Page 21 of Leather & Lark
I stop at the sideboard in the dining room, where framed photographs face away from the window. The Boston Butcher and the Orb Weaver. Faces I recognize. Faces I don’t. Among the pictures, there’s one at the restaurant in a booth. Rowan Kane and Sloane Sutherland sitting next to each other. Lark Montague smiling at the camera. Lachlan Kane, killer for hire, the deadliest serpent in a nest of snakes. His gaze is caught on Miss Montague. Hate and desire are often indistinguishable to me. But I know what I saw on the balcony the same night that the restaurant opened. I know what I heard. There was anger between them. But beneath it, there wasneed. It burned in Kane’s eyes like twin flames as he watched her walk away.
My focus returns to Lark Montague. The cherished daughter of two empires of sin. The beloved friend of the Orb Weaver. The coveted object of Lachlan Kane’s desire. And divine inspiration strikes. A new idea. The seeds of a magnificent plan. A plan to not only avenge, but to debride their rotting souls with the cleansing, righteous fire of pain. Of suffering.
The worst suffering is not death. It is in living, day after day, knowing you’ve forever lost that which you most cherished. Most loved. Most desired. It’s being forced to continue existing in a world indifferent to your pain. To realize how powerless you are against the tide of God’s wrath.
So I will bring them pain. The Butcher. The Spider. Lark Montague. And what is the worst fate for a man like Lachlan Kane?
To ensure anyone left behind believesheis the cause of Lark Montague’s destruction.
With the pure you will show yourself pure. And with the devious you will show yourself shrewd.
Step one.Destabilize.
I smile and turn to leave, the cat taking a swipe at my leg as I go.
But know this: in the last days, there will be suffering.
For he shall then repay each person according to what he has done.
An eye for an eye.
And a tooth for a tooth.
THREADS
Lark
… ONE YEAR LATER
I let myself into my great aunt Ethel’s sprawling home, the familiar rhythm of waves following on my heels from the nearby rocky shore until I close the door behind me. The scent of lavender and roses greets me in the foyer from the large bouquets that line either side of the entryway. There’s a framed photo of Ethel and my great uncle Thomas resting between two of the vases, a picture I took at their wedding anniversary party six months ago. I’m staring down at the photo when my older sister, Ava, appears from the direction of the kitchen, the cadence of her footsteps so familiar that I don’t need to look up to know it’s her.
“That was a great party, wasn’t it?” I say when she stops at my side to admire the warmth of our aunt and uncle’s wrinkled faces, their smiles forever frozen as they dance against the backdrop of friends and family.
“Yeah, it was. Aside from that jellied carrot salad. What the fuck.”
“It’s Ethel. She likes what she likes.”
“Apparently, she likes making the rest of us gag at the table. How she can be so good at muffins and so horrible at literally everything else, I’ll never know.” Ava shudders in my peripheral vision before turning to embrace me. “Hey, Meadowlark.”
“I missed you,” I reply, and she squeezes tighter before letting me go. “Are you still good to drive Ethel to the venue this weekend if everything with Sloane’s surprise elopement goes to plan?”
Ava sighs, my biceps gripped in her hands as she appraises me. Something about her expression seems drawn now that I have the chance to really look at her. Maybe it’s just the stress of recent travel from California. She’s not the type to chill, and it’s probably starting to catch up to her along with everything she’s been organizing here. I give her a bright smile and hum a few bars of the “Wedding March,” but it doesn’t crack her stoic mask.
“Sure, I can get her there, but I can’t stay for the wedding, unfortunately. You’ll have to give Sloane my best if she ends up saying yes to this crazy elopement plan,” Ava finally says as she lets go of my arms.
“Where is Auntie Ethel anyway? She wanted me here at eleven o’clockexactly, for some reason,” I say as my gaze pans across the living room. Normally, when my aunt demands a specific time, she’s already at the door, ready to bark her orders.
“She’s upstairs. Mom and Dad were in the sitting room with Tremblay the last time I saw them. I’ll be in the office going through the eighty million pieces of fucking paper that are still left. If you don’t see me, I’ve chosen to end things by paper cut rather than read through another ledger of flour and sugar orders.”
“I know what will cheer you up.”
“Margaritas?”
“Jellied salad.”
“In the most loving way possible, fuck off.”
My sister gives me a sardonic grin before she presses a kiss to my cheek and then marches away, disappearing down the corridor past the boxes of paperwork she’s set out in the hallway. A sense of unease settles in my chest like a thick syrup that sticks to my bones.
