“Left you?” he repeats, his tattooed hand reaching out to brush something from the side of my head. “Never. Not even when you smell like expired Cheetos.”
I pull a mock-offended grimace and give him a sharp smack on the shoulder, earning a laugh from him. Behind me, the man who rescued me clears his throat loudly, demanding our attention. Cane leans slightly, trying to catch a glimpse of him over my shoulder, but I pivot just enough, stepping to the side and blocking his view, guarding the space between them.
“I’m incredibly mad at you,” I admit. “I wouldn’t be smelling like expired Cheetos if I had been there for just a few days, like you promised.”
“You misbehaved again,” he answers casually, as if that could justify it. “I had my ass whooped for what you did to those women.”
I narrow my eyes. “Which ones?”
His head cocks to the side, lips parting as if startled by an invisible jolt. “You killedmore?”
“I was bored,” I admit, stretching the word as long as I can, each syllable dragging against the weight pressing on me. My body aches from exhaustion, my mind frayed at the edges, and speaking feels like siphoning the last drops of energy I have left. “And you know what happens when I’m bored.”
He shakes his head, a silent judgment that makes my chest tighten and my heart skip a beat. There’s a pang of guilt that cuts through me—I feel as though I’ve disappointed him in a way I’ll never be able to fix. I hide it, carefully masking the worry, but sometimes it claws through my defenses, leaving me second-guessing every choice, regretting the smallest of actions.
“Estella,” he says, his voice steady but edged with warning. “Just because you’re bored doesn’t give you the right to kill… more than you should. Promise me you won’t ever do something like that again.”
Reluctantly, I lower my gaze, letting my lips curve into a guilty, puppy-like expression. “I promise,” I murmur, the words tasting heavier than I expected.
He traces a slow, reassuring circle on my arm before finally turning to face the man. And then—without the slightest warning—the bastard explodes into maniacal laughter. It doesn’t build or creep in gradually; it detonates, raw and jagged, like a pipe bursting under pressure.
I glance at the man, his confusion mirroring mine, perhaps even surpassing it. His brows draw together in a tight frown, one hand rubbing the back of his neck in a futile attempt at comfort. Every inch of him radiates unease, his anxiety so thick and potent that I can almost taste its acrid tang in the air around us.
“Mustache wasn’t necessary,” Cane mutters, his words rough and raspy, strained against the laughter tearing through him. His face flushes crimson, the color spreading like fire as he fights to regain control over his amusement.
“What do you mean, not necessary?” he demands, each word sharp and edged with disbelief.
“Oh, Dante… It’s a good thing you do everything I say, but this? This is fucking priceless.”
Dante. The name strikes me like a punch of unexpected color in a gray room.
Unusual. Distinct. I can’t recall ever meeting a man named Dante—and I’ve crossed paths with plenty of men in my life.
A sly smirk creeps across my lips as I pivot toward him, eyes locking with a gleam of mischief. My fingers dart toward the fake mustache awkwardly plastered to his face, and in one fluid motion, I strip it away. He groans, a sharp sting radiating from the reddened skin above his upper lip as he clutches at it helplessly.
I shoot a quick glance at Cane, then press the fake mustache to my own face, exaggerating a playful wink. “Do I look like you now?” I tease. Before he can even form a reply, I raise a single finger, halting him mid-word. “Uh-uh. Don’t even try. I already know the answer.”
He lets out a long, weary sigh, shoulders slumping ever so slightly, yet his eyes betray a gentle softness. “I don’t have a mustache, Estella.”
“You did when we first met!” I protest.
He shrugs, a brief shadow of annoyance flickering across his features. I catch the subtle tightening of his jaw, knowing how much he despises reminders of his former self—and that only makes the situation more amusing. “When I was a bit younger,” he mutters, voice low and almost reluctant, “I thought it suited me.”
Cane clasps his hands together, the subtle tension in his fingers betraying the calmness in his tone. His dark eyes flick behind me, sharp and assessing. “I think we’ve wasted enough time,” he says evenly. He inclines his head toward Dante. “And I haven’t even had a chance to talk to you about your future.”
I blink, momentarily thrown off by the sudden shift in topic. Frustration flares briefly before a flicker of curiosity ignites within me. Dante is new to this game, inexperienced, and I can’t help but wonder what Cane will throw at him next—how he’ll test him, push him, break him.
“What can I say? She’s in a good mood,” he says, nodding toward me without taking his eyes off Dante. “Still breathing. Still moving. So are you. Congrats.”
A faint smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, fleeting and hesitant. Then, his gaze settles on mine, and a subtle shift crosses his expression—something I can’t name, yet it reaches inside me, dragging a frown across my face before I even realize it. “Estella will teach you everything you need to know,” he states firmly. “Won’t you, Estella?”
A frown etches itself across my face, wiping away every trace of the brief levity I felt just moments before. Confusion coils inside me, twisting my thoughts into a knot I can’t untangle. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Dante’s new to this world. He wants to be like you. Take it as a compliment. Lucky him—he gets to learn from the best.”
A tense ribbon of irritation coils along my spine, crawling under my skin with a sharp, electric sting. My lips twitch involuntarily, and for a fleeting moment, the world seems to flare red around the edges. Before I can fully process it, my gaze snaps to Dante.
I inhale sharply, letting the air fill my lungs and steady the racing of my heart. My eyes roam over him deliberately, taking in every detail from head to toe. The faint red mark above his upper lip still lingers, while his cheeks glow with a soft, rosy flush. I clamp my teeth on the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing again and take a step closer.
