Page 108

Eden

Some games can’t be won,

but sometimes, it’s far worse to lose than not to play at all.

Walking across the bridge feels like walking to our gallows, but we were left with little choice. Alastair had very distinct instructions, and we had no grounds on which to negotiate.

Just beyond our moat, he’s set up four seats in a half circle on the grass—for himself, Mateo, and one each for the cold-eyed bald man and the disapproving distinguished man we saw through our surveillance cameras.

The area was cleared by Sinners this afternoon.

They kicked putrid corpses into the moat until their flesh split over the pikes and gaseous juices spewed out.

The half-eaten faces of Sinners and Reapers alike stare up out of the moat, and I fight my rising gorge with every step over the bridge.

.. because that smell . It’s swamp-thick—sour and miasmic in the humidity.

I’ve smelled death before. I’ve smelled rot and decayed flesh. But never so much. Not like this.

“Watch your step, Eden,” Jasper murmurs behind me on the bridge, and I readjust the chair in my arms, determined not to look down.

Behind me, Jayk, Lucky, and Beau back away from the bridge with slow, pained reluctance, but I don’t look back.

We argued for hours about who should be here for this meeting. It started three to one against my presence at all—Jayk, Lucky, and Beau all having very vocal opinions about me needing to be safely inside. Preferably bound and in Bubble Wrap.

In Beau’s case, with a butt plug in place waiting for him to return.

Dom and Jasper were quieter, letting me speak for myself. And I did. Because I need to be here.

Alastair knows me. He’s willing to deal with me. I’m the only one who has had conversations with him outside of beatings and interrogations, and I’m the one who got us free at Cyanide. I understand him. Worse... I trusted him.

Alastair is my mistake to fix.

My brutes might be better equipped for raids and razing buildings, but if I need to wait on the sidelines while they put themselves in danger to utilize those skills, then they need to do the same for me.

This is my battleground.

And we need cooler heads to prevail.

Which is why Dom and Jasper are with me, and Jayk, Beau, and Lucky are on sniper duty.

Dom steps off the bridge first, and he holds out a hand to me to help me down. I don’t have it in me to smile right now, but I squeeze his fingers as I pass him.

The seated Sinners watch us approach with varying degrees of civility, their rifles all within casual reach.

Nodding to them with as much politeness as I can muster, I set up my own chair opposite Alastair.

Jasper sits beside me, then Dom on my other side.

Arthur and Sawyer trail over last, setting up on either side of Jasper and Dom respectively, until we’re all sitting in a matching semi-circle opposite the Sinners.

I have reservations about what either Arthur or Sawyer might say or do to risk any negotiations—particularly Sawyer, given the emotional state he’s in—but we had no right to keep them from this. This affects their people, too.

“Why’d you bring the female?” the bald man asks, throwing one muscled, sunburned arm over the back of his chair. His eyes are light and lecherous... far too much like the snake tattooed on his hand.

On his other side, the older white-haired man adjusts his glasses as he glances at the bald Sinner.

It doesn’t quite hide his moue of distaste, and relief flickers inside me.

If we can rely on the Sinners for anything, it’s chaos and division, and if Alastair is trying to balance battling factions, then there might be something we can use there.

The Sinners do love their coups.

“Be polite, Bane,” Alastair replies softly, though from his voice or demeanor it hardly looks like he cares. “We all enjoy our toys.”

Bane snorts, and Dom turns to stone beside me, and I silently pray for him to stop being so easy to read.

Being Dom’s toy is galaxies apart from being a man like Bane’s.

A galaxy of choice. A galaxy of respect.

Jasper remains far more impassive, only lifting a single, bored brow.

“Oh, that’s not...” Arthur starts, shifting uncomfortably in his chair before he falters. His hands are visibly sweaty and shake in his lap as he adds in a mumble, “I don’t think that’s productive.”

My heart warms at his defense, even as I wish he’d drop it. I don’t need him to defend me.

Rage sparks under my ribcage as I look at Alastair, but I force a smile.

“Hello, Alastair. I believe you’ve met Dominic, our commander at Bristlebrook, and Jasper. Arthur here took over for Bentley in his absence at Red Zone, and this is?—”

“Sawyer,” the older man finishes for me with a brief glance at the Reaper. “Yes. We’ve... encountered one another.”

His moue of distaste increases, and I begin to wonder if I’m mistaken.

Perhaps it’s just his face.

