Page 27 of Fool Me Twice

Cane gnashed his teeth at it, eyes flicking to Soph over Hart’s shoulder. “Talk,” he said, but it lacked the previous menace.

“Cane, I’m sorry,” she whispered, wringing her hands. “I don’t know why…I just. It was like I had to do it. Like someone was making me.”

“Making you do what?”

“I was the one who fucked up to start with,” she admitted finally. “I was approached by this guy with the offer to sell at the warehouse. I brought the stuff in and roped Raph into helping me sell because I was behind the bar most of the time.”

“Soph,” Raph whispered.

Hart felt Cane’s muscles tense under his touch. He could feel the predator inside him waking up, ready to pounce. Ready to defend what was his.

“I know this is hard to hear, but you already know there’s something strange happening here,” Hart said calmly into his ear. “Which is why you’re going to step outside with me and let everyone settle down for a second.”

“I…”

“And then you’re going to let me do my job.” Hart spoke over him, not letting him get a word in. “I can’t give you answers if you’re clogging everything with the rage you’re putting into the air.”

Cane glared at him, and Hart held his gaze, not backing down for a split second.

After some time, miraculously, Cane unwound. He dropped his gaze from Hart’s face to the hand on his chest, and Hart held his breath, realizing just how close they really were. If Hart moved his head their noses would brush. His own heart began to race traitorously, his body reacting to the stimulus.

“Fine,” Cane said suddenly, stepping away from him and grabbing his arm. He pulled Hart toward the front door, turning to the twins before he walked out. “You have ten minutes to get yourselves in order.”

He pushed Hart out the door and slammed it behind him, pacing the small hallway like a caged lion.

His face betrayed a storm of emotions and Hart caught himself cataloging each one. Cane was angry, but that was just surface level. That was what he was allowing to escape and be seen by others. It was a safety emotion. Something he knew how to handle.

Beneath that was disappointment and uncertainty. Softer, more vulnerable emotions that Cane couldn’t seem to deal with. He didn’t know how to channel them into something productive. Hart watched as he let them fester and turn into anger before they bubbled to the surface and he slammed a fist into the wall.

“This isn’t productive,” Hart said, putting all of his training and understanding of the human mind behind his words.

“Productive?” Cane hissed, flexing the fingers on his bruised hand. “I don’t give a fuck about productive.”

“Yes, you do,” Hart said, walking over and against his better judgment taking Cane’s hand between his own. “You care about those kids.”

Cane huffed and looked away, refusing to let Hart see his words hit home.

“You know them,” he continued. “You got them out of something ugly because you saw good in them. Potential.”

“Fat load of good that did,” Cane said, but his voice sounded calmer than before. The tense hand in Hart’s hold relaxed—only slightly, but he noticed.

“Remember who they were when you found them,” Hart said. “Remember why you saved them. Why you took a chance on them.”

Cane fell silent, eyes distant and dark as he processed the words. Hart knew he had him where he wanted him. Inside the memories that brought back the human side of Cane, the side that felt compassion and kindness.

“Who did that to her?” Hart asked quietly, thinking of Soph’s scar. “Who did it to them?”

Cane didn’t bother to ask what he meant as he clenched his fingers into a fist again. “I told you. Their old man was a piece of work.”

Hart felt sick to his stomach, turning his gaze on the door behind him.

“What did you do to him?” Hart asked, just knowing.

Cane shrugged, not even trying to deny it. “I just returned to sender all of his unwanted ‘gifts.’”

Hart found it hard to feel remorse, even though he knew it wasn’t morally right. Cane doled out violence at his own whim, using his own views and ideals as law, handing out punishments like he was judge, jury, and executioner. But one look at Soph’s scarred face, at both of their fear at such a young age, and Hart was unable to suppress the satisfied gleam of vindication in his chest.

“Why?” he asked finally.

---