It was, and it always had been—even before Jac had met Levi. But he’d never said those words out loud. It was far easier to bet on cards or fights, when losing only cost a few volts or a black eye. The game Sophia played was far deadlier than those.
That, too, was a reason Jac wanted it.
But he didn’t tell her that truth. Instead, he gave her a different one. “I nearly died thanks to your family, and what you do.”
Her expression sobered. “I’m sorry—I am. But even if Charles and Delia are my half siblings,” she admitted, “they’renotmy family.”
“But the drugs are still your family’s business,” Jac snarled. “And I don’t want to get caught up in it. I can’t afford to.”
“Yes, youdo. You do. You just won’t admit it. And I won’t leave until you say it. So say it.”
“Say what?” he countered.
“That you want to see the Torrens burn.”
Jac froze. A desire simmered inside him like a hunger. “You’re shatz,” he whispered.
“What will it take, then?” Sophia asked. “Should I say please? Because I will. I’m saying please.” She glared at him, as if he’d forced her to suffer being polite. As if she’d much rather be threatening him.
Maybe it was her looking like that. Maybe it was because the words were true.
He did want it more than anything.
To be a player.
“Fine,” he growled, chest heaving. “I want to see the Torrens burn.”
Sophia grinned, as though she knew she’d already won, and thrust the mask at him again. “Good. Now throw that bag back inside and let’s go. I planned out the whole date.”
Jac knew by now that whenever Sophia alluded to romance, she was actually thinking about something destructive. Anyone who went on a date with Sophia Torren probably needed to sign a waiver first.
Sophia winked at him before she walked away. “You know you want to.”
Of course he wanted to. It was dangerous—terribly dangerous—but he still wanted to.
I already regret this, Jac thought as he opened the door to his apartment building and tossed his bag inside.
He caught up to her and asked, “What’s the mask for?”
“What I just said. For our date.”
He raised his eyebrows and held it up higher between two pinched fingers. “Kinky.”
“I took you as a moonlit stroll, picnic-in-the-park sort of fellow, so I thought I’d meet you halfway.” Sophia fluttered her eyelashes. “How do you feel about arson?”
* * *
Jac hesitated on the corner of Chain Street and Tropps Street. A yellow sign for a drug den flickered above them, dull and dirty in the daylight. Rusted chains dangled from it like party streamers. Even this early in the morning, glassy-eyed patrons—trapped in their cruel indentures to local Chainers—wandered up and down the street. Others sat in clusters on the pavement, hunched over and clutching bottles of absinthe. Some of them didn’t move at all.
Even during the worst of his addiction to Lullaby, Chain Street was one place Jac had refused to go. He’d always known that the moment he walked in there, he’d never walk out.
Sophia pointed at a den at the other end of the street, called Insomnia, painted black with white dots to resemble the night sky. It looked like a place plucked out of dreams.
Or for him, out of nightmares.
Jac reached for his Creed to steady himself. He was a different person now. He was stronger for what he’d overcome. He was no prisoner here.
But the sight of it still left him gasping for air. He struggled to maintain a straight face in front of Sophia, who was grinning and crossing her arms to conceal the two bottles of gasoline hidden beneath her shirt.
