Ace of Shades (The Shadow Game #1)(99)

“There are a lot of things I’d like to do when I see you,” Levi growled. “Crossing my heart is not one of them.”

“I should’ve killed you when I had the chance,” Chez hissed, clearly forgetting the part where Jac had beaten the muck out of him before he could. Chez took out his knife and flipped it between his fingers.

“I wouldn’t bother. The Torrens are after me, and they’ll be pretty upset if you kill me first.”

Chez laughed, still playing with his knife. “I’m not surprised the Torrens want you dead. You’re a real pain in the ass. We’ve been better off without you.”

Levi held back a wince. Despite all Chez’s bravado, those words were probably true.

I’m not helpless, he thought. If I’m going to die, I’m going to do it fighting. I’ll be no one’s plaything.

“That’s a shame,” Levi answered.

“Oh yeah? Why?”

“Because I’m gonna take back my crown. Right now.”

“What’s the point?” Chez grunted. He flipped his knife again—his tell. He was nervous. Both of them were in muck shape, but if Chez won last time and was uneasy now, he couldn’t have been doing well. What trouble had he run into in Levi’s absence? “I thought you were already a dead man.”

That was exactly why Levi wanted to fight. So he could die with some dignity—and his title returned to him.

“I’ve still got a little fight left in me.” Levi made a show of taking off his jacket and rolling up his sleeves, exposing his Iron Lord tattoos. Then he emptied the gun from his pocket and laid it on the ground beside him. “So maybe we can do it properly this time—no interruptions.”

Chez flipped his blade in the air and caught it. As if his tricks scared Levi. Nothing could scare him now, when he had nothing left to lose.

Or maybe he was only shatz—running from one death into the clutches of another.

“You’re thick if you think you can win,” Chez growled. “If it weren’t for Jac, you’d be dead right now.”

“If it weren’t for me, you’d be dead, too. Floating in the Brint where I first found you.” Chez’s jaw locked. Levi found most of the Irons that way—desperate and near death. It was why he’d thought they were loyal to him. Now he knew it was also why they hated him. “Why would you chance walking around Scar Land? Seems kinda desperate. Just how well are the Irons fairing without me?”

Chez lurched forward. He was about three times as fast as Levi, but now Levi knew better than to try to outmaneuver him. He jumped out of the way and immediately went for Chez’s feet, grabbing his shins and yanking him to the ground. Chez tumbled on top of him, and his head smacked the cobblestones.

Levi wrestled him on to his back, then he pinned his arms down. Chez’s knife flew from his hand and landed a few feet away with a clatter.

“I don’t owe you anything,” Chez said, his voice slurred from hitting his head. Blood stained his brown hair. “I never asked to be saved.”

“Everybody’s asking to be saved,” Levi answered.

As Chez gradually regained his senses, he struggled more against Levi’s grip.

“Even if I don’t kill you right now,” Levi snarled, “I win. I outfought you. That makes me your lord again.”

Chez spat in his face. “Like hell it does.”

All of the week’s anger and frustration getting the better of him, Levi summoned his talent and let his skin warm. Chez screamed as steam rose from his wrists where Levi’s fingers were wrapped around them. His skin began to blister, pink and oozing and raw.

“I’m not gonna kill you, Chez, but maybe these shackles will remind you that I own you, no matter how far away you run.” When he let go, rings of raw flesh circled Chez’s wrists, raised and inflamed—more gruesome than Levi had intended. Chez howled more.

Holding Chez’s arms down with his legs, Levi paused to savor the moment. He took a triumphant swig from his flask.

Levi stood, closing his eyes to savor the victory. But when he opened them again, he caught a glimpse of his reflection in a window and startled. The look on his face...

He was the spitting image of Vianca.

Click.

In barely a moment’s time, Chez had pressed the barrel of the abandoned gun to Levi’s head. Levi grabbed his arm and tried to shove him away, but his third held steady. “Back down from being lord, Pup,” he demanded, panting. “Or I swear I’ll paint the wall with your thoughts.”

In a real challenge, you couldn’t shoot your lord. No one inherited the oath from a bullet. Every gangster knew that.

But Chez didn’t need Levi to remind him. “As far as I’m concerned, this never happened,” Chez hissed. “No witnesses.”

So Chez would kill him after all. Levi would die here, another lord lost to these streets.

“Any last words?” Chez asked.

Levi couldn’t think of any. None that hadn’t been said before or wouldn’t be said again.

But Levi still had one last card up his sleeve. He’d never swallowed his mouthful of Gambler’s Ruin.

He spit it out, snapped his fingers and a roar of fire erupted between him and Chez. First, there was a scream. Then a gunshot. Levi was already on the ground, his ears ringing, eyes closed, arms clutching his broken rib. Something thudded to the cobblestones a few feet away, but it took several moments for Levi to regain his composure and look.