The last few minutes rewrite themselves, all of it rearranging into something I should have known better than to let happen.
I need to go back inside. Apologize to Juliette. Make nice with Roman. Pretend everything’s fine.
But before I can move, the door opens again.
It’s Art this time. He steps into the alley, and there’s something on his face that makes my stomach drop.
Is he pissed about me and Genevieve?
“Hey.” He glances around like he’s checking for eavesdroppers, then moves closer, lowering his voice. “The Lye’s back on. Tomorrow night.”
I close my eyes, that familiar weight settling onto my shoulders.
“Who’s the guy?”
“I don’t know yet. Benny’s handling the details.” Art runs a hand through his hair, and I can see the guilt written all over his face. “I tried to push back. I did. But they’re not—they don’t listen to me the way they listened to Freddy.”
“Nobody listens to you, Art. That’s the problem.”
He flinches like I’ve hit him.
“Shit. I didn’t mean it that way.”
“No, you’re right. I put this place in my name to help you, and instead I just keep fucking it all up.”
The raw honesty in his words cuts through my anger.
“It’s not your fault,” I say. “You didn’t know what you were getting into, and I knew Freddy wasn’t the end of this.”
I lean back in the chair, staring up at that sliver of sky again. Somewhere inside, Juliette’s probably still trying to figure outwhat I’m hiding. Genevieve’s probably back behind the bar, counting to seven while she memorizes moments she wants to keep. I wonder if I’m one of those moments.
Stop it. Art is right fucking here.
“Tomorrow night,” I repeat.
“Midnight.” He nods. “I’m sorry, Lance. I’m so sorry.”
I push to my feet, rolling my shoulders, and my body shifts into that familiar mode, the one where I stop being Lance Calloway and start being Excalibur: the weapon they turned me into.
“Don’t worry about it.” I clap him on the back. “Can’t forsake midnight forever, yeah?”
Tomorrow night, I’ll bleed again.
But tonight, I’m going to go inside, ignore Genevieve like my life depends on it, apologize to my sister, and pretend—for just a little longer—that I’m still the person she thinks I am.
Chapter 14
Lance
I roll my neck, the vertebrae cracking in succession, and stare at the dark hallway that leads to the pit.
It’s filling up, I can hear it: expensive shoes clicking against concrete, anticipation buzzing through the air. The laughter and the illicit danger that feeds the most depraved parts of everyone’s soul. They come from all over for this, sneaking in through different access points around town and entering through the tunnels.
It’s exclusive—if your name isn’t on the list, then you don’t get in. And that always brings people who want to pay to play.
The kind of violence that doesn’t stop when somebody taps out.
Andthisis why I can’t get in my feelings. Why it’s pointless to have chats about what I miss or what kind of stupid fucking memories I’ll have when I die.