Guilt,that stupid voice at the back of my skull whispers again. It’s fucking guilt. If I hadn’t opened my mouth, he’d be long gone by now. Back to whatever mainland shithole he crawled out of. Maybe worse off, maybe better. But not here.
But nope. I had to butt in. Had to keep him here. Because those blue eyes went wide with terror so intense when it got clear he was in trouble. For some fucked reason I couldn’t stomach it.
And now, because of me, he’s no better off. Condemned to a fate way fucking worse than anything he might’ve faced on the mainland. Where scavenging is the currency of survival, where settlements still stand after the world collapsed seventy-six years ago, where some kind of civilization pieced itself back together after scientists destroyed humanity.
Rough, yeah, but safe enough if you know where to look.
Here? Shit, he has to do far worse things to survive. Things that leave the staff here hollow-eyed and vacant, hooked on whatever drug that keeps them upright, keeps them from shattering completely.
Not him. Not yet,I keep telling myself.He’s still underage.They can’t sell his body until he’s an adult.He said he’s seventeen. But fuck me, if you look close enough, past that pretty-as-fuck face and those wide, innocent eyes, you know it’s a blatant lie. There’s something older in him. Hardened. Like the world already tried to break him, and he’s still standing, defying it.
I hate that I see it. Hate that I notice. Because I shouldn’t give a shit. Not about him. Not about anyone. I don’t care about gut-wrenching ocean eyes or pretty, pouting mouths. Idon’t.
“Just shut the fuck up,” I finally say when dragging my attention to Tass, setting my somewhat-cold drink down, courtesy of the solar-powered cooling system they’ve rigged here. “He doesn’t trust that wench, Joyeus von Richter, and you know it.”
“Really?” she mutters, amusement dripping from every word. “Roe really thinks there’s something going on? Checking if she’s still skimming coin off her boys and girls? Watering down the wine? Everyone knows Joyeus is crooked, Max. That’s not Watcher business. That’s just Joyeus. And no one gives a shit because this is where they come to drink, to fuck, and to forget. They’ll turn a blind eye to whatever she pulls as long as they get their fix.”
Her smirk slices at me when she catches my split-second wince. Of course she notices. Tass notices everything.
I ignore her, focus back on the task of sharpening my blades. She knows Roe like I do. Knows he trained us, raised us out of that shithole orphanage, turned us into something useful instead of letting us rot. But I know why he asked me for this instead of her.
Because we're the ones who can slip into places no one else can. Because people respect her and worship the Immune One. They let me close and let things slip they’d never tell anyone else.Because when Roe needs quiet truths dragged into the light, I’m the one who can get them.
And shit, if we get thrown in the Pit because of it, he knows we’ll fight our way out.
The cleaver grinds against the whetstone harder than it needs to, the scrape loud and grating, sharp enough to make the drunk at the next table flinch as sparks fly to his dry hair, wanting to set it ablaze.
Good. Let them flinch.
The sound of breaking glass cracks through the bar, and my head snaps up. My eyes drag, against my better judgment, straight to the counter. Straight tohim.
That damned boy. Kieran… The silver dog tag around his neck says so now, stamped like a brand. A normal person. Untouched. Not Immune either.
Not that I broke into his shitty room via the balcony in the dead of night while he was sleeping to learn that. That would be creepy, of course.
His hair looks lighter again, sun catching on it, pulling gold from the strands. Like the grime finally scrubbed away and the island’s sun claimed him for its own. The same sun he spends hours under.
And how the fuck would I knowthat? I also haven’t followed him around to check where Joyeus really put him up. If he got one of her crumbling hotel rooms, like all her “staff” does. And I sure as hell haven’t been watching him burn under that sun on his time off, a small smile tugging at his mouth whenever he isn’t tripping over himself behind the bar.
All under the guise of staking out Joyeus, of course. Comes with the territory.
At least that’s what I tell myself. Gods fucking damn it.
“You’re staring again.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.” She leans back, arms crossed, grin smug as hell. “Cute little bartender got your attention, huh?”
I sneer, fish a smoke from my tin, light it slowly, and let the burn fill the silence before setting it in the ashtray. My blade rests across my knee, and I drag the stone over it again, making it sharp enough to cut through bone. Which it often does.
“Hewasa stowaway, wasn’t he?” Tass goes on when I don’t reply, voice pitched lower so no one else can hear.
The smoke curls from my lips as I look up, meeting her gaze over the table. She sprawls, arms along the booth, one heavy boot planted on the wooden table because she doesn’t give a damn about courtesy.
“Why do you think he was a stowaway?”
“Hmm, let me think. One, he had nothing but that ratty bag when he came off that boat, no other luggage. Two, you found him tucked away in the cargo hold, all alone. And lastly, Ididcheck the body. Papers said nothing about a son. And a twenty-eight-year-old man with a seventeen-year-old kid? Doesn’t add up, does it?”
