Page 35 of Fool Me Twice

“I’ll wait for you,” Cane said, his tone telling him he didn’t want Hart out of his sight.

Hart shook his head adamantly. He needed a second to catch his breath and contemplate exactly what he had just agreed to. This wasn’t just Cane’s working space. He’d agreed to enter Cane’s apartment. To sleep there. Inside the belly of the beast. “I need some time to get everything ready.”

Cane scowled like a kid denied something he wanted, but kept his mouth shut as if sensing he couldn’t win. Cane was a fighter, at the end of the day—he knew how to pick his battles.

“You can head out,” Hart said, shifting a pad and pen across the table and snatching his hand back before they could touch. “Leave your address here for me and I’ll meet you there. Unless we’re sleeping at the warehouse, which, for the record, I refuse.”

Cane hesitated for a split second, as if he thought Hart would just skip town the moment he left the room. But he realized he had no other option and scrawled something on the paper before standing up and stomping away.

He paused in the doorway, turning his head slightly to the side and catching Hart’s look out of the corner of his eye.

Hart held his breath at the intensity there, at the thought of being left alone with it and having it focused solely on him for however long it lasted. The heat from earlier returned full force and he felt like he’d combust if he didn’t find a way to stop it.

He broke the eye contact, gripping the paper with Cane’s address.

Cane stalked out of the room and Hart closed his eyes against the onslaught of questions and concerns from both Fix and Ash.

He agreed with all of them.

He had no idea what he had just gotten himself into.

Chapter 8

Cane

Cane stood at the window, peering out at the dark, filthy streets. The only light was from the end of his cigarette. The lamps outside had long since burned out and had never been replaced. This area of the city was too close to the warehouse district for anyone to be bothered about the miserable fuckers who lived here, and Cane never bothered with lights in general. He didn’t want to broadcast he was home, and it was easier to surveil in the dark anyway.

Which was what he was doing. He wasn’t waiting like an overeager dog for the sight of a specific human, whimpering and whining.

He took a deep drag of his cigarette, letting the burn fill his lungs.

He hated needing anyone.

Cane handled his shit with his own two hands. There wasn’t a job too dirty or low. He treated it all the same. He didn’t owe people favors. The only debts he dealt in were the collecting type. But now he was at the mercy of a curse and begging a cursebreaker for help. It rubbed his insides raw. Like someone had taken a grater to his organs.

This wasn’t how the script was flipped.

He wouldn’t cower and break under the pressure.

He wouldn’t let his world crumble.

Not again.

The headlights of a perfectly clean black car pulled up in front of his building, and Cane pushed himself away from the window, flicking the end of his burned-out cigarette into an ashtray on the coffee table.

He threw his front door open and walked out barefoot in his jeans and white muscle shirt to stand in front of the elevator, waiting for it to rumble to the top floor. A neighbor on his floor opened the door, dressed and ready to head out. One look at Cane and he scurried back inside and slammed the door.

Cane was pretty sure the guy sold drugs.

And he was pretty sure it wasn’t his business as long as he kept it away from his territory.

A soft dinging sound pulled his attention back around and the elevator door screeched open, echoing in the empty hallway.

Hart stepped out hesitantly, his eyes darting around before they found Cane and wavered slightly as they took him in. A depth of raw, roiling emotions glimmering there until the shutters came down.

Cane ran his eyes over him from head to toe in return as the tension built.

Gone was the stuffy three-piece suit and colorful tie and pocket square combination. Instead, he was wearing a pair of beige slacks, a dark brown knit sweater, and a matching brown leather belt and loafers. His hair was even a little more relaxed, a few strands lying over his forehead instead of perfectly laid down.

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