Page 49 of Silent Schemes

If I'll haunt his wakeful nights the way he's already haunting mine.

The thought shouldn't hurt, but it does.

I find him in his private gym, hands wrapped, working the heavy bag like he’s done it a million times.

He's shirtless, sweat making his skin gleam in the low light, every muscle defined as he strikes.

He doesn't acknowledge me, just keeps hitting the bag with so much force that it makes my pulse quicken.

Each impact sounds like a gunshot in the quiet space.

I watch him for a moment from the doorway, cataloging everything I'm about to lose.

The way his shoulders bunch before a particularly hard strike.

The small tell in his footwork when he's about to change combinations.

The scar on his lower back that he favors slightly, an old injury that never quite healed right.

"You're back," he says finally, not turning around.

"I went for a drive."

"In the rain. To an abandoned warehouse on the east side. To meet with Vincent Carlisle." He lands a particularly vicious combination that makes the bag swing wildly. "Did he give you new orders? Or just threaten your sister again?"

I should be surprised that he knows, but I'm not.

Of course, he had me followed.

Of course, he knows about Vincent, about the warehouse, probably about the threat to Maya.

Varrick Bane doesn't miss anything.

It's what's kept him alive this long, and it's what will make killing him nearly impossible.

"Both," I admit, because lying feels pointless now.

We're past pretense, him and I.

He finally turns to face me, and his expression is unreadable.

His eyes drop to my cheek where Vincent's ring cut me, and something dangerous flashes across his face.

The kind of dangerous that ends with bodies in the harbor.

"He hit you."

"It's nothing."

"It's not nothing." He moves closer, and I smell him—clean sweat and that cologne that's probably worth more than most people's rent. "Nothing about you is nothing, Ruin."

The nickname rolls off his tongue like ownership, and I hate how much I don't hate it.

"Don't," I warn, but my voice lacks conviction.

"Don't what? Care that someone put their hands on you? Care that you came back here instead of running?" He's close enough now that I can see the pulse in his throat, the way his chest rises and falls with controlled breathing. "You could have disappeared. Vincent gave you the perfect opportunity. Why didn't you?"

"You know why."