Page 51 of Leather & Lark

Lark growls.

“Fine, youdeletednine people,” I say, pulling a hand from my pocket to wave it in her direction. “You.Lark feckin’ Montague.”

Eyes molten with a dare, she gives me a sardonic smile. “Kane. Lark feckin’ Kane.”

Her words smack me like a fist to the face.

Whether our vows were real or not, whether shebelievesthem or not, whether she uses her name or mine, she’s deftly reminded me of the ultimate truth: for better or worse, we are stitched together.

The Montague and Covaci dynasties have kept her safe, at least from law enforcement. I might have experience traversing her world, even thriving in it, but I don’t have the means to offer the same protection. Even worse, I come with another set of targets and vendettas and baggage that could put her in danger. If someone else finds out what she’s done …

I’m still caught in the grip of this new fear when she tilts her head and inhales a sharp breath.

“So there was this guy—”

“Lark.”

“Ten,” she whispers.

We stand in silence as I try to pick through the thousand questions that compete for top spot in my short-circuiting brain. She watches me with wide, innocent eyes, and even hearing it fromher own mouth, I have a hard time believing it’s possible. The Lark Montague I know is annoyingly kind, at least to everyone but me. She’s unfailingly loyal. Empathetic to her own detriment.

And she’s … a serial killer …?

One question finally works its way to the top.

“Why, Lark? Why would you kill ten people?”

She swallows, her lips pressed tight in a resolved line. I’ve seen her fierce. I’ve seen her determined. I’ve seen her full of light, beaming with joy. I’ve seen her bite and tease. Adoration and defeat, resignation and heartbreak and hope. I’ve seen them all in Lark. But there’s something in her eyes now, buried deep beneath all her layers, hidden in the shadows of music and chaos and movie quotes and all the sunshine she wears like blinding armor.

The armor is the Lark I thought I knew.

And though I’ve glimpsed it before, this is the first time I’ve truly looked beneath her shield and I see someone else entirely. I see pain that festers in the dark.

Lark might fear me, but she doesn’t back down, doesn’t let her eyes shift from mine when she says, “So that no one I love has to do it for me ever again.”

Her words are a blade that slips between my ribs.

“Sloane …?” I ask, my voice low. “Did she … is that what happened at the boarding school …?”

Lark’s only admission is the shine in her eyes, and I stop myself before I push her too far.

When was the last time I felt this way? I can’t even remember. I’ve left only enough room to worry about my brothers and business and my psycho boss and nothing else, no one else. And suddenly there’s Lark, who was never meant to be here, was nevermeant to shine light into places I thought could only stay dark. But with those words she manages to reach right inside and ignite something I never thought I’d feel. Pain and loss and heartache for someone standing on the outside of my tiny sphere.

I clear my throat. “Lark …”

All it takes is one bright smile, and everything I think she wants to say disappears.

“Anyway,” she chimes as she thrusts the jug in my direction, “I should probably get going.”

“But—”

“Gotta run.” In a single spin she grabs her bag off the couch and steps toward the door, the dog trailing at her heels. She stumbles and I instinctively take a step closer but she puts her hand up and I stop short.

“Goddammit, woman, where—”

“Bye.”

The door slams shut.