her and videos of her torture will begin arriving here—Dagon always loved to taunt his rivals. ”
Cain looks like he wants to throttle me, but Max stands up and approaches me, stopping at my side like a sentry. Despite his bout of insanity, Cain knows he’s outnumbered.
“I won’t stop him from attempting to claim her. If it doesn’t succeed, she’ll be released,” he grits out.
“I don’t want her captured in the first place.”
“Too fucking bad. She’ll have more than anyone else; agency. I’ll give him three months with her. If at the end, she wants to go—”
“Three months is plenty of time to break someone. Alina isn’t like me. She can’t endure—”
“Tobias won’t torture her. He cares for her. Now, before I decide to start taking your body parts, give me your third condition.”
I examine him—the hard set of his jaw, the crazy glint in his eyes. He won’t budge on this, but neither will I.
“No deal.”
“Goddamnit!” he roars, losing his composure entirely. “Fine! He won’t kidnap her. If she comes here, it’ll be of her own volition, and that is my last fucking offer. Give me your third term.”
That’s good enough. “My freedom.”
Max inhales a sharp breath. Cain’s gaze flicks to him, then returns to me. “No. This one I won’t budge on. You stay where you are. You’re too valuable to release into the wild.”
“Ember.” Max’s voice is soft. “Don’t push it.”
His voice is a plea. A beg. One by one, the memories I’ve regained of our time together, of us growing up together, decide to filter through my mind’s eye on rapid-fire. Meeting him. Helping him, and having him help me. Him slowly but surely becoming my favorite person in the world.
The necklace he gave me.
The kiss. The late-night texts. The early-morning and midday texts and cold calls in between.
“I want my own room and the choice to function as an active operative within the Nighthawks.” I don’t know why I say it.
Perhaps because some traitorous part of me knows that Max did what he had to do. That he was the shooter in the forest who took out Dagon’s men. His betrayal was never absolute—I don’t think he’d be capable of truly betraying me.
He’s the only person in this world who truly knows me. And, while I might be seething mad at him now… I was never able to hold a grudge against him or retain my anger for long. God, I fucking hate myself right now.
“Done.” Cain abruptly stands from the table. “I’ll make the fucking announcement. If your information proves not to be valuable, our deal is off.”