Kit turns back to me, a smile playing on his lips. “Happy now?”
“I guess so,” I say, finally sitting down across from him. My legs feel like jelly from the adrenaline coursing through me.
Kit studies me for a long moment, his eyes narrowed slightly. “You’re up to something,” he says, so quietly that only I can hear.
I meet his gaze, hoping my face doesn’t betray me. “I just want clean clothes. Is that so strange?”
He doesn’t answer, just continues to watch me with those unnervingly perceptive eyes. Then he pulls out a deck of cards and begins to shuffle. “Gin rummy again today?”
As Kit begins to deal the cards, I ask the same question that I ask every day. “How long are you going to keep me here?” And just like every other day, Kit doesn’t answer.
But out of the corner of my eye, I notice Wrath tense on the couch, his knife stilling momentarily before resuming its click-snap rhythm. He doesn’t like me asking questions. Interesting.
“Why do you hate Roman so much?” I press, keeping my voice casual as I pick up my cards. “What happened between you two?”
Kit’s hands pause briefly before continuing. He doesn’t answer, but he’s suspicious now, sending me little glances as he tries to puzzle out what game I’m playing.
“Why are you all hiding out in this warehouse?” I continue arranging my cards, not looking at him directly. “What did you mean when you said Roman took everything from you?”
Click-snap. Click-snap. Click-snap. The rhythm of Wrath’s knife accelerates, each snap sounding more aggressive than the last. Kit’s jaw tightens almost imperceptibly, but he remains silent, dealing the next hand perhaps a bit more aggressively than is necessary.
I’m walking a dangerous line here, and I know it. One push too far, and this whole plan could end with me bleeding out on the concrete floor. But I’m committed now. I take a deep breath and ask the question I’ve been saving.
“How did you get that scar?”
The effect is immediate and explosive. There’s a roar from the couch, and suddenly Wrath is up, launching himself over the back of it like some feral creature. “IT’S VIPER’S FAULT!” he screams, his face contorted with rage. “ALL OF IT! IT’S ALL VIPER’S FAULT!”
Two men move to intercept him, but Wrath shoves them aside with shocking strength, sending one crashing into a stackof crates. Kit curses, his chair scraping back as he jumps to his feet, but he’s not fast enough.
Wrath barrels into our card table, sending it flying. Cards scatter everywhere as the table crashes over. I’m shoved hard in the chaos, my chair tipping backward. I hit the ground with a painful thud; the breath knocked from my lungs.
“LITTLE D!” Kit roars, throwing himself at Wrath as the younger man lunges toward me, knife gleaming. They collide with bone-jarring force, going down in a tangle of limbs. Kit’s hands clamp around Wrath’s wrist, struggling to control the knife. “DROP IT!”
Wrath thrashes beneath him, spitting curses, trying to wrench his arm free. Around them, Kit’s men have formed a loose circle, watching the fight with varying degrees of alarm. Not a single one is looking at me.
I crawl backward, away from the violent struggle, my heart pounding in my ears. Kit and Wrath roll across the floor, grappling for control of the knife, their uncannily similar features twisted with effort.
This is my chance. Maybe my only chance.
I inch toward the closest door, the one left slightly ajar when several men rushed in at the sound of the commotion. No one notices as I slip through the narrow opening, my movements careful and silent. Once in the hallway, I rise to my feet, my legs shaking with adrenaline.
Which way? Left leads deeper into the warehouse, to the rooms where the men sleep. Right leads… where? I’ve never been taken in that direction before. It must lead somewhere.
I choose right, moving quickly but quietly, trying to recall the mental map I’ve been building of this place. If I can just find an exit, a window, anything —
I’m suddenly aware that the sound of fighting behind me has ceased. There’s perhaps a minute of silence, then Kit’s voice, faint now but sharp:
“For fuck’s sake, was no one watching her?”
My blood runs cold. I abandon all pretense of stealth and start to run, my bare feet slapping against the concrete floor. Behind me, I hear the commotion of men mobilizing, doors being flung open, Kit barking orders. They know I’m gone. They’re coming.
I run faster, my lungs burning, my heart threatening to burst from my chest. Ahead, the corridor branches. Left or right? Right or left? I choose left, skidding around the corner, desperate for any sign of an exit.
I can hear them behind me now, boots pounding on concrete, voices calling to each other. They’re spreading out, searching methodically. Like hunters after their prey.
Which, I suppose, is exactly what I am.
14