True. But the damn thing looks heavy. Too heavy.
I set the blanket and pillows down and reach for the plant. Her eyes widen with fear, and she jerks it back, but I’m faster, grabbing the rim and pulling it from her grasp. It’s weighty, not like dirt and roots should be. Suspicion festers low in my gut.
I dig my fingers into the dark soil. She gasps, hovering like she might dive in to stop me. A few seconds of sifting, and my hand hits something solid. Cool. Heavy.
I pull it free: a brick of gold, caked in earth. I turn it over in my palm, feeling the heft, the unmistakable shine catching the light.
“Well, well,” I murmur, rising to my feet. I press her back against the wall with my free hand, the gold held between us. “You wanna tell me how a little fern farmer in the middle of nowhere ends up with this?”
Her face pales, her throat working around words that don’t come.
“Inherited?” I push.
She shakes her head, eyes watery.
“Somebody give it to you?”
“No.”
“You steal it?”
It takes a moment, but then she nods, barely a breath of motion.
I stare at her for a beat, then let out a short, humorless laugh. “Is that why you ran out here? Tucked yourself away in the sticks? Too much heat in town?”
She swallows hard. “Something like that.”
Her eyes lock on mine. They don’t narrow. They simply gaze as she did in the cavern, staring into the Abyss. This time, she’s begging it to understand. And I’m reminded of her words the previous night regarding herbackground. One I took seriously, unlike my brothers.
I nod, deep understanding settling between us. We know what it means to run. I will pry her for more information later, such as the situation with her dismembered ex. A theft like this…it doesn’t come without heat. I simply need to know how much heat is tracking her—and how close it could get.
“You’re in good company,” I tell her.
But she’s not getting this back. I turn, tossing the gold bar to Jude, who catches it easily. “It belongs to the Kinship now,” I tell her, my voice firm. “Everything does.”
She opens her mouth, as though she might argue, then thinks better of it.
“This,” I say, tapping the side of the bar before Jude pockets it, “this will keep our complex running. And it’ll buy you everything you will need for your greenhouse.”
I watch her blink, a hundred things she’s not ready to tell me flickering behind her eyes. That’s fine.
I’ll get them out of her, piece by piece, sliver by sliver.
38
Rory
“CHRIST ABOVE, WOMAN—YE TRYIN’ TO KILL ME?”
Citizen Soldier Playlist
“Monster Made of Memories”
TWO WEEKS LATER
Bleeding Christ, I can’t take it anymore!
With blood still dripping from my apron and my cleaver in my hands, I charge out of my butcher shop. Fuck. I pause in the doorway and look down at my cleaver. I may be a sociopath, but I am not a half-cocked fool. A blade in my hands when I’m in a rage is never a good idea.
