Page 114

Beau

You can’t beg for mercy

from those who don’t have it to give.

Bane yawns, scratching his crotch as we sit down. He has five men milling lazily around him, walking up to the moat to stare at the decaying bodies and then strolling back again. At least they’ve only got pistols on them, but it’s still five more trigger-happy assholes than I want at this meeting.

They put me on edge. The rot-ripe smells put me on edge. Alastair’s cold, smarmy little smile puts me on edge.

I want this done.

“No Sawyer today?” Sullivan asks brusquely.

“He wasn’t well,” is all Dom says, and Alastair’s smile deepens.

“I’m sure.”

But Bane snorts, shaking his head. “What a fucking pussy.”

“So what else is new?” a short, beady-eyed Sinner drawls, and Bane laughs.

I don’t even bother to hide my disgust. I want these men away from my home, away from my people—away from Eden. Their world doesn’t allow for softness, or kindness. It doesn’t allow for fear, unless they’re the ones to instill it.

The Reapers were right to come to us.

No one deserves to face men like this alone.

“Yesterday,” Alastair begins, his eyes on Dom. “You were disrespectful. You made demands of us that my friends here and I found... unacceptable. I hope another night with empty stomachs has made you reconsider your approach.”

Everything about him makes my skin crawl.

His pale eyes and bladed face. The scar through his eyebrow and the poisoned plants on his skin.

But mostly it’s the deadness in him.

There’s an absence of something behind his eyes that should be there. A conscience. A soul, maybe. He looks... empty.

Dom leans forward, his neck stiff as he bends his head, and my fingers curl into fists at my side. I hate this. To my bones , I hate this.

“We... have,” he says, his voice as rigid as his neck.

Dom is no actor—his participation in my roleplays is nominal at best—but his obvious discomfort is enough to sell this. The gloating already splashed over Bane’s face tells me it will work.

“We shouldn’t have... demanded,” Dom finishes through gritted teeth, and Arthur darts a surprised, nervous look at his face.

Eden is silent, her lips drawn and unhappy as she stares straight ahead.

It’s a look she used to get sometimes while she journaled for Jasper—like she’s gone someplace endless and bleak inside of herself. A place I’d have to come and coax her from, part of me terrified every time that she might not come back out.

Mateo is closest to the trees, and he’s staring out into them as if he’s bored of the conversation, but his corded neck betrays him. It takes me a moment to make out Bentley and Heather, tied to the edge of the tree line.

They’re watching, too.

Alastair shakes his head, his eyes approving. “No. You shouldn’t.” That scarred brow lifts expectantly. “You should have begged .”

Arthur’s breath leaves him in a soft, wobbly oof .

Sour slime fills my stomach.

This reminds me too much of the Den. It’s different, I know it is—we all decided to play this game together, and I know Dom and Eden wouldn’t have agreed to anything if we wouldn’t be better off, but... this feels like having shit served up to us and then being forced to eat it with a smile.

Dom stares at Alastair, a muscle ticking in his jaw, like he can’t force the words out.

Alastair’s brow lifts higher, waiting.

A sharp pin could burst the air.

“It’s okay, Dom,” I breathe, just above a whisper, and his chest expands slowly.

“ Please ,” Dom says, low and rough. “ Please consider trade arrangements. Stop this war, I. ..” He swallows hard, stalling, and Eden takes his hand, squeezing it hard.

“ We beg you ,” she finishes in a husky, pleading rush.

I only just hide a flinch.

I know why this was Eden’s solution. I know she thinks this costs her nothing—that being bendable means not breaking. It might be the right—or even the only—solution here.

But she’s wrong about the cost.

Eden should only get on her knees for the people who make it a joy.

Bane laughs appreciatively, sitting forward with rampant eagerness. “Looks like you can bring all the bitches to heel, Alastair.”

Rage roars through me with white-hot intensity. It fills my empty stomach, fires my veins, and I clamp my teeth together against the onslaught, breathing through my nose.

I know why Dom warned me now.

I want to kill them all.

Beside Alastair, Sullivan looks down and adjusts his glasses, like he’s uncomfortable.

As he damn well should be.

Sitting in his chair like it’s the throne he blew to shreds, Alastair considers Dom. Finally, still wearing that same slight, cold smile, he stands.

He begins to stroll, calm and thoughtful. Absently, he gestures the other Sinners back as he paces behind the chairs, and they move like obedient cattle dogs, clustering by the moat in a small pack.

“Trade arrangements,” Alastair muses, his voice still so flat. So empty. “It’s an interesting concept. Sullivan is in favor of it; we discussed it last night.”

He gestures at Sullivan, who nods, a small measure of relief breaking over his features.

“Yes, I think?—”

“That wasn’t an invitation, Sullivan,” Alastair speaks mildly over him, not pausing in his slow, hypnotic pacing.

Bane smirks at the correction, exchanging amused looks with his men by the moat. One of them nervously edges away from the pikes as dirt begins to slip beneath his heel.

“So, the Reapers would give us the food we need instead of us taking it from them, and they’d agree to cease any of their idiotic rebellions?” Alastair asks.

