But I had enough gray matter in my brain to realize sharing my reasoning was not enough to earn Kali’s forgiveness. Walking out on someone was not a sin easily absolved.
Purgatory awaited me, but its web of mists and forests was not going to contain me. If necessary, I would uproot the vegetation, scour the spider web of tunnels in the barren soil, and command the fog to concede the gates to the living realm.
Granted, I had made the job of earning the right to reside in Kali’s heart that much harder by harboring the identities of the snakes residing in our and Conall’s compounds.
“The name.” Sana’s demand rang out as a statement, not a question. She was an astute second-in-command to Conall with the reaction speed rivaling Zion’s, arguably surpassing his. The less-than-a-year-old tattoo on her forearm was more than deserved. Sliding the satin hair tie off her wrist, the white fabric a stark contrast to her dark brown curls she swiftly secured in a heap, she repeated, “Give me the name. I’ll take care of the cleanup.”
“Who is it, Gedeon?” Conall moved his intricate braid to fall along his spine, the sun-lightened strands reminiscent of swirls in the oak table. Scratching his thick, a couple inches long beard, he ground out, “Damia has convinced me not to murder you for pretending to be dead, but I swear to the gods, I will smother you in your sleep if you don’t tell mewho the fuck they are.”
Even Aanya winced at his tone, and Dain leaped to soothe her by kissing her temple. Seven silver loops adorned the shell of his right ear, the metal glinting in the bright daylight, the sky clear, not a lingering storm cloud looming above us and debating whether to ruin our day or spare us.
The conversation I’d had with Conall and Damia yesterday, mere minutes after our arrival at their compound, had been…difficult, to put it nicely. Neither had been very pleased to hear they had mourned a man still standing.
But once you had made friends for life, people who transcended the term, those who knew you better than you yourself, sometimes having an honest conversation was the best you could do.
Regardless of how hard it was. How your throat had clogged up while you confessed your fears. How they understood the unspoken words, and you realized how lucky you were to have the family you did.
“Clyde.” There was no point in sugarcoating it. The person Conall had first introduced to me and Ezra last summer. Who had also shown Kali, Zion, and I to our house yesterday evening. “He had a task to obtain blueprints for Ezra.”
“Ezra? The rat isEzra?” Kali echoed. The resignation in her voice collapsed the barrier holding the chaos at bay. Disbelief-induced laughter flooded her system, shaking her shoulders as she repeated the man’s I would have trusted my life with name as a chant.
Ezra’s treachery was incomparable to what I had done to Kali and Zion, but if this was how it felt to be stabbed in your back, forgiveness was not going to be a feat easily accomplished. Not that I deserved to have it handed to me on a silver platter.
But one thing I was certain of: I would do whatever it took to erase the suspicion drawing two lines between Kali’s eyebrows whenever she watched me, evaluating, assessing, as if I was an illusion about to vanish.
“I’ve got this.” A curt nod to me, and Nissa marched out of the room, her two-inch-long blond hair as smooth as her fighter’s gait, measured and with purpose. You could punch the woman in the gut, shock Nissa to her core, but you could not topple her down. Her innate instincts matched one of a predator.
“Clyde.” Conall slumped in his seat. “Fucking hell.” His beyond-bounds trust in Nissa to take care of the snake was evident in how he simply stared ahead, lost in the scenery of hiscompound exposed by the large windows, not a wisp of a haze attempting to conceal his home.
Fiddling with the ends of her sleek waterfall of hazelnut hair, Aanya avoided meeting anyone’s eyes. Her soul was too kind to consider the next steps, the information-extracting methods Conall would have to employ, most likely with Dain’s help—their compound’s enforcer. No wonder he and Zion got along so well.
A thump shook the table. The blade embedded in the wood vibrated as Zion fisted his knife, his knuckles bleached, the black rubber handle an omen of the scenarios whirling in his mind.
“What do you like more? Me slicing off Ezra’s balls, feeding them to him and stuffing his ass full of his own dick before we interrogate him, or would you prefer another type of incentive?” Standing up, he yanked the weapon out of the slab of oak. “Say carving the severity of his crimes into his skin until not a patch free of crimson remains and he bears the words ‘Ilasall’s bitch’?” Zion tapped the tip of the blade against his lips, once, twice, and then smacked them, tasting the fantasy, the daydream as alluring as the sparkles dancing on the steel.
I often wondered if I had been a fool to ignore how his mirth, disturbing or not, painted him in shades so beautiful my tongue tingled to trace them, from the contour of his jaw to the waistline of his faded jeans.
Gripping the denim hugging his hip, I savored the sudden interest flashing on his face andtugged down. My knuckles skimmed his muscles as the fabric gave way and bared a sliver of sandy skin, the curve of his hipbone one I had not mapped out.
Yet.
“Are you trying to get me naked in front of everyone?” Zion lowered into his chair, twisted it by ninety degrees?—
His legs fell on my lap and his feet on Kali’s, the act jarring enough to pluck her out of the shock-induced laughter.
While I blinked at his thighs resting on mine, he wiggled his toes, and the tips of his black boots clicked against each other. “You’re going to have to do better, then. You can start by unlacing my shoes.”
Kali gripped his ankles, and his pants hemline rose, revealing the hair running up his shins. “Will you use the strings to strangle Ezra?” she asked.
“He will not.” Asphyxiation was a death too merciful for the person we used to call our friend. “We need to learn as much as we can first. Zion can explore what kind of tools draw out the loudest screams out of Ezra, and you can decide his final punishment. It will be a public execution, but you once said slitting someone’s throat was too boring. So you can decide his fate, little death.” I brushed a fallen eyelash off her cheek, and the way she unconsciously leaned into my palm liquefied me. “What will it be? A stoning? Bloodletting? A drown?—”
“Can I think about it?” She toyed with Zion’s shoelaces, the aglets matte from years of use.
“Take all the time you need.” Softly kissing her forehead, I marveled at how she closed her eyes, the tiniest physical touch sufficient to relax her.
“Takea lotof time.” Zion clapped his boots again, and his thighs flexed against my own. “I have some ideas I want to run by Eislyn first. Don’t want him dying too fast by accident.” He pouted, the notion of causing an unintentional death an offense to him.
“Torture aside, you mentioned blueprints,” Nara piped up from across the table. Tracing an old condensation ring, she asked, “What kind?”
