“Smart as ever, but you’re not that smart, boy.” Sirius’s face hardened, eyes flashing. “Do you know what I had to do to get back to England? You don’t warrant the courtesy of quick death from me.”
Drake’s mouth curved. “Then you have come to watch me die.”
“On the contrary.” Sirius tapped his cane once against the stone. “I came to see whether you will survive. Perhaps fate will deem your life worthy today.”
Toying with him, then.
So that was his uncle’s plan. The long game. Tonight, his appearance, twice now, was meant to demonstrate inevitability. Prolong their torment. Make sport of them until there was nothing left but death. “How could you speak of worthiness? That would require you to understand worth. I know for a fact you do not. You’ve always overestimated yours.”
A thin smile. “You always did have a talent for insolence. How is that going to help you now, I wonder.”
Drake scoffed, noting the deep lines of age on his uncle’s face. Their last scuffle of power had taken its toll on the old man. What did they say about weeds? “You will regret the day you ever crossed me, uncle.”
“So you all say.”
“And it seems you are here for retribution. That was our mistake. We should have removed your legs before we shipped you off.”
His uncle shrugged, seemingly unbothered. “You should have, yes, for now you all will lose yours, so to speak.”
“Oh?” Drake caught the twitching at the corner of his eye. “Have you not lost a limb as well? Deveraux is a Fury now.”
“Deveraux has a part to play. He played it.”
“And you lost.”
“Did I?”
Drake scowled.Don’t let him get into your head. The man had lived in his head once before, whispering poison. Drake had spent years cutting him out, carving him free. He would not let him back in now. Deveraux had turned. That was fact. This, whatever Sirius implied, was a billow of smoke without a fire, nothing more.
Drake’s mouth curved. “You know, for a man so devoted to long games, you’ve aged poorly.”
Sirius’s eyes narrowed.
“All that planning,” Drake went on lightly, “all those years nursing grudges and sharpening knives in the dark, and still you need other men to swing for you. A cane to lean on. A pit to hide behind.” He arched a lazy brow. “Is this what victory looks like for you?”
“Mind yourself,” Sirius warned, fingers tightening around the cane.
“Oh, I am,” Drake said softly. “Perfectly clear-headed.” Tiny lie. “You came here to see me crack, but I’d wager you hobble from here disappointed.” His gaze dropped briefly, deliberately to the cane. “Careful, uncle. Rattling it like that makes you look frail.”
There it was. The crack in the surface.
Drake noted the slip, the faint but visible tremor of those gloved knuckles. That’s right, uncle. Rage. Men who rage make mistakes. And if he didn’t survive this by some cruel twist of fate, let him return as a ghost and haunt and torment this man untilhis brothers dealt him his final blow. Only then would his soul bloody rest. If he did survive...
The cane struck the door once. Hard.
“Enough of this. It’s time.”
Drake braced himself.
Chapter Twenty-Three
The warehouse openedbeneath Violet like a grim tale of a story about to unfold in all its horrible glory. She stared down at the men fighting below, her heart lodged in her throat. Foul-smelling torches burned low near the walls, throwing more shadow than light, the air thick with smoke and sweat and the unmistakable stench of blood. She had seen enough blood these past few days to last a lifetime.
Below, the sound of excitement rose up to her in surges.
Only dread stirred within her.
She hated the elevation. Had not been born to watch others from above. Not even plays in the theatre. Not in any situation where she looked down on others. She belonged in the thick of things. Always had. This vantage point stripped her of all of that. It made her a spectator to violence she could not stop, a woman set apart as though she were too fine, too delicate to be among such ruffians, when in truth she felt far more out of place here than she ever had amongst them. Even when in danger.
