Page 33 of A Heist for Filthy Rivals (Mythic Holidays #3)

“And why do we have to believe that?” Scriv steps forward. “What if you did intend to get rid of us? Maybe you knew exactly what that stone could do, and you were trying to accomplish this heist by yourself. Maybe you wanted all the treasure and glory.”

“I had no idea what would happen. I was as shocked as you were. Yes, I figured out that the wish should last about twenty-four hours, but I—”

“You planned to be back in the mortal realm by the time we reappeared,” he says. “You were going to leave us stranded here while you ran off with—whoever that is.” He jerks his chin toward Ravager’s slumped figure.

“Gods, who is that?” asks Flex. “He looks rather awful.”

“That’s someone I… he’s a thief too, but he… well…” I hesitate, unsure how to describe Ravager’s connection to me.

“So it’s true?” says Maven. “You have a new partner?”

“No! That’s not how it happened. Fuck... it’s hard to explain. The stone was an accident, and then he and his gang showed up, trying to get into Annordun. His men were killed, so he and I teamed up, because I didn’t know if you were ever coming back, and I needed help against the monsters...”

As the words leave my lips, I know how they sound and how my crew will interpret them.

If I were in their place, if I’d been trapped for twenty-four hours in some alternate dimension contained within a magical wishing stone, and I’d returned to find my leader in the company of a strange thief—one who is both unconscious and injured—I would assume the worst. To their eyes, it must look like I’ve been using everyone, including Ravager, for my own selfish ends.

Which is partly true.

Maybe another group of people would be more understanding.

But as thieves, we’re used to ascribing ulterior motives to those around us—which explains the hostile expressions on the faces of the Javelins.

Flex eyes me with disdainful suspicion. Scriv looks downright malevolent, even murderous.

Boulder’s face is a storm of frustration and anger.

Worst of all is Maven, whose eyes are brimming with angry hurt.

“Where is the wishing stone now?” she asks.

I’m not about to hand over a powerful wishing stone to my crew when they’re in this frame of mind. They’re likely to trap me inside it and leave Ravager behind—an outcome I can’t risk. I have to be convincing right now.

Ravager told me I’m not a good liar, that I answer too quickly. So I take a beat, and I let my shoulders sink like I’m disappointed.

“I was holding it when the last hour ran out,” I say wearily, looking Maven in the eyes. “When you all reappeared, it vanished.”

She nods. “Only good for one use, I suppose. Some of them are good for three. Too bad.”

The way she says “too bad” only strengthens my suspicion that she was planning to use the stone. I’ve known her to be vindictive, but it hurts that she would turn on me so completely.

“I think the time for playing nice has passed,” says Scriv, looking around at the other Javelins. “We may as well do this now.”

“Do we have to, though?” asks Flex. “Seems messier doing it here.”

“Doing what, exactly?” My fingers creep toward my knife.

Maven’s sharp eyes catch the movement. “Would you really try to kill us, Dev?”

“Isn’t that what you’re talking about doing to me?” My voice is tight, my throat aching. Despite what I’ve been through in the past twenty-four hours, despite how badly I’m hurting right now, I will not cry. I will not show such weakness.

“Kill you? After everything we’ve been through together?

This was never about killing you, but the fact that you’d even say that—” Maven shakes her head.

“It just proves that Scriv is right. Either you’ve changed, or we never really knew you at all.

This isn’t about ending your life, Devilry, but it is about separating from you. ”

“Nothing personal, boss,” Flex puts in. “But we want different things. Like a lair that’s more suited to a gang of fearsome thieves and assassins, for one thing.”

“Assassins?” I look at Scriv. “We don’t assassinate people.”

“You don’t. But we do.” He waves his hand to the other Javelins and himself. “There’s good money in assassinations and bounty-hunting.”

“But you won’t need that money. Not after this haul.” I nod to Drosselmeyer’s inventions. “We’ll all have enough.”

“There’s no such thing as enough money,” Flex comments.

“And it’s not just about the money,” says Maven. “It’s about the prestige, the work. You want to quit—we all know that. Face it—you’re tired of the thieves’ life.”

“I’m not,” I protest.

But she moves closer, her dark eyes piercing mine. “Think about it. You didn’t set up a lair—you set up a cozy home, complete with Candle as the grandma figure. You keep talking about how we’ll never have to steal again after this. But what if we want to steal?”

“If you have enough, why would you keep thieving?”

Maven looks at me sorrowfully. “And there it is. Your heart was never really in this. You got into thieving out of proximity or necessity, but there’s no joy in it for you, no professional satisfaction.

