Ferrington bumped his elbow against Cleland’s. The larger man hesitated another long moment, then finally took a step backward.
“Ward would be embarrassed,” he hissed at Kane. “While you’re running his crew into the ground, I hope you remember that.”
Kane didn’t bother responding. He merely stared after the two men as they retreated, his gaze never wavering, even once they were out of sight. The tension that had left Zaria’s muscles seemed to flood back in as she studied his face. She didn’t recognize that distant expression. He looked… unmoored. As though he were moments from fracturing, with nothing and nobody to hold him together.
When that gaze abruptly flicked to her, she felt trapped by it. Like a mouse in the sights of a cat, afraid that any sudden movement would lead it to pounce.
In that unkept garden, cocooned by moonlight, the two of themmight have been the only people in the world. Lonely children playing at kings and thieves. A foolish girl and a beautiful, terrible boy.
“Zaria,” Kane said eventually. His quiet tone was unsure, as if sounding out a word in an unfamiliar language.
She dared to take a few steps closer. “Kane. What were you doing out here?”
The clouds overhead shifted, the moon growing even brighter in response. Kane was limned in silver, his eyes taking on a glassy sheen. He wasn’t sober, Zaria realized. But he lifted his gun and, without looking away from her, fired a trio of shots across the yard.
She flinched, blinking through the bright spots that assailed her vision, and finally saw what Kane was shooting at. There was a small shed on the other side of the property, a slim wooden board propped up against the exterior wall. It was peppered with tiny holes all in perfect rows, smoke still wafting from it as Zaria watched. That was what dark market ammunition did—ate right through solid matter and left no trace.
And Kane had hit the board three times, in the dark, without looking. Whiledrunk.
“I should ask you the same,” he returned, a slight hitch in his voice. “How did you cross paths with those two?”
“They found me,” she said honestly, carefully. Kane didn’t need to know she’d been sneaking around at the time.
“And you knew to lead them outside?”
“No. I didn’t know you were here. I was just… running.”
“Did they hurt you?” Kane’s teeth glinted as his top lip pulled back. “If they did, I swear, I’ll—”
“Stop.” Zaria wasn’t sure she wanted to hear what he would do. She glanced to the direction in which Cleland and Ferrington had disappeared, a thought occurring to her. “Would you have killedthem?” she asked softly. “If I hadn’t been watching, would you have done it?”
His brows drew together. “Maybe.”
A curt, simple answer. It ought to have disturbed her. And yet the fact that he’d avoided violence because ofher—because he’d known she wouldn’t like it, even when he was in whateverthismood was—gave her an odd feeling in her stomach.
It was obvious she needed Kane if she wanted to survive here. Not to mention that the closer she could get to regaining his trust, the more likely she was to find the ledger Vaughan was after. This version of Kane, though, was dangerous. Unhinged. Difficult to read. Without meaning to, Zaria let her attention drop to his gun.
Kane noticed and raised the weapon. “Do you know who I picture when I pull the trigger?”
“Me?” she guessed, scarcely more than a whisper. But she forced herself not to look away, daring him to admit she was right.
His laugh was scratchy. Disbelieving. “You?God, no. You’d like it, wouldn’t you, to know you haunted me that way. No, Zaria, I don’t want you dead. I want…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “It’s me.”
“I’m not following.”
“That’s who I picture.” His rictus grin was back in place. “Myself. A boy who shot his own father, lied to his best friend, and was foolish enough to let a girl like you betray him. I plan to continue living for some time, but sometimes I think I’d rather like to watch myself die.”
Zaria couldn’t swallow past the sudden contraction in her throat. “That’s mad.”
“Is it?”
They were inches apart now, close enough that she could smell the whiskey-and-mint scent of him. She was cognizant of her nightdress and bare feet, of the curly tendrils escaping from her braid.Kane looked impeccable in comparison, even with his wild gaze and windswept hair. It made her feel irrationally resentful.
“Do you regret it?” she said. “Killing Ward?”
It wasn’t until the question hovered between them that she realized it had been plaguing her for days. She would shed no tears for Alexander Ward, but he had been Kane’s father in all but blood. She wanted to know if Kane had felt something,anything, when he buried a bullet in the man’s chest.
One of his cheeks ticked upward. Amusement? Or poorly concealed fury? “What a question, Miss Mendoza.”