Bane leans back in his chair. “I liked taking it from them. It’s better that way. We got to take the good stuff... and it was so easy .” His eyes glitter as he grins. “Like slaughtering pigs. It’s the screams that make it fun.”

The rage churns through my gut, remembering the pigs we were forced to kill just days ago. I’ve got no squeamishness about doing it... but it’s not fun. Ending a life is never fun .

Ending Bane’s might be, though.

How do we make peace with this guy? I don’t even want to sit through a meeting with him.

“It’ll be less fun when there’s no one left to farm it,” I bite out, and Bane shrugs.

“There are more around.”

More places for them to burn through.

“ Beau ,” Dom mutters in warning, and I grimace, nodding.

Alastair lifts a cautioning hand to Bane, too, who rolls his eyes.

And I see Alastair’s gaze sharpen on the disrespect.

Dread prickles over me.

Alastair stops pacing. Instead, he walks over to stand behind his chair.

The sunlight is weak and delicate, and his dark clothes seem to repel the light. Those clothes are made for midnight.

“And what would you offer?” he demands of Dom. “More weapons? Tools? There are some things we’re low on that are hard to find. Would you be my errand boys?”

Is that what we agreed? That’s not too bad. Takes us away from home, but we could do some family trips out.

I shift in my ancient fold-out chair, hope battling the flare of dread.

Dom breathes in through his nose, but he says, “Yes.”

Alastair looks at Arthur. “And you? Your Bentley said you have artisans who can make alcohol and candles. Even custom glasswork? Blacksmithing?”

My hope shines brighter.

Perfect. Things they can’t make or get themselves. Things they need allies for.

Show Bane what Red Zone can offer, too.

Uncertainly, Arthur glances at Dom and Eden before he slowly looks back at Alastair.

“Y-yes. We can do that.” He attempts a smile.

“I-I’ve measured up the windows for Bristlebrook already.

We need some ingredients, but if we have those.

.. yes. If we have free range to the buildings in the city too, then.

.. we can even do complex work. We have an horologist there too—for timepieces. Clocks, I?—”

“Fascinating,” Alastair says, so blandly that Bane snorts again, his shoulders shaking.

A smile begins to edge Alastair’s mouth.

It’s a dangerous smile.

I don’t trust it at all.

I don’t let myself tense, but casual as I can, I move my hand to my pistol. Beside me, Dom tilts his head just slightly, his jaw locked.

Don’t , he says without words.

My heart starts to pound.

I know they want this to work, that they have a deal, but Alastair...

No. I trust them.

Adrenaline is thrumming through me, as cold as my rage is hot... but I take my hand from my gun. I’m following Dom and Eden.

To the end.

“Sullivan?” Alastair asks, but his eyes are on Dom. “This is the deal you want?”

Sullivan’s white head lifts, and he wipes his hands nervously over his thighs. “Yes.” He nods, glancing at us. “Yes, I-I think that would be best for everyone. No casualties, more opportunities for goods that would make our lives better. Yes . We should take the deal.”

Take it, Alastair , I silently urge.

Alastair nods, a quiet, thoughtful hm escaping him.

But Bane’s smirk is dying, his gaze darting between Sullivan and Alastair. “You’re not fucking considering this? We have them pinned! With those whores, there’s enough holes for every fucking Sinner back home.”

Alastair’s pale eyes drift to Bane.

There’s a rumble of dissatisfaction from the men by the moat, and Alastair’s head tilts, listening.

Dom tenses beside me, sitting up in his chair. His eyes are sharp on Alastair.

Silently, Mateo gets up, stepping back from the group, and the prickle of dread in my gut turns into a flood.

Don’t do it, Alastair. Stick to the plan.

“You object to the deal?” Alastair asks Bane, like he’s curious.

Bane stands so he can look Alastair in the eye. His bald head gleams in the sun. “Yeah. I do.”

“Alastair...” Eden begins carefully, and Bane’s head whips her way.

“Stop talking , woman,” Alastair snaps, with the most snarled heat I’ve ever heard in his voice.

Bane’s men snort, laughing among themselves, but Bane is still tense. So is Alastair.

“Well, it is my decision whether I take the deal or not, isn’t it?” Alastair asks Bane, his voice ice-frosted silk.

Bane smiles.

Smiles like he’s considering that.

And Alastair nods softly. Carefully.

The dread pools in my throat.

“I do have one more question, Ranger,” he murmurs.

Urgently, I glance at Dom, looking for a cue.

Dom shakes his head again, telling me to stay, but he’s like a boulder beside me. “What’s your question? Are we making a deal or not?”

With a whispered, terrifying finality, Alastair asks, “For all these goods you’re willing to trade us, what exactly is it that you want in return?”

There’s a tense, breathless silence.

As Dom stands to his full height, his shoulders seem to fill the space.

“Dom,” Eden says nervously. Her eyes dart to Alastair, and she scrambles up too. “Dom...”

But it’s too late.

“We want your captives, Alastair—every last fucking one. No matter the cost,” Dom snaps.

And Alastair sighs, still face-to-face with Bane.

“Such a pity. It was almost a good deal.”

And then he shoots my best friend in the chest.