You turn down good jobs just because they don’t fit your personal code of ethics.

I used to respect that about you, but now it’s just frustrating.

We want different things. Scriv has a vision—”

“Oh, Scriv has a vision?” I exclaim bitterly. “A vision to turn you all into bounty hunters and murderers who steal from everyone, rather than those who deserve to lose their wealth?”

“He won’t hold us back out of some goddamned annoying sense of moral superiority.” Maven is nearly shouting now.

“So I hold you back? Good to know. I guess all those times when you acted like a real friend, you were just putting up with me? Sucking up to the boss?” Tears are burning in my eyes, and my voice is just as loud as hers.

“You were a friend,” she says. “But you drove me crazy. You don’t ever let loose. You’ll never reach your full potential, and I won’t let you restrict my future. We’re not your crew anymore, Devilry. Scriv is our new leader. We’re done. You’re on your own.”

“Not entirely on your own.” Flex smirks, inspecting his nails. “You’ve got Candle. And whoever that is.” He nods to Ravager.

I turn to Boulder, desperate. He’s got his great arms crossed and he’s looking at Scriv. When Scriv gives him a nod, Boulder opens his arms—and like a fool, I move between them, thinking he’s giving me a hug until his grip tightens almost painfully. He’s restraining me.

“What are you doing?” I gasp. “Boulder—Maven—”

Scriv walks casually over to me, pulls down my chin, and stuffs his handkerchief into my mouth. I try not to think about what that handkerchief has been used for.

“Tie her up good,” he says to Flex. “Then we need to get all of this packed up so we can go. I don’t know about you three, but I’ve had enough of Faerie and its fucking magic.”

“I say we leave the old boss here,” Flex suggests. “Pay her back for the hours of mental torture we endured. I suffered untold trauma while I was trapped in that nothingness. It was so dreadfully boring.”

Scriv turns to Maven, his voice gentle. “I’ll let you decide what we do with her.”

Maven looks at me, a touch of uncertainty in her gaze. Pride won’t let me beg for mercy, not even with my eyes. I keep my gaze hard, unyielding.

“She could be dangerous to us. To you, Maven,” Scriv says quietly.

Does she not understand that the change in his tone is calculated? That he’s pretending to give her a choice, when he’s really manipulating her into doing exactly what he wants?

Maven squares her shoulders, her face grim. “We leave her behind. Let the Stewards deal with her. I’m sure they’ll treat her fairly.”

Not likely, given what I’ve done to this place.

With Boulder’s help, Flex removes my pack and makes quick work of tying my wrists and ankles. It’s no use struggling against Boulder, even if I had the heart to do so, which I don’t.

“We might have a problem,” says Maven, looking up from her inspection of my pack’s contents. “The Doras álainn isn’t here.”

“What?” Flex exclaims, panic tightening his features. “Where is it? Was it destroyed? Are we stuck here?”

“It’s got to be in the fortress,” Maven says, eyeing me. “She must have hidden it for some reason. Maybe she realized she was running out of time before our return, and she wanted leverage against us.”

“Where is it, Devilry?” asks Scriv.

I stare at him silently, arching a brow. He rolls his eyes and takes the handkerchief out of my mouth.

“Tell us what happened to the Doras álainn,” he says. “Don’t make us hurt you.”

“I’m going home.” Flex’s voice holds barely suppressed panic. “I’m going home. I don’t care if I have to torture it out of you, Devilry. I’m done, do you hear me? Done.”

“All right, Flex.” Scriv pats his shoulder. “Let me handle this.”

“Make her tell you!”

“I will, Flex, I will.” Scriv grabs my jaw. “Answer the man, Devilry. Where is it?”

I wrench my chin from his grasp and look up at Boulder. “Are you really going to hold me still while they hurt me?”

“If you were truly our friend, you would tell us where it is,” Boulder replies stoically.

“It’s half a league from ‘eat shit’ and three from ‘go fuck yourself.’”

Scriv backhands me across the mouth.

Maven startles and her lips tighten, but she doesn’t rebuke him for it, not even when I spit blood.

That’s what clinches it for me. Our friendship is truly over. The Javelins are no longer my crew in any sense of the word. They no longer deserve my protection or my loyalty.

They think I’m soft, useless, and unmotivated, but they simply don’t understand what drives me. Throughout my life, one of my strongest motives has been pain. And they’ve cleaved a wound in my heart that’s as deep as the one my parents made.

Pain births rage. Rage is the source of cruelty. And the language of cruelty is violence.