There was far more at play in this decision than just Levi’s destiny—there was politics, and blood. Every gangster, every Mistress-dazed vedette, every citizen of the North Side could be affected by his decision, and that was an incredible weight on his shoulders.
It’d been far easier to hate Vianca when there had been no choice at all.
He’d resented Enne for using Vianca against him, yet now, he’d consider Vianca’s offer? He knew it was hypocritical, and if he and Enne were still together, he would’ve immediately declined. But now Harrison was losing, the Irons were going broke, the North Side was falling. Both Enne and Jac were gone.
It’d been far easier to want to be good when he’d had someone to be good for.
“I need to sleep on it,” he told her.
Vianca reached into her desk and handed him a key. “Sleep on it in your old suite. I hope you come to the right decision.”
JAC
The lights of Luckluster Casino strobed down Tropps Street, beckoning patrons with the offer of discounted rooms, for nights spent at card tables and on king-size beds to pass the time from curfew until dawn. Jac hadn’t seen the Casino District so bright in several weeks, hadn’t seen crowds this size in longer. Music blared with an erratic pulse, and those around him murmured in excitement.
As Jac slipped past the doors into the casino, stepping on discarded flyers for all-night theatrics and drink specials, he felt with cool certainty that the grandiosity of the night was meant for him.
“Do you want me to come with you?” Sophia had asked when he told her he planned to oversee a drop-off.
“I’ll be fine,” he’d told her.
She didn’t know his words had been a promise.
As Jac wove through the entrance hall, dancers beckoning to him from shadowy alcoves, servers passing him with trays of glittering Snake Eyes, he knew there was a very good chance he was walking toward his death. There were a lot of things he wanted to do before he died, that he’d never be able to do if he failed tonight. He wanted to tell Levi that he was sorry, that trying to protect him had seemed noble at first, but really the request had come from all the worst parts of Jac—the ones that obsessed and worried and itched—and all he’d done was make his friend miserable. He wanted to apologize to Enne, who hadn’t deserved any of the mess he’d made for them.
Most of all, he wanted to kiss Sophia in front of a smoldering Luckluster Casino once they burned it down.
But no matter what happened tonight, Jac had accomplished the one thing he’d always wanted—to be a story worth telling. And maybe he would still turn into a cautionary tale, but even if North Side kids whispered about this night with terror in their eyes, at least they would know that Jac Mardlin had finally faced his fears.
He’d earned his story.
Jac approached the concierge desk and told the man he had an appointment with Charles. The man nodded, as though he’d been expecting him, and motioned for Jac to follow.
They climbed the casino’s wrought-iron spiral staircase, one Jac had always assumed was just for show. It looked like something out of Olde Town, black and sharp and gothic. Red ribbons circled around the rods like sticks of candy, and lipstick marks stained several of the widest spikes. The stairs curved up three floors and ended on the fourth, and the landing wrapped around the entire lobby, so you could lean over the railing and look down upon the entrance hall, merely a shadow among the ceiling’s scarlet lights.
The man opened an impressive set of double doors, and Jac walked into a dark room. Though he couldn’t see, he felt the floor change from carpet to wood, and the room was large enough to make his footsteps echo. He reached to the wall, fumbling for a moment, and then switched on the light.
It was a banquet hall, the chairs folded in one corner, the tables deconstructed and stacked to the side. Mirrors covered each of the walls, stretching Jac’s reflection infinitely in all directions.
This was no fighting pit.
“I wasn’t expecting you until tomorrow,” a nasaly voice said behind him. Jac whipped around to see Charles standing at the threshold. He wore a white blazer long enough to be a medical jacket, and his eyes were bloodshot.
“You sent a Dove after us,” Jac said. “Were you expecting me at all?”
“It was all for fun. A good scare.” He licked his lips at that last word and took a few steps closer. Jac stood his ground, even if he preferred to keep several feet between him and Charles. He took the opportunity to examine Charles for any weak spots, ones he might’ve missed last time. But Charles was several pounds and inches greater than Jac, and though Jac was stronger, he knew that Charles’s split talent would work against him. With a touch, skin to skin, he could give pain. Jac had planned for this by wrapping most of his skin in gauze, but he didn’t know if that would be enough. He could only guess at Charles’s limits and hope he was right.
“I don’t want to talk,” Jac said brazenly. “Let’s start this.”
Charles drew a coin and flipped it. “Two hundred and six,” he murmured, a smile sliding across his features. Jac stiffened. He’d never heard Sophia reach anywhere close to that high.
Then Charles removed his blazer, his button-up, and even his undershirt. Layers of white clothing piled on the floor, and each new piece was a little more stained. Jac’s eyes widened as he saw the painful red lashings covering Charles’s skin.
Sophia had told Jac that her half siblings used physical penance to raise their luck, and now Jac understood the disgust in her voice. They paid for their misdeeds in blood. The skin across Charles’s chest and shoulders was rippled and uneven from years of whipping, and some of his wounds were so fresh, they still shone with a wet sheen. Charles was clearly practiced, because anyone else would’ve struggled to stand in such pain.
“Not very pretty, I know,” Charles murmured. “But it’s well worth it, to see the fear in people’s eyes. Just like in yours.”
Jac gritted his teeth. “I’m revolted, not afraid.”
