Page 98 of Honey Cut
“A pointless thing to say with your remaining time,” Mark says. “Of course you wish I’d died. You were the one trying to kill me.”
Drobny’s only answer is a wheeze.
“And all because of a small misunderstanding years ago?—”
This rouses Drobny. He pitches futilely about in his chair. “It wasn’t small! You killed my cousin’s best friend’s brother-in-law!”
From my place in the shadows, I close my eyes with a feeling of utter stupidity. I’d thought Mark had said that as a joke, a self-deprecating punch line to underscore the fact that he’d never know why someone had tried to kill him and his club members.
He had known all along.
But why even let Drobny join the club, then? Why risk having an arms dealer who hated him inside its walls?
“He was a loyal and strong man,” Drobny is gasping now. “I will gladly suffer in his honor. I will gladly suffer for having avenged his death.”
“Shut up,” Mark says, and it’s the first real human emotion I’ve heard from him tonight: irritation. “You avenged nothing, and you’re not dying for him anyway. You’re dying because of what I found on my wedding planner’s phone when I cloned it—and what I found on one of your mercenary’s phones when I caught him following my bride around Manhattan.”
Memory flashes: an old sedan, Tristan’s worried face. So I had been followed that day.
Mark threads his fingers through Drobny’s sweat-damp hair and pulls his head up. The older man blinks up into Mark’s face.
“Whatever you were planning to do about Ys somehow involved Mrs. Trevena. Having her followed and photographed and then having those pictures sent to you,” Mark says. “I’ve looked through all of them, and I found nothing prurient,fortunatelyfor your pain tolerance. Unfortunately, however, there is no acceptable reason to stalk my wife.”
“Didn’t—hurt—her?—”
“But I think you might have. Or you might have offered the chance to someone else. Surely, you must know that I can’t allow such a thing to go unpunished.”
A strange swell in my chest at that. A beat of obsession, a thud of awe and desire.
Even if he could never love me back, could never feel the same about me as I do about him, killing a man for me feels like uncompromising, vicious possession.
After last night, when I was terrified he’d demand a divorce, it feels better than a declaration of undying love.
For his part, Drobny tries to spit at my husband, but it goes nowhere. Bloody foam now clings to his lips.
Mark lets go of Drobny’s hair and returns to the black duffel bag. “This was my theory about the wedding planner, by the way,” he says conversationally. He pulls out another syringe—this one he has to fill himself. “You needed someone who could keep tabs on Isolde before she came to Lyonesse, where she’d be much more difficult to watch. But there is that peskywhyagain…”
I’m bothered by thewhytoo. Why stalk me? Build plans around me? It has to be related to being a saint, but if that’s true, how come the Scales or my uncle didn’t know Drobny was interested in me?
ThatYsmight be interested in me?
My hand tenses around the hilt of my honeysuckle knife until I force it to relax.
I don’t want Ys to be interested in me, especially after killing five men with close ties to it. My anonymity is my single strongest protection.
No.Not quite.
There is the leather-jacketed man just through the doorway. I don’t know if I fully understand why or how, but he might be my protection too.
The syringe is full, and with the competence of a seasoned nurse, he removes the old syringe and replaces it. He pushes the plunger down without any delay or hesitation.
“It’s done,” Mark says, straightening up and walking to the edge of the tarp. “It’s morphine. It won’t hurt.”
“You want me to say thank you?” Drobny’s voice is reed-thin now and quiet enough that I have to lean forward to hear it.
“I don’t expect it, no. But I didn’t do it for you. Believe it or not, I don’t particularly enjoy unnecessary suffering.”
“You will pay for it,” Drobny whispers. A trite thing that Mark has probably heard a hundred times. A thing even I’ve heard as a saint. The priests I kill add in a little damnation for good measure, but otherwise it’s the same.