Sawyer scoffs, slouched in his seat, and he presses the palms of his hands against his eyes.

“ Encountered ,” he mutters. Dropping his hands, he looks at me and Dom bitterly, desperation raw in his eyes. “You hear that? They encountered our home. They encountered Buck right here! His body is still in the...”

He cuts himself off, shaking his head, and concern hits me hard.

He’s sweating, far more than the late afternoon heat can account for.

“Interesting,” Alastair murmurs, lifting his hand to quiet the men by his side. His pretty, pale green eyes are like shards of sharpened sea glass on Sawyer.

I don’t need to look to know what he sees.

If Dom is transparent, Sawyer is holding up a billboard of anxious grief and rage.

Sawyer hasn’t shaved in days, and his mustache is beginning to bleed into the beginnings of a beard. There are deep, stressed lines etched into his face, and he’s spent as much time by Cole’s fevered bedside as he has on watch against the Sinners. I don’t think he’s been sleeping.

He fought right up until the last moment against this meeting, and I’m deeply worried he shouldn’t have come.

Some blood feuds run too deep, and he’s lost too much.

Mateo catches my eye briefly, his glossy brown curls glinting in the sun, and he gives me a tense half-smile.

He cannot be serious.

My eyes narrow on him at the sheer audacity.

I haven’t forgotten how he threatened my brutes at Cyanide.

I remember Beau’s split cheek, and the rifle he pressed to the back of my head.

I remember him shooting that Reaper in his face.

God, they’ve been firing on us for days.

It’s a miracle no civilians have been seriously hurt.

And then there’s Heather.

My lips flatten, remembering Mateo holding Bentley back from helping her. Doing nothing to stop it.

The oozy stench from the moat is thick enough to taste, and Arthur presses a patterned handkerchief to his bulbous nose.

“Very interesting,” Alastair repeats, but then he sits forward, his forearms pressed to his thighs, and his gaze flicks to me... and then continues on.

To Dom .

The surprise of it has me studying him sharply.

What is he doing ?

“Say what you came here to say, Ranger. You have our attention.” Alastair’s smile is like a cool, warning slip of ice before an avalanche. “You would like to petition me to spare your lives, I imagine?”

“Good luck,” Bane mutters. He yanks a heavy dagger out of his waistband and begins picking thick muck out from under his blunt fingernails.

Dom pauses, glancing down at me in silent query, and I bury a frown.

We’d all assumed, after the way Alastair talked at Cyanide—after he insisted on dealing only with me , and the scathing way he insulted Dom—that it would be the same here, but... something is off.

Alastair is barely acknowledging my presence.

Insecure thoughts and gnawing worries surge to the surface. Have I overestimated myself? Alastair has already manipulated me soundly, after all. He secured his freedom from me, and maybe that was the only reason he ever dealt with me.

Maybe he’s ignoring me because I’ve served my purpose... and now I can be disregarded like all the rest.

Like I have been most of my life.

My gaze tracks slowly from Alastair to Bane, lazy and crude—a Sam man through and through. I look at the older man, who offers me a bland, polite acknowledgement as he examines Dom with thick suspicion. I look at Mateo, silent and watchful.

And I banish my insecurities.

Alastair is always playing a game, and I don’t need to trust him to trust my own instincts.

He’s an intentional man. Ignoring me is intentional. Bringing both of these men out here is intentional. I don’t know yet who he’s performing for—and why—but I do know what he wants .

Power is a slippery thing, and Alastair is clutching at it with both hands.

And that’s a game with possibilities.

It’s a lot easier to take a throne than it is to keep it.

Surreptitiously, I nod to Dom. If Alastair wants him to take the lead as his first move, then I’ll allow it. Dom can have this conversation as well as I can.

And it gives me a moment to understand the nature of what’s on the board.

“We’re not petitioning for anything,” Dom says coldly.

“You need to leave. Pack up your weapons and go back to your Den. Do that, release the captives you’re holding there, and then we’ll consider discussing other arrangements that could benefit you.

Trade deals for food and the goods you need for your people.

But this siege is done. Your harassment of Red Zone and your continued attacks against the Reapers are done .

It’s not the Sinners’ reign anymore—and if you want to have any place in this new world, you’ll do it by agreement and not by force. ”

This time, as Dom faces Alastair, his shoulders are straight, and there’s nothing but contempt in the harsh set of his mouth. It’s the most chilling expression I’ve ever seen on his face.

I never, ever want that look directed at me.