Fletcher still bore the scar from his left temple to his top lip. It made Kane furious every time he looked at it. And yet he was the reason Fletcher had joined Ward’s crew in the first place. Kane had thought it safe at the time—somewhere a boy could go when he didn’t have anyone else. After all, that was what Ward had givenhim, wasn’t it?
Kane had met Fletcher purely by accident. Orphaned in the first few years of the Great Hunger, Fletcher had been slated to sail to British North America alongside thousands of other child migrants, but he had snuck aboard a ship set for London instead. He’d done so in hopes of tracking down his younger sister, who’d been sent to England the month before. Fletcher never found her. Instead, he’d wound up homeless in the country that had persecuted his people and outlawed his religion—up until the day he attempted to pickpocket Kane Durante.
Poor choice of mark, you dumb Paddy, Kane had said, drawing his knife as he hurled the pejorative term he’d heard Ward use countless times.
Fletcher, nearly double his size and surprisingly quick for it, had snatched Kane’s blade with an impish grin.Aye, but I seem to be doing fine all the same.
Something about that grin had made Kane crack one in return, and in the end, he’d brought Fletcher home with him.He’s a huge bloke, a decent pickpocket, and he’d make a good confidence manwas the pitch he’d given Ward.Besides, you always say the Irish only trust their own.
Even if they hadn’t become as close as they were now, Kane would have still felt responsible for Fletcher. Would have still done what he could to repent for bringing him into this life that he was far too good for. As it was, the least he could do was keep Fletcher alive for as long as possible.
His heart rate kicked up a notch, accompanied by a surge of energy that had nothing to do with exertion. Desperation was like a spreading poison in his blood. It made him want to slice his skin and let it leak out, slowly, until his mind settled again. Now that it was daylight, people in the slum took note of him. Though they didn’t know Kane, something about his appearance marked him inherently as one of Ward’s. Something he couldn’t see when he looked in the mirror. He pulled his collar closer to his neck as if that might stave off the fearful glances. Everyone knew the kingpin. After all, this was Ward’s turf, and the people here paid their dues one way or another.
Eyes narrowed to keep his gaze from swimming, Kane scanned the soot-stained buildings for the one Ward had described in his note.
All these godforsaken houses—if you could call them that—looked the same. But he singled it out a moment later, and people parted to let him through as he made his way to the wooden front door. It was cracked in places, barely holding on by the hinges. Kane kicked it open with little effort.
The interior of the house managed to be both bare and cluttered. Black grime clung to every surface, and a distant part ofKane—perhaps the more sober part—was horrified to see a single makeshift bed on the wooden floor. It was lacking even a gas lamp, and the sole window was stuffed with rags to keep out the elements. It wasn’t the first time he’d been inside such a place, but the misery—not to mention the putrid stench—never ceased to disturb him. All in all, it was scarcely better than a doss-house.
“Hello?” Kane put a hand to the knife in his pocket. Ward had gotten him a dark market revolver for jobs like this, but it struck him as unfair to bring a gun to what would surely be a fistfight. People in Devil’s Acre didn’t have magical weapons or, indeed, weapons at all. They couldn’t afford such a thing.
A man loomed in the poorly lit space, his shoulders seeming to fill the entirety of the apartment. He wore a threadbare jacket and hat, and exhaustion was etched into the lines of his dirty face. A factory worker, mostlike. Kane’s stomach hollowed.
“Get out of my house,” the man snarled, though there was fear in his eyes.
Kane calmly folded down the collar of his jacket. An unnecessary action; the man knew why he had come. But something about the kingpin’s mark tended to aid compliance. “I understand you’re owing.”
The man’s lips trembled, and suddenly he was brandishing a knife. Where thehellhad that come from? Perhaps Kane was drunker than he’d realized.
“You get the hell outta here. I’ve got no money.”
Yes, Kane thought, tilting his chin. That was evident. People were expected to pay for the protection that came with living in a kingpin’s claimed territory, but what theyreallypaid for was the privilege of being left alone. “You don’t get to live on Ward’s turf for free.”
“You think Iwantto live here?” The man bared his teeth. “I got no choice. I’m barely keeping my—my family—”
He lunged before completing the sentence, rusted knife flashing. Kane stepped deftly aside. Ward’s instructions were always the same:Take fingers if you have to. If they don’t have the money, make them pay regardless.
But he didn’t intend to do that today. “Stop this.”
The man ignored him. The knife came again, and Kane blocked it with his own, like the tiniest of sword fights. He used the contact to rotate the tip of his blade into the fleshy part of the man’s hand, right beside the thumb. The rusty knife clattered to the floor.
“Bastard,” the man growled, grasping his wrist as blood welled up.
And then his other fist collided with Kane’s jaw.
It was a clever move. Kane, thinking him distracted, hadn’t seen it coming. Pain sparked along the nerves of his face and radiated down into his neck. The blow rattled his composure, and all at once, he’d had enough. Damn it. He’d been trying to make thingseasy. When the man raised his fist again, the action woke something in Kane. Something dark and ugly and ignorant of consequences.
He spun so fast that he was barely aware of his body carrying out the movement. His hand wrapped around the man’s throat, thumb hooking beneath jawbone, and suddenly he was slamming the man up against the wall. It didn’t matter that Kane was slighter. He knew where to press. How to make it hurt.
The man blinked at him, eyes wide, fingers scrabbling at Kane’s hand on his neck. Kane only squeezed harder. That dark, animal rage coursed through his blood, and he felt almost gleeful.
“I gave you a chance,” he breathed in the man’s ear.
The man gasped a word, and Kane loosened his hold slightly. He regretted it a moment later when he registered what that word had been.
He used his grip on the man’s throat to slam him into the wall asecond time. Skull collided with brick, and the sound reverberated through the room.“You motherf—”
But he didn’t finish what he’d been about to say. Because at that moment someone peeked around the corner, eyes enormous in the shadows. Someone with a small face, whose head barely reached Kane’s waist.
