“But you have something to do with it.”
Kane inclined his chin, mouth a cruel line. “And you’re too morally pure to deal with someone like me, is that it? The terror of Devil’s Acre. Empty on the inside.” Sarcasm was heavy in his voice. “Perhaps I am all those things. But it doesn’t quite dissuade you, does it?”
Zaria shook her head as if that might clear her spinning thoughts. “How much can you give me?”
“Tell you what—you help me get to the necklace, and I’ll take whatever else is in the display with it. The exhibit was sent by an Irish jeweler named George Waterhouse, and I guarantee every piece will fetch more in resale than you’ve seen in your entire life.”
Damn it all, but he made it so tempting. Though Zaria tried not to look, his words painted a picture of hope. She could settle her debts to Georgeandmake sure he had enough to pay Ward. They wouldn’t lose the pawnshop, and Jules would escape the kingpin’s grasping claws. They could finally leave London. They could buy a house in the country, and she would paint the door yellow herself.
But there was one more, rather important, element.
“How can you be sure we won’t get caught?”
Kane bared his teeth—grinned?—as he tilted his head toward the ceiling. He took a step forward, then another, until the barrel of the revolver was pressed firmly against his chest. She had the urge to move away, but didn’t, gritting her teeth at the heat of his body so close to hers. It was utterly inappropriate, the proximity at which they were standing. To her horror, it sent her pulse leaping, and shetilted her chin up. The candle on her worktable flickered, tendrils of fire reflecting in the depths of Kane’s eyes.
“I joined Ward’s crew when I was ten years old,” he said softly, running a finger over the curve of his neck. The tattoo there. “He taught me everything I know. I don’tgetcaught.”
Zaria’s nerves sparked to life at the note of danger in his words. It shouldn’t have been enough to convince her—really, it shouldn’t have—but she couldn’t help being convinced nonetheless. He was clever, this boy. He knew what she wanted, and had reeled her in so seamlessly that even being aware of it didn’t make a difference.
“Okay, Kane Durante,” she said, moving the gun away from his chest so as to offer her hand. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”
KANE
KANE HADN’T ALWAYS BEEN SOMEONE TO FEAR.
When Ward had first taken him in, he’d been swiftly alienated from the rest of the crew. Unlike them, Kane hadn’t had to win Ward’s trust—it was simply given to him. He looked like Ward’s deceased son, the older men whispered behind his back. That was the only reason Ward liked him. Everyone knew antagonizing Kane was dangerous, as it risked Ward’s wrath, so the younger boys took to bothering him at night. They were upper-class youths, with fathers who collected rent from the families on Ward’s behalf. They thought themselves untouchable.
Or at least they did, until the night someone attacked Kane in the dark.
Upon seeing Kane’s bruised face the next day, Ward called a meeting and demanded the culprit come forward. When no one did,he whipped out his dark market gun and fired a streak of blazing magic through every window in the room.
“I’ll askonce more,” he’d bellowed, “and if I don’t get an answer, I start aiming for heads.”
When Bobby Martin took a shaky step forward, Ward shot him.
“You are always my priority,” he’d told Kane later that day. “They are my men, but you are my heart. They know that. And a man is always more dangerous once he learns how to aim for the heart.”
But if Kane had learned one thing about Ward’s crew, it was that they’d never respect a boy who didn’t fight his own battles. They were like wolves, constantly battling for their place next to the alpha.
So the next time someone took it upon themselves to try to dispose of Kane, he didn’t wait for Ward to pull the trigger.
Once he’d finished retching, he’d expected Ward to be angry. You weren’t supposed to kill your allies. To Kane’s surprise, though, Ward seemed almost delighted. His mouth tilted up in a cold smile, and his eyes took on that eerie gleam with which Kane had become so familiar.
On that day, the rest of the crew learned two very important things: One, that Ward would allow Kane to kill whomever he wished. And two, that Kane would do it.
He hadn’t retched since. Instead, he’d hollowed himself out, little by little, until all that remained were wry grins and bottomless self-hatred.
“I’ve refined the plan,” Kane told Fletcher the next morning.
He’d scarcely slept a wink for the second night in a row, thoughthis time pain wasn’t the culprit. Blessedly, Ward’s punishment had long since worn off. No—he’d spent the rest of the evening in the sitting room reflecting on his conversation with Mendoza.
Zaria, his brain supplied. That was her given name. It suited her, somehow, in the way it rolled swiftly off the tongue. Kane could still feel the press of the gun against his chest, the heat of her dark gaze on his face. Had he made a mistake, seeking out her help? She was clearly hesitant to trust him. But she was the kind of girl whowanted—Kane could taste it simply by being in her presence. And who could blame her? She lived in the slum with a pawnbroker and his son. Her father had left her nothing save a reputation that, by the sounds of it, had quickly deteriorated.
And herwork—Kane had taken a good look at it when she’d led him into her workshop. Though he knew little about the process of alchemology, he could discern when the product was well-made. Zaria Mendoza’s inventions were created with meticulous care. No wonder she was in such high demand.
“Are youdrinking?” Fletcher said, stifling a yawn. “It’s barely past dawn.”
Kane drained the last of his whiskey. He’d long since forgotten about it, and it was unpleasantly warm. “I went to see Ward the day before yesterday.”
