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As soon as his clothes were properly in place, Ashwood cleared his throat as if about to say something but remained silent, as did Bellamy, the tension so thick you could cut it with a blade.
“Has Kipling always been so awful to you?”
“Not as long as I followed his orders. Just like with Gladstone.”
“I see you went from one dreadful circumstance to another.”
“We all have a past, Bellamy.” He sighed. “I didn’t see it that way at first—joining Kipling. I saw it as freedom from the orphanage, but soon enough, I knew I’d guessed wrong. There was no escape because he would lure me back with intimidation. And I was initially naive…until I finally grew a thicker skin. Thus, my plan to join Gladstone. I saw a lot of me in you, and I wanted to protect you.”
Ashwood was right. Bellamy had been naive. But not anymore. “Is that where you learned to filch men’s pockets? From Kipling?”
He shrugged. “That was the least of it. In fact, he and Gladstone are two sides of the same coin. Some of the businesses around Beggar’s Hole actually pay Kipling for protection.”
Much of it made sense now. How territorial Gladstone seemed, and how he’d slip away to handle his other business, which Bellamy knew was probably similar.
“Have you ever…done violent bidding for him?”
“Murder?” Their eyes met, and Bellamy searched for the underpinnings of truth. “I would never…I’m not proud of who I was, and now…now I’m trying to make up for it.”
He could feel Ashwood’s gaze pressing on him, but the stitch in his chest only grew tighter, and he needed to look away.
“Do they know that we’re, as you say, fated?”
“No, I didn’t want them to use that against you.”
Bellamy shivered, imagining what that might entail. He shut his eyes as the ball of anger in his gut strengthened. But he realized the ire wasn’t toward Ashwood. It had changed course, or perhaps just grew to encompass the man who’d ruined his life—both of their lives.
“Thank you for allowing me to tell my story,” Ashwood said, and when Bellamy opened his eyes, he saw so much pain in Ashwood’s. “I know it won’t help you forgive me, and that I’m already…too late.” His voice cracked on those words. “But I’m grateful for the opportunity. Now, let’s see about a carriage. I will walk to the livery again.”
He swallowed as Ashwood turned. “Wait.”
Ashwood paused but kept his back to him.
“Why did Kipling kill my mother?”
Ashwood glanced back at him. “I’m sorry. I don’t have an answer to that.”
“How are you not burning to kill the man?” he lobbed at him, causing Ashwood to turn and fully face him. He saw the slight tic in his jaw.
“Of course, I’d want nothing more than to…but I’m obviously no match for him and the others.” He glanced at his foot and shivered. “Not when they’d outnumber me, and not in my weakened state.”
“It was an unfair fight.” Bellamy growled in frustration. “I want to kill the bastard with my bare hands.”
Ashwood stared at him, his lips parted in awe. “I can understand why after what he did to your mother. I hope a proper fate befalls him one day.”
One day? He did not want to wait that long. Bellamy could feel himself getting angrier by the minute. He felt the flicker of a flame that hadn’t been there before, the firebrand of something that felt a lot like vengeance.
“Is Kipling some sort of alpha wolf?” Bellamy asked, attempting to conjure up stories from his childhood. “Is that why they do his bidding?”
“Ah, another fairy-tale myth. There’s no such thing. Wolves live in packs of their own choosing. Almost like a family.”
“You considered them your family?”
“No. Well, perhaps at first. But not any more than you would’ve considered Gladstone yours.”
He shivered at the very idea.
“But there is a pecking order if you will. And Kipling can be very influential, with younger wolves, in particular. That’s why he chooses us, so we look up to him and fear him.”
Bellamy’s lip curled in disgust for Kipling. “If he’s so desperate to build up his pack, why not snatch more lads off the street and turn them?”
“It would be too reckless, even for him. Especially since the annihilation. Wolves need to be careful and remain undetected in society. As long as there’s no trouble, we’re left alone.”
“He murdered my mother. How wasn’t that considered trouble?” he bit out.
“That’s what I can’t make sense of. Why would he be so careless? It certainly doesn’t matter to the authorities if we kill our own, but killing humans is something altogether different.”
Bellamy wanted to slaughter Kipling with every fiber of his being. He wondered if he could somehow use Ashwood to find him, perhaps even get him alone…
“What would it take to heal me?”
