But he’ll feel the weight difference if I take half.
My mind is reeling.
Then distract him.
With all this plotting happening within a matter of moments, I quickly and quietly clutch half the coins in my fist before carefully pulling my hand out of the pouch as I steady myself against him. Then, I slowly tear my gaze from his partially exposed chest where the edge of a dark tattoo peeks out behind the folds of his shirt.
My eyes finally meet his.
It’s like looking into a storm.
His eyes are the color of thunderclouds settling over Ilya, of smoke puffing from the chimneys overhead, of the stolen silver coins clenched in my fist. His black, long lashes are in total contrast with his steely gray eyes, now sweeping across my face. Shock raises his dark brows, tightens his sharp jaw, emphasizes his strong cheekbones.
We stand there, staring at each other.
I’m suddenly, acutely aware of every place he’s touching me. His strong arms are still wrapped around my waist and half holding me up, though his gaze feels like a caress in and of itself. I clear my throat as I remove my fisted hand from his shirt, revealing crumpled, fine fabric beneath before moving to step out of his hold.
His lips twitch, allowing me to glimpse a dimple on his right cheek. He slowly slides his arms from my waist, releasing me as his hands catch on the rough bottom of my vest.
Callouses. He’s a fighter.
Not that I need to be a Psychic to figure that out, seeing that his physique makes that fact obvious. With the thought of him being a trained fighter and double my size in mind, I nonchalantly pull my hands behind me to hide the evidence of my crime. The coins slide silently into my back pocket as I take a deep breath, trying to pull myself together.
“Do you always fall into the arms of handsome strangers, or is this a new thing for you?” His question displays that dimple again when a grin settles on his face, revealing white, straight teeth.
“No, only the cocky ones.” I smile coolly while he looks at me like I’m a puzzle he’s trying to decipher, amusement playing all over his face.
Distract him.
He chuckles and runs a hand through his ebony hair, only managing to make the waves messier. Gray eyes search mine as he says, “Well, looks like I’ve made quite the first impression then.”
“Yes,” I say slowly, “though I still haven’t decided if it was a good or bad one yet.”
Keep his mind off the money and his focus on you.
He shrugs, shoving his hands into his pockets—the perfect picture of cool indifference. “I caught you, didn’t I?”
Now it’s my turn to laugh. He cocks his head slightly to the side as he peers down at me, the corner of his mouth tilted up. Leaning in, he adds, “Maybe you should consider that detail before you decide, darling.”
Plagues, a pretty boy with pretty words.
Dangerous.
His smoky eyes sweep across my face, once again looking at me as though I’m an intriguing riddle. I refuse to fidget under his gaze as I take a step backward towards the busy street.
“I’ll keep it under consideration, darling.” I draw out the last word, mimicking him with a grin. His smile widens, displaying dimples on both of his cheeks. I force myself to ignore them as I add, “And thank you for saving me from eating cobblestone. I seem to be cursed with clumsiness.”
“Well, your clumsiness found me, so I’d hardly call it a curse,” he says simply, now leaning against the wall, hands in pockets. I smile, unable to suppress the eye roll that accompanies it. I glimpse his grin one last time before spinning on my heel and walking back onto Loot Alley, disappearing into the crowd.
My mind is reeling, replaying the observations I made of him as I make my way down Loot. The scars splattering his arms and the raw knuckles from a recent fight intrigued me the most, and it’s almost a shame I won’t discover the story that accompanies them. The thought of an Offensive Elite wearing scars almost brings a smile to my lips. Proof of weakness.
I grab the coins in my back pocket, letting them clink in my palm with a triumphant smile.
I doubt he’ll be missing these.
Chapter Five
Kai
The collared shirt I throw on is scratchy and uncomfortable, making me suddenly miss the days when I was young, and it was socially acceptable to run around half-naked.
Though, that’s ever stopped me from doing it now.
After slipping on one of my only pairs of shoes not currently caked in mud, I stride over to the door. I pass messy shelves that threaten to tip from the weight of far too many books, my desk that is currently covered in documents I’m avoiding, and the four-poster bed jutting out from the wall, the cause of several stubbed toes and incessant swearing. Sighing, I close the door on the comfort of my room, wishing desperately that I could dive onto my bed and sleep through dawn. Alas, duty calls, and it’s best not to keep him waiting.
I shove my hands into my pockets as I stroll down the white halls leading to the throne room. Late afternoon sunlight streams through the windows lining the corridor, causing the ornate paintings on the walls to glitter in the golden light. Far too soon for my liking, I round the corner and nod to the guards standing outside throne room before pushing open the heavy doors.
“Ah, Kai. It’s about time.” Father’s deep voice echoes down the vast length of the throne room. Its walls are decorated with large, wide windows draped in dark green silk—Ilya’s kingdom color—accompanied by the sculptured molding crawling up the walls and onto the ceiling. Currently, a long wooden table resides in the middle of the polished marble floor where the king occupies the chair at the head.
“Good, you put on a shirt.” He sighs but I see a slight smile in his eyes. “I considered telling the servant to add that detail to the message he gave you.”
“Oh, don’t worry, Father, I won’t make the mistake of showing up to the throne room without a shirt. Again.” I memorize the hint of a smile on his face, not knowing the next time I’ll see it. The next time I’ll earn it.
He’s a brutal man, a Brawny who is strong physically as well as mentally. He’s stern, stubborn, and set in his ways, so seeing him offer even the faintest of smiles has me involuntarily returning a faint one of my own. Our dynamic together has always been difficult to say the least, but in moments like these, it’s easier to ignore our unpleasant past.
He clears his throat along with any emotion on his face.
And there’s the father I’m so used to.
“I have a mission for you as the future Enforcer.”
“I live to serve,” I answer flatly.
I live to kill.
My life means the end of someone else’s.
The types of missions Enforcers get sent on are anything but heroic. I’ve had dozens over the years, all part of my training to become the future executioner, commander of armies, and right-hand man to the king. Everything from battle strategies and executions to interrogations and torture fall into my line of work as the expected Enforcer.
All glimpses into my bright future.
“My informants know of a family harboring an Ordinary near Loot Alley,” Father continues, sounding slightly bored. “I need you to investigate and eradicate the problem.”
Eradicate equals execute.
After the Purging, when the Ordinaries were banished to the Scorches to protect Ilya from their disease, the king decreed that any remaining Ordinaires found in the kingdom would be executed. Three decades ago, he offered them a chance to survive if they could cross the Scorches and reach the cities of Dor and Tando on the other side where they would be no harm. But the king’s mercy only lasted that day of the Purging, and I now deliver death on his behalf.