Shiloh was seventeen. The oldest replacement yet. He didn’t look as much like Kit as some of the others. He had freckles and brown hair. But in his aunt’s post, his photo showed ripped jeans like Kit often wore. And that lonely melancholy felt too familiar.
“Yeah,” Kit said, heart sinking. “You found him.”
“You aren’t responsible,” Holden said, wrapping an arm around Kit’s shoulders.
Kit leaned in. “I know I’m not.”
But that wasn’t how it felt.
43
nails between his ribs
Coffee dripped like a metronome, an insistent tap-tap in the 1 a.m. darkness. Kit had turned most of the lights off, even though all the windows were secure. He felt more concealed in the shadows. A handful of James’s people were still stationed at the front gate, but most were off on their sudden new assignments.
A team of Darius’s new Rat King underlings were staking out the repurchased warehouse. Darius himself was leading more of his new underlings, plus borrowing Carla, to Laird Renaker’s cabin on the lake. James, Holden, and more of James’s underlings were heading for Kit’s childhood home.
Kit waited behind with Bishop.
The cabin was farthest away. As soon as Darius’s crew was in position, they would all invade at once. If any of Kit’s guesses were right, everything would be over by dawn.
“Does it feel weird for you, too?” Kit asked, barely louder than the dripping coffee.
“Letting other people clean up my mess?” Bishop leaned against the counter. He’d mostly stationed himself in James’s office, with very permissive access to all James’s systems. Only a few blinking screens accompanied him for Kit’s coffee run. “It feels wrong.”
Kit hadn’t been privy to James and Bishop’s argument about who should stay and who should go. He didn’t even know what factors went into the decision, just that after a few tense whispers, the matter was settled.
It was ironic how the people with the most personal stake were left behind. Ironic or intentional. Not that Kit expected to be allowed on any of the teams. He didn’t ask, even though he was a way better shot than Holden.
Last time Kit relied on others, he only delayed the inevitable. Worse. If Kit had taken care of the problem properly, instead of going to the cops, Orion Dechane would still be alive. Shiloh Laudrie would be safe at home or running away of his own volition or whatever.
Kit picked two mugs from the cupboard by feel. They clinked on the granite counter. “I should have killed him back then.”
“You were fourteen,” Bishop pointed out.
“Obviously.” Kit touched the gun at his hip for security. “He wouldn’t have seen it coming.”
But that wasn’t necessarily true. Kit hadn’t waited to see Dad before running the evidence to the cops. If Kit had stopped to think, gathered his courage for an ambush, could he have pulled off the surprise? Or would the Viper have sensed the change in his son’s demeanor?
Kit wasn’t as good at pretending back then.
Not like he was now. Kit’s phone screen lit up with a message. No buzz this time, he’d turned that off. Kit snatched up the phone.
The messages drove nails between his ribs, and Kit didn’t flinch. He slid the phone into his pocket and poured a mug of coffee. His hands didn’t tremble in the curls of steam.
Bishop didn’t ask, but the question was clear.
“It’s from Holden,” Kit said, channeling his embarrassment from an hour ago, when Holden had texted. “It’s, um. Inappropriate, given the circumstances.”
Silence deepened the shadows. Kit counted out slow breaths, trying to relax, even as surely Bishop was seeing through the fresh lie.
Instead, Bishop said, “You love that, huh?”
Right. Kit’s life was questionable enough to give pause anyway. Kit yearned for the days his biggest problem was Bishop refusing to date him with Holden around. Except that was never Kit’s biggest problem. Not any of theirs.
The real problems were out of sight, not out of mind. Deferred disasters.
“I love him.” The truth tasted painfully sweet. Abandoning the coffee, Kit drew closer to Bishop. “Just like I love you.”
