Oh, she was keeping tabs on his gang now? “Stop comparing us. We’re not the same.”
“You’re the spitting image of me.” Somehow her voice was proud and ruthless all at once.
“Then it’s no wonder the Irons are crumbling,” he snapped. “Must’ve gotten that from you.”
He inhaled sharply as what felt like a knife twisted into his gut. He couldn’t exhale. The pressure in his chest tightened, and he was sure it would crush him. He grabbed the edge of the desk in front of him. He couldn’t scream. He couldn’t gasp. He couldn’t coax a shred of air out of his lungs.
Vianca didn’t release him until he was on the floor, his back digging into the leg of his chair. Then the air burst out, and he coughed and rested his head against the ground as the ceiling slowed its spinning. He’d experienced her torture dozens of times, but he’d never get used to the feeling of suffocating.
“Enough,” she commanded, her lips pursed. “What puppet is allowed to say such things to its master?”
She bent over him as he weakly got to his knees. “I’ve given you everything, and Iwillgive you half the volts you need to pay Torren. But don’t assume I care so much about you that you’re invincible. I could kill you at any moment I wish.”
Five thousand volts.
Fivethousand.
He could survive this. A burst of hope filled his chest, sweeter and more relieving than the air.
“Does this cover the recompense for Miss Salta and Mr. Kitamura?” she asked.
He wasn’t thick enough to answer. Everything in this city had a price, and telling Vianca off wouldn’t have done him any good. What he was feeling right now, it wasn’t even close to gratitude, but he knew better than to act anything less than beholden.
“I can give you the volts next week,” she said.
“I only have six days left,” he croaked.
“Then a few days from now. I won’t forget.”
ENNE
If Enne could conquer her fear of heights, then she could knock on a gentleman’s door the hour after her bedtime.
She reminded herself that Levi Glaisyer was no gentleman.
When Levi answered the door, his hair was wet, and he smelled like soap and freshly applied cologne. He wore a casual pair of trousers, dark socks and a white undershirt. Something stirred in her stomach as he leaned lazily against his doorway.
“’Lo, missy,” he said. “Have you come to share secrets?”
“Something like that,” she said, and hurriedly brushed past him before he could see her face redden.
Last time she’d come here, his apartment had been impeccable. Now dishes lay in the sink and he’d closed his blinds, so the only light came from a dim lamp beside his couch. A half-finished art piece, mostly emerald green swirls and spikes, rested on the coffee table, surrounded by papers and oil paints. Water splotches—possibly intentional—dotted the canvas. Thin lines like puppet strings stretched from the top of the painting to the green smudges.
Interesting. She’d never imagined Levi as an artist. She couldn’t tell if he was a particularly good one, though—she didn’t understand what the painting represented.
“I thought we should talk about last night,” Enne said. Since they’d left the blood gazer’s, the black seed of doubt about Lourdes had grown into a forest, and Enne was lost in its center. She hadn’t believed Lola’s accusation at first—hadn’twantedto believe it—but the more she reflected on it, the more the pieces she knew of her past began to make sense.
He gave her a dark, expectant look and sat down on the couch, motioning for her to join him. “The part about you getting into a fight with a Dove, or the part about what the Dove told you?”
“Both.” She hesitated, searching for how to begin. It would be easiest just to blurt out the truth, heave it off her shoulders and let Levi take away her burden. But she wasn’t sure how long his loyalty to her would last once he learned she was a Mizer.
“You can trust me,” Levi said. “Whatever it is.” And criminal or not, she believed the sincerity in his voice. Whether or not she’d still been in danger, Levi had rushed into the Deadman District last night to save her. Guilt pinched inside of her. She wasn’t sure she would have done the same for him.
“Once I tell you, you can’t unknow it,” she warned, because deceit wasn’t fair to him. “And I’m grateful for all the help you’ve given me—I really am, but we’ve reached a point where my secrets are becoming...dangerous. This one isn’t about Lourdes.” She looked at her lap. “It’s about me.”
His pause terrified her. For a moment, she thought he would agree and ask her to leave.
He was all she had.
