Hurt. That word.
“I don’t want to do this,” Penney said. “I hope you know that.”
For just a moment, Archer didn’t know what he meant.
And then he did. Penney had eased open the drawer at his desk, and something glimmered there, a tiny refraction of light, like stars on water. Like metal glittering under gaslight.
Somehow Archer was on his feet. “Jack,” he said. “Don’t.”
Penney closed his hand over the pistol.
For the space of a heartbeat, Archer thought of Ruby. Her eyes, her laugh, the thin gold band on the fourth finger of her left hand.
And then he threw himself across the desk.
He heard the gunshot—loud, close—and felt heat blister the side of his face.
Wait, he thought.Ruby—
Chapter 31
The darkness seemed to suck at Archer’s brain, towing him back down when he wanted to wake. His chest hurt. His head. When he forced his lids up, everything still seemed black.
He blinked. Lifted his hand to his face and rubbed at his eyes, which—ah fuck, that hurt too, everything hurt—wherewashe—
Memory struck him like a cannon blast. Panic.
He sat bolt-upright. “Ruby,” he tried to say. His voice was a soundless rasp, and the room revolved around him, a slow nauseous spin.
He threw himself to his feet. He was—Christ, he hadn’t been blinded, he was merely trapped in some tar-black enclosure. Was it a brig? A cell? There was almost no light, and his feet slipped against stone as he hurled himself forward.
He remembered the gun. He remembered Penney’s hands raising the pistol, the heat searing his cheek. But somehow... somehow he was alive.
Had Penney missed? Or—
His heart clutched. Fear drove into his bones like a spike.
Had Penney’s gunshot foundRuby?
The room came into vague focus around him as his eyes adjusted to the dark, though black spots still floated in his vision. His gaze landed on a door, and before he could think, he hurled himself at it. He yanked at the handle fruitlessly, then pounded at the rough wooden surface.
He was going to kill Penney. He would break down the door in his dumb animal terror, he would tear his fingers to shreds, he would die for her a hundred times, a thousand times, he had to getout—
“Penney!” he howled. “Jack Penney! Where the fuck is my wife?” He slammed his fist against the door, and it rattled beneath his hand. “If you’ve touched her—if you’ve hurt her—I’ll fucking kill you, do you hear me? You think this door can stop me? A goddamnedgravecouldn’t stop me!”
“Malcolm.”
It was Ruby’s voice. Low and familiar and soothing, and he—he couldn’t hear properly—he didn’t know where she was. He spun wildly toward the sound.
“For heaven’s sake,” she said, “calm down. I’m right here.”
He plunged through the dim interior, tripping over God knew what, half blinded by tears of pain and relief, until he had her in his arms.
“Oh God,” he mumbled into her hair. “Oh fuck. Ruby.”
There was a terrible sawed-off sound, a jagged breath, and he thought it was Ruby, weeping into his chest.
But no, he realized. He was the one who wept.
