Calliope wanted to scream into a pillow.
I’m sorry, Mr. Rollings, but there is nothing I can do for you right now.
*
Maxen Fury lovedthe night.
Darkness wasn’t just where he thrived, it was where he ruled.
On the other hand, he hated trouble.
And trouble always occurred in threes. They caused complications. And if there was one thing that he, one of the seven bastard sons of the Duke of Crane, wanted to avoid at all costs, it was complications. They had a way of turning deadly. He’d learned that the hard way, long before he’d been old enough to understand the cost.
Damn it all to hell.
He should have known this night would gather into a pile of shite the moment he caught sight of the new shop right next to his bolt-hole this morning—all bright andsweet.
Dagger, that arse, who managed all their properties, had rented out that blasted one without his permission while he was busy setting up a warehouse in Worthing for the past fortnight. His brother also hadn’t given him any additional information other than he’d been too gloomy and should enjoy some freshness.
He still wanted to throttle the man.
How could the arse be so careless? That shop—that space—was where they hid their barrels. What would happen if they required the gunpowder?
He pushed the thought aside with a curse. No use lamenting over it now. The deed was done and could not be undone for the time being.
Maxen scowled at the man sprawled on the ground.
Nowthis.
What the bloody hell had he done to deserve this bloody mess?
And what the hell had he just heard? His sharp gaze followed Dagger’s to the shadows beyond the buildings where the unmistakable sound had come from.
“Someone is watching us,” Dagger said darkly.
Bloody fine.
“Who’s there?” Maxen called out, and then added for good measure, “Show yourself. Obedience begets lenience, resistance begets wrath.”
Silence.
Maxen motioned to the man sprawled on the ground. “Keep an eye on him. I’ll go have a look.” He set off in the direction of the noise without waiting for his brother’s response, cursing his luck. He hadn’t wanted to come out tonight to meet this fool, Rollings. But he’d had no other choice. He ran these streets.Hedid the sweeping if there were messes to clear. Especially missing cargo messes.
And when there was proverbial blood in the water, Maxen always hunted.
He strode briskly through the dark, his whole body on high alert, a scowl forming when he heard another sound. This one almost like anoof, followed by footsteps fleeing, confirming they hadn’t been mistaken.
A little rat.
He broke into a sprint, a slew of curses filling his mind as his joints suddenly protesting the sudden charge. He couldn’t let some gutter-born sneak slip into the cracks. Not when the possibility existed that it might be an enemy spy.
“Stop!” Maxen growled as a small figure in the distance came into view.
The sneak showed no signs of heeding his warning and continued to scurry away. The darkness obscured his vision, but they appeared to be a lad—achild—who probably hadn’t even sprouted facial hair yet. That didn’t mean much. Children growing up on the streets oftentimes couldn’t be considered children at all. Boys and girls grew up fast in the gutter. Sly. Cunning.
Just ask him.
No, this wouldn’t bejusta boy.
