This Savage Song (Monsters of Verity #1)(90)

Harker’s eyes narrowed. “August Flynn.”

“Get out of the way,” warned Kate, but he stepped forward until the barrel of the gun came to rest against his ribs.

“No.”

“I have to do this.” The words came out strangled, and Kate realized she was crying. She hated herself for crying. Crying was weak. She wasn’t weak. And she was going to prove it. “He deserves this.”

“But you don’t.” August reached out and rested his hand over hers on the gun.

“It doesn’t matter,” she said. “My soul is already red.”

“That was an accident. You were scared. You made a mistake. But this . . . there’s no coming back from something like this. You don’t want—”

“I want justice,” she snapped. “I want judgment.”

August brought his other hand to rest on her shoulder. “Then let me give it.”

She met his eyes. They were pale and wide, and in their surface she saw herself, the self she’d tried to be. Her father’s daughter. The tremor finally reached Kate’s fingers, and she uncurled them from the gun, letting August take the weight, and then—

Movement over his shoulder, a flash of metal as Harker got to his feet and lunged.

He never made it. August turned and caught her father’s wrist, wrenching the knife free and slamming him back against the wooden floor. August dug his fingers into Harker’s wounded shoulder, and the man hissed in pain. August didn’t seem to take any pleasure in the task, but he didn’t release him, either.

“You should go, Kate.”

“No,” she said, but the truth was, watching Harker writhe beneath August turned her stomach. Her father had always looked like such a large man, but lying there, pinned beneath August’s knee, pain making the red light surface on his skin like sweat, he looked weak.

“Please,” said August. “Make sure no one interrupts us.”

Kate took a step back, and then another. She met her father’s eyes—dark eyes, her eyes—one last time, and said, “Good-bye, Harker.”

And then she turned and left, shutting the soundproof doors behind her.

It took a long time for him to die.

August didn’t draw it out, not on purpose, but the last of the man’s life resisted, and by the time it was over, Callum Harker lay in the middle of the floor, his body twisted and his eyes burned black. Beyond the windows, the sun had started its descent.

Blood dripped from August’s fingers as he straightened. He still hated the sight of it, and he did his best to wipe it off before stepping out into the penthouse.

Kate was sitting on the black leather couch, an unlit cigarette between her fingers.

“Those things will kill you,” he said gently, not wanting to startle her.

She looked up. Her eyes were red, as if she’d been crying, but they were dry now. “That’s why I’m not smoking it,” she said. “Plenty of other ways to die.” Her gaze flicked past him to the office doors. “Especially now.”

She’d showered and changed and packed a bag, the handgun resting on top. Her blond hair was free of blood and grime, scraped back into a ponytail, revealing the silver scar that traced from temple to jaw. She was wearing all black, her nails freshly painted.

“You could come with me,” he said. “To South City. We can protect you—”

But she was already shaking her head. “No one can protect me, August. Not in this city. Not anymore. Harker didn’t have friends. He had slaves and enemies. And now he’s dead, you think they’re going to let me go free?”

No, he didn’t. Even with Sloan gone, the Malchai were rising up, Harker’s system breaking down. It wasn’t safe here. It wasn’t safe anywhere.

They took the private elevator to the garage where she’d left Sloan’s car. The sun was going down, and it wouldn’t be long before someone went looking for Harker and found his body. She set the gun on the passenger seat, on top of the border papers and the cash she’d taken from the house.

“Where will you go?” asked August.

“I don’t know,” she said. It must have been the truth.

She hesitated in the open door, one foot in the car, one still on the ground. August produced a slip of paper he’d taken from Harker’s desk, the corner tinged with blood. On it, he’d written the number for the FTF. The codes to access Henry’s private line, since he didn’t have his own. “If you ever need help,” he said. She said nothing, but took the paper and tucked it in her pocket.

“Be careful, Kate. Stay”—he was going to say safe, but he changed his mind—“alive.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Any advice on how to do that?”

August tried to smile. “The same way I stay human. One day at a time.”

“You’re not human,” she said. But the words had no venom. She started to climb in, but he reached out and folded his fingers over hers on the car door. She didn’t pull away. Neither did he. It was only a moment, but it mattered. He could tell, even through the haze.

August’s hand fell away, and Kate pulled the door shut, rapping her nails on the open window. He took a step back, put his hands in his pockets. “Good luck, Kate Harker.”

“Good-bye, August Flynn.”