HARVEY
Harvey was wiping down the bar when Levi called.
Narinder stepped out of the kitchen and motioned Harvey to follow him to his office. They both sat there, ears pressed to the receiver, knees grazing slightly, as Levi invited them to the pre-opening of his casino. He told them both to wear a tux and pack a gun.
“That thickhead,” Narinder mumbled. “Just assumes Ihavea gun.”
Harvey raised his eyebrows. “You own a business on the North Side and you don’t?” When Narinder pursed his lips, unimpressed, Harvey smirked. “You’re basically asking someone to rob you.”
“Doyoucarry a gun?” Narinder asked.
Harvey patted a pocket in his jacket. “Always do. Habit.”
“So why would I need one? I have you.”
Harvey’s cheeks warmed, even if he was the worst choice for defender of the Catacombs. “I break at least one martini glass a night, and now you want me for security?”
“You’re right. You’re too easily flustered. Obviously.” Narinder grinned, and Harvey—an expert on dangerous smiles—had yet to encounter a smile like his, that made him feel like his ribs had caved in with embarrassment. He was reminded of everything he knew about Narinder’s reputation before he’d met him, all the ways he was experienced and charming in ways that Harvey was not.
While Harvey reddened and failed at producing a response, Narinder’s expression turned serious. “I think we should talk, though. If Levi’s plandoeswork—and they usually do, as far as I can tell—then we should discuss what happens after.”
“After?” Harvey repeated, not following.
“Bryce is only safe because he’s the Gamemaster,” the musician said. “He’s protected because of his talent.”
Harvey didn’t want to talk about Bryce, especially not with Narinder. It wasn’t that Narinder wasn’t understanding or kind—he always was—but because then Narinder would clearly see the truth about Harvey, that he was making a bad habit of falling for the people who took him in, like a stray puppy.
But Narinder wasn’t finished. “So what will happen to Bryce once the game is over?”
A sick knot twisted in Harvey’s stomach. As far as Bryce was concerned, the game was a failure. He’d been so sure it would draw out the Bargainer, but where was she? Crashing in an apartment with Lola Sanguick? The absurdity of it made Harvey want to laugh. Bryce had been so caught up in the legend that he hadn’t considered the legend was human, and humans didn’t always behave the way you wanted them to.
“You think the Chancellor will let him live?” Narinder pressed. “That Harrison Augustine will? That the girl with the eyeliner will?”
Harvey stood up and backed into the kitchen hallway. “So what am I supposed to do about it?”
“What do you want to do about it?”
“I don’t want him to die,” he croaked. “I’ve never wanted that.” Maybe that made him too forgiving, but he didn’t care.
“And I don’t want to show up to a partyIcould die at,” Narinder growled.
Harvey should’ve considered this before—the prospect of Bryce’s demise. But only a handful of months had passed since the game began; in his mind, he still remembered it as a distant plan, the whispers of Bryce and Rebecca into the night, the false letters and white lies. He still remembered the boy Bryce used to be, before Rebecca, before Vianca. Before his own life spiraled out of his control.
Harvey had been so determined to please him that he’d never tried to stop him. Not just for those Bryce had hurt—but for Bryce himself, for the reckoning he would one day face for it. Because with the whole city against him, that reckoning would surely be great.
An insidious thought seeded in Harvey’s mind, a bad idea disguised as something noble. It seeped through him like a sweet drink, all the alcohol smothered by the syrup.
But it wasn’t noble, of course. If it had been, Harvey wouldn’t feel the need to lie about it.
“I’m going to get one for you,” Harvey told him, walking down the hallway.
Narinder stood and followed after him. “Get me what?”
“A gun.”
“I don’twanta gun.”
Harvey didn’t listen. He grabbed his coat slung over the bar and slipped it on.
