Ace of Shades (The Shadow Game #1)(101)

Any relief she felt at finding Levi safe quickly vanished. If Sedric Torren sighted Levi, then Enne had little idea how she could save him.

“Levi?” she croaked. “You need to get out of here—”

“No, you need to get out of here.” He grabbed both of her arms and pulled her close, nearly knocking her into his chest in his urgency. He backed the two of them into an alcove off the lobby, away from the bustle of the crowd. Enne’s back pressed against a door leading to a coatroom.

“You don’t understand.” She tried to shake him off, but he only held her firmer. “Sedric Torren—”

“I know why you’re here.” She could smell the bourbon on his breath. “I can’t let you do it.”

“Why not?” she hissed. “I’m trying to help you.”

“I’m not letting you get yourself killed. Especially not over me.”

“It’s not only you. It’s...” She tried to say Vianca, but the omerta caught the name on her tongue. And, of course, there was something else. The cold, angry hurt inside her that wanted to end Sedric Torren and put a stop to the Shadow Game forever.

“Let me help you,” she urged.

Levi swallowed, then gently tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. The touch was delicate, hesitant, as if they had time for such tender gestures. “You can’t help me. You’re the one who needs to leave.”

Didn’t he know her better than that by now? She had thrown everything away to save someone she loved before, and she would do it again for him.

“I thought we were in this together,” she murmured. “You and me.”

“Not in this. This has always been my problem.”

His gaze moved down her dress, and he wore a look somewhere between longing and pain. She leaned in to him, and her hand found its way into his. Her head felt dizzy from the flashing lights and nearness of him, but even as her heart urged her to move closer, her mind compelled her to resist. The expression on Levi’s face scared her. Not because of the desire in his eyes—the desire she shared, as well—but the desperation. As his free hand moved around her waist, his other pinning hers to the wall, Enne realized he really believed that this was his last night, his last chance. This wasn’t simply attraction. This was him attempting to leave this world without regret.

He bent low until his forehead pressed against hers, and the space between them felt negative and infinite all at once. Her heart stirred, begging her to surrender.

“Promise me,” he whispered. “Promise me you’ll be safe.”

She couldn’t promise that. Vianca had given her orders, and Enne intended to see them through. There would be more nights spent with Levi Glaisyer. This wasn’t their last chance.

We won’t die tonight, she swore silently instead.

“Promise me,” he repeated, and she felt his breath against her lips.

She squeezed his hand. “You asked me to trust you once. Now I’m asking you to trust me.”

His expression faltered. “I won’t let you—”

“Please.”

Breathless, she slid out of his grasp and disappeared into the crowd before he could catch her, praying she hadn’t made a heartbreaking mistake.

Enne followed the pull of the omerta toward the bar, where it whispered to her that she would find her mark. Her hands were clammy with sweat, her chest tight with fear. She would have to face Sedric Torren again. Him and the terrible, nauseating way he looked at her.

After a few moments, she stopped to glance back at Levi for a last push of courage.

He was gone.

“No,” she whispered. She shoved her way back to the alcove, but Levi was nowhere to be found. Maybe he’d left, just as she’d pleaded. Enne should’ve felt relieved, but bullets of worry buried themselves in her chest. This was not the night to make assumptions.

Had they found him already? Had they killed him?

She had no time to search. The omerta was steering her toward the bar, and the clock was ticking. Whether or not Levi was safe, she would find out from Sedric Torren, and she would finish what she’d come here to do.

The room was dark and hazy with smoke. A single figure sat at the bar, one with broad shoulders and slicked-back hair.

Sedric Torren caught her eye and gave her an inviting smile.

All at once, she was back in the St. Morse theater. Sedric’s hand had found its way to her thigh, and her mind had found its way somewhere else as she waited for the poison to work, waited for the night to end. Sedric’s mind, too, had seemed somewhere else. Fabricating reasons to lure her away, imagining the things he would do in the dark, the way he’d tell her she’d wanted this, the secrets and shame he’d convince her to keep.

She’d seen it all in his eyes then, and the same look was there now.

Enne reminded herself how far she’d come since that night. She was not Vianca’s doll. She’d walked into the Deadman District and emerged a lord. She carried poison in one pocket and a gun in the other.

She was a blade disguised as a girl.

Taking a deep breath to calm herself, she slid onto the stool beside him.

“’Lo, Sedric,” she said.

He inspected her dark lipstick and slip of a dress. His eyes traced over her face, her chest, the rest of her body. She could see the calculations in his head, trying to guess how old she truly was and whether he would still have her, anyway.