“Safine!” Decker yanked down the collar of his shirt.
Sores bubbled on Cricket’s chest and the bullet wound shredded a hole next to the perfect circle of his amulet. Blood leaked into the whorls of the metal.
Cricket’s lung fluttered against the exposed white of his ribs, pulsing and trembling as if his luck was desperately trying to knit him back together.
Decker slipped his hand into Cricket’s and gently tugged the sodden shirt back with the other. “You’ll be just fine, kid, just fine.Safine!”
He didn’t know if she could hear him, didn’t know if anyone could hear him other than those goddamnbastardsacross the river.
The chapel doors banged open in the silence, and Safine flew towards them, Sister Inez’s habit billowing behind them as she followed.
Safine’s face said what he needed to know as she glanced at him, and Decker’s chest clenched. “Get him to theGoose.”
Decker gathered up Cricket, all torn flesh and blood, and the kid cried out as he carried him to the only safety they had.
Scarlet soaked his hands and his clothes and the saloon table he laid him on.
Laurie and Sister Inez barred the heavy door, feet planted and teeth gritted, shoving tables, wedging chairs.
Safine tore at her skirt to press the fabric to Cricket’s chest, and he let out a ragged cry and writhed in Decker’s arms as she hopelessly held pressure, shushing him.
Laurie murmured prayers of empty, pretty words as he took his hand.
“I didn’t want to die this time.” Cricket’s other hand clutched at Decker’s shirt as if he were the only thing yet holding him to this earth. “Don’t let me die—”
“You’re not gonna die.”
Decker had made a habit of lying.
The low hum of Laurie’s voice wavered into the air. “I shall fear no evil—”
Decker’s voice forced past his tight throat. “Laurie,don’t.”
Cricket’s amulet, his once saving grace, was soaked with red.
His lips welled with blood when they parted, panting, struggling for another breath. “I know,” he gritted out, eyes wide as his nails bit into Decker’s arm. “Please.”
I know.
All those years of joking about hiding bodies in the whiskey barrels and Cricket knew. He knew, and he wanted the fate Decker could give him. To be a hunter and killer, preying on lesser creatures and never accepting that humanity was always out of reach, no matter how much of it he consumed.
Death was a far better fate for Cricket Conklin.
Under the wanted posters plastering his room and beyond the easy grin and quick jokes, he was only a scared boy clinging to hope that never existed.
Decker swallowed back a bitter taste. Thomas Haven had not known. Yet the same betrayal flickered on his old lover’s face as he took his last labored breath, like Decker was to blame for it all.
Maybe I am.
His thumb grazed along his cheek, his voice stretched thin. “I’m sorry.”
Cricket’s chin quivered.
Dipped in a fragile, understanding nod. His voice came out as a rasping, blood-tinged whisper. “Mercer.”
One last name. Decker reckoned they’d find her in Amaretto.
Limp strands of blond hair fell across tear-damp cheeks and Decker smoothed them away.
