still help you,” he told her seriously. “In any way I can.”
Her resentment waning but not quite gone, she said, “You assume I want your help. Last time you called yourself lord, I had to rescue you.”
He put his hand to his heart as though she’d wounded him more than he was already hurt. “I’m offended you don’t think higher of my consulting skills.”
“Then tell me: how will I pay for these associates? Where will they stay? How will I convince them I’m not a fraud?”
He gave her a weak smile. “Just give me some time and a bottle of whiskey, and I’ll find you a few clever ideas.”
She frowned. She didn’t want to hear about his confidence in himself—she’d suffered through enough of that already. She needed to hear that he had confidence in her.
“That life philosophy is why you look like you do now,” she grumbled.
“Like what?” He smoothed the front of his blazer. “I think I look rather dashing. You know, you’re pretty observant, if you guessed my measurements.” He smirked. “Very observant, even—”
“You look terrible,” she said quickly, before he could embarrass her further.
His laugh was followed by a wince. “I mean it, though. I’m sorry I don’t have solutions yet, but I will—I promise. I’ve spent all day trying to figure out how to piece my life back together, and it feels like every time I think I’ve gotten ahead, there’s some other problem, some other risk.” His voice grew gradually more heated. “You saved me yesterday, and I don’t have it figured out yet, but give me a chance to think and—” he angrily hit the side of his wounded leg “—and put myself back together, so I can save you, too.”
As touching as his feelings might have been, Enne didn’t want a savior. She wanted a partner.
She looked away and changed the subject. “I noticed Jac... Did something happen between you two?”
He took a shaky breath. “Jac witnessed my conversation with Vianca.”
Levi didn’t need to say anything else; Enne could already imagine how that must’ve gone. In her conversations with Vianca, Enne could do nothing more than beg. She’d never want someone else to witness that, especially not someone she cared about. Despite being Vianca’s victim, there was a shame tied to the omerta she couldn’t describe. She didn’t deserve it—it defied her own logic—but she felt it all the same.
“I’m sorry,” she murmured, reaching for his hand. It was meant to be for comfort, so she was surprised when Levi took her hand and laced her fingers with his. She flushed, thankful for the darkness.
“I’m sorry, too,” he breathed. “I know becoming a street lord is the last thing you’d ever want. It’s the last thing you need. The more famous you are, the more you become a target. And you can’t afford for the world to realize what you are.”
The last thing you’d ever want.
A feeling of wrongness rumbled in Enne’s stomach, heavy and low like the toll of an iron bell. She was a Bellamy schoolgirl. She wore white lace and patent leather and had a sweet tooth. She wasn’t allowed to want this.
To want the danger of being a street lord.
To want the boy who stood in front of her.
To want power.
But who was there to stop her?
In the darkened stairwell, Levi was silent, as though holding his breath and waiting for her to answer. Enne could tell him about how the Shadow Game’s timer still haunted her, and that she hated it. She could tell him about how she was dangerous, that maybe it was the only thing in her life she’d ever been good at. She could tell him how badly she wanted to feel powerful.
Instead, she reached up and brushed her fingers against his chin, her thumb resting only inches from his lips. He froze in surprise. They had touched before—he had held her before—but they had always left a line uncrossed.
She drew that line now, her fingertip trailing goose bumps across his neck and tracing down his abdomen. Each one of her heartbeats sounded as loud to her as gunshots, but she could still hear the sigh he breathed as he leaned into her, wanting her.
This was how she’d tell him.
Suddenly, the door swung open, and they sprang apart. Jac raised the lantern, wearing a serious expression.
“I heard something outside,” Jac grunted.
“Are you sure?” Levi asked, his voice higher than usual.
Jac’s gaze dropped to their hands, and Enne quickly lowered hers and made to smooth out her skirts. Whatever had happened between Levi and Jac, she didn’t want to make it worse.
“Sure enough that we should check,” Jac answered.
Enne’s mood sobered. Anyone could be lurking outside—a bounty hunter, a whiteboot, a Dove. Which was why, once Jac was angrily thumping down the stairs and out of earshot, Enne stood on her tiptoes and kissed Levi on the cheek. He opened his mouth to say something, but for once, he looked at a loss for words. Enne grinned, pleased with her own daring.
“I wish I hadn’t seen that,” Lola muttered as she pushed past them.
“Oh, shut up,” Enne grumbled, flushing deeper as Levi shot her a wry smile. “I—I was just...” she stammered at him, her confidence dissipating after being so awkwardly interrupted. “I was just going to tell you...” Below them, Jac and Lola reached the bottom of the stairwell.
“And I intend to be the most attentive listener...” He cleared his throat. “Later. After this.”
They descended down the stairs and paused beside their seconds at the exit. Each brandished a gun, except for Lola, who hated firearms and pitifully wielded her favored scalpel.
“No confrontation,” Levi whispered. “If we see someone, we run. Don’t shoot—”
A gunshot rang out, and they all jolted back. The bullet lodged in the wall in front of them.
“Muck,” Lola squeaked.
“Who’s there?” their assailant called out into the night.
“Is it just one person?” Levi hissed.
Jac craned his head to look, but as soon as he did, another shot fired. He cursed and pulled back. “If we go back inside, we could find another exit.”
“Come out!” the other person shouted.
Levi cleared his throat and called out, “We don’t want trouble.”
There was a strange thump on the ground, and after several moments of silence, Jac nodded and charged out from behind the wall, pistol raised. He blanched and immediately lowered it. “Come look,” he croaked.
The three of them did, and Enne gasped when she saw a young man lying face-down on the pavement, gun still clutched in his hand. His sleeve was stained with blood.
“I know him,” Lola gasped, rushing toward him. With Jac’s help, they turned the body over. He’d been shot in the chest—quite a while ago, judging by how much he’d bled. His eyes were closed.
“Is he dead?” Levi asked.
Lola felt for a pulse, then her eyes widened and she slapped him lightly on the cheek. “No. And he’s from the Guild.”
His eyes fluttered open, then he grasped wildly at Lola’s hands. He coughed, spewing blood on her front. “I can’t go back,” he rasped. “I can’t go back.”
Jac pressed against the man’s chest to stem the bleeding, but the man writhed in agony. He rolled onto his side, revealing a heinous exit wound. Lola tried to pin him down, but his face only filled