Tick. Tick. Tick.
“Two hands,” Grace instructed. “Keep your legs and shoulders square.”
Enne did as instructed, but memories and nightmares were already rushing into her mind. Her heart sped up. For a moment, she was standing on the steps of the House of Shadows again. Shark was answering the door, his eyes widening with recognition. If he yelled out, she’d be exposed. She’d be dead.
Head swimming with old fear, Enne cringed as she pulled the trigger.
The noise of it rang in her ears—drowning out the ticking of the timer, drowning out everything she’d been feeling all morning—and her bullet landed several inches below the paper. She frowned.
“You’re distracted,” Grace said. “You need to aim. You’re not focused on the target.”
When Enne raised the gun again, a different image came to mind. She was lying on the grass in front of the House of Shadows, and Sedric Torren was pointing the gun ather. Fear and anger bubbled up inside her at the thought of him. She’d been so certain, so determined when she killed him, and she would always make the same choice when it came to him. So when Enne fired the second time, she tried to hold on to that conviction, to picture his sickening smile at the target’s center.
This one landed even farther than the one before.
Grace walked over to Enne and adjusted her posture. In the corner of the room, Lola had her arms crossed protectively around herself. Enne sent her a look of concern, remembering how much Lola hated guns, but her second motioned for Enne to continue practicing.
“Take a deep breath and relax,” Grace instructed. “You don’t need to perfect this overnight.”
Except Enne did, and always had. When Vianca had asked her to poison Sedric, Enne hadn’t been given time to prepare. When Lola had threatened to kill her, Enne had no choice but to act. When she realized Levi was in danger and the Shadow Game was already beginning, she’d run inside after him.
A whole ocean away, in a finishing school much like this one, Enne had been mediocre, invisible. But for the first time, Enne had new ambitions. And maybe it was her own worst qualities talking—her pettiness, her competitiveness—but if Levi believed he could make an impression on this city, then so could she. If she was thrown into an array of parties and asked to be a lady, then she would charm. If she was seated at a table with notorious street legends, then she would impress. If she was invited to play a game with the City of Sin, then she would win.
And when she crossed paths with the Phoenix Club again...?
Enne pulled the trigger.
5
“Before Ivory was the Dove Lord, she was part of a different gang. More like a cult, I’ve heard. The lord, Abbess, kept a journal, and in the weeks leading up to her murder, she wrote that she was being stalked by a figure in white. Some credit that person as Ivory. Me? I think it was Death.”
—A legend of the North Side
JAC
Two weeks had passed since Jac saw Levi at the Catacombs. Whatever thickheaded plan he’d been concocting since then, Jac couldn’t worry about it—not when he really needed to worry about himself.
He stood in a back office at Liver Shot. One of his associates—Ken, the opponent he’d fought his first night—was bent over the desk, a cigar dangling out of his mouth. Since he’d started work, Jac had learned all their names, what other dens they liked, how they got paid, how much Rapture they sold...but he’d only learned two things that truly mattered.
One, the Torren Family was assuredly without a don. The volts for this den came from Delia Torren, but other dens worked under Charles. The empire was split in two, and it was only a matter of time before all of them were recruited into a war between the siblings—a fact none of his co-workers seemed to consider or worry about.
And two, Jac’s boss knew exactly who he was.
Sophia Caro hadn’t come right out and said it, of course, otherwise Jac would’ve left by now. But the air between them always felt charged with secrets. At every opportunity, her eyes flickered to his arms, as if she could see his Iron tattoos through the sleeves. Once, she’d laughed and flicked his glasses, claiming he had the best vision in the world for someone with bad eyesight, after he’d read her the scoreboard numbers from across the room. And just last night, she’d run her hands through his hair—an act that left him both nervous and weak-kneed—and told him that black reallywashis color after all.
Each time, Jac wasn’t sure if it was flirting or blackmail. It didn’t matter if they were alone or not; she always acted this way. The others all thought she was in love with him, and half ofthemwere in love withher.
“Delia sent us a message,” Ken said, reading over a note on the desk, one stapled to an obituary photo of Sedric Torren. “She wants us to pick up at a new location. It’s not far from Chain Street.”
“She’s taking us out of the way of Insomnia.” That was a Charles-claimed tavern.
Ken shook his head. “You’re so paranoid about all this. It’s probably just routine.”
Jac attempted to look sheepish and shoved his hands in his pockets. “You’d know better than me.”
“I don’t know about that, but I’m not going to worry. That’s Sophia’s job.” Sophia was the only one of them who communicated directly with Delia.
“Did I hear my name?” Sophia popped her head in through the doorway. Jac yelped and instantly grabbed his Creed necklace. Sophia smirked. “That was cute.”
