Page 26 of Because I Killed Him
“I must admit, I feel inclined to ask you the same question. Why, Mr. Somerset, are you publicly associating yourself with such a controversial figure?”
At first, I’m not sure what the Mr. Lee is playing at. If this is his idea of helping us, we’d be better off bodychecking our way to the door. But then he takes off his flat cap, revealing how tightly his skin is stretched over his broad cheekbones. His eyes, puffy and bloodshot, are ringed by dark, bruise-colored circles.
Shit.
“Miss Waldsten’s and my relationship is unrelated to politics,” Harrison replies.
“I see.” Mr. Lee smooths his mustache, his hand betraying a slight tremor. “Is it then safe to assume you oppose the Bliss ban?”
Harrison’s mouth pinches at the corners. His shoulders lift again, like an animal sensing danger in tall grass. “My personal beliefs are irrelevant.”
“On the contrary, Mr. Somerset, I am exceedingly curious about where your loyalties lie.” Mr. Lee gestures to the crowd, where people are filming with their Bonds. “Weallare.”
Harrison’s face contorts as he realizes his friend has chosen a side. And it’s not ours. He turns to Mr. Lee, who watches us with a patient expression, as if it’s only a matter of time before he gets what he came for.
Traitor.
Anger courses through me. I clench my fists, tempted to call Mr. Lee atwo-faced bastard, but I can’t. Aside from Coppers and Pinkies, it’s illegal to speak to strangers until a mutual acquaintance has formally introduced you.
“My loyalties lie with the law of the Civilized World,” Harrison replies. “Now, I must insist that you stand aside.”
“Introduce me to Miss Waldsten, and I shall.”
A buzzing sound fills my ears as a text appears on my Bond:
“What’s this asshole’s angle?”Charlotte writes.
“I don’t know,”I reply. “He can’t do anything with the security drones watching, can he?”
“Technically no, but…”Charlotte bites her lip, then swings her handbag higher on her arm.
“What’s wrong?”I text.
She pushes toward Harrison, who keeps speaking to Mr. Lee even as she yanks on his caped overcoat.
“Until you have revealed your intentions, I am under no obligation to fulfill your request,” Harrison says.
“My intentions shall remain between Miss Waldsten and me. However—” Mr. Lee presses a hand to his chest with an air of sincerity. “As a gentleman, I can assure you of an honorable exchange.”
“If that is the case, then—” Harrison glances down at Charlotte, who’s still tugging on his coat. She rises on her tiptoes and whispers something into his ear that makes his eyes widen. I move closer, trying to overhear, when someone whistles loudly from the back of the crowd.
D. F. A. D. The four notes haunt the air like a ghost, forming the intro toThe Last Walk. The song is usually reserved for executions, but there’s a second, lesser-known occasion when it’s played: during death duels.
Mr. Lee whirls on the crowd with a heated glare. As he searches for the source of the whistle, his coat flaps open, revealing the exquisitely carved hilt of a saber. Etched into the metal is the letterB, one of the top competitive ratings. Harrison is only aC, which puts Mr. Lee an entire tier above him.
The sweat on my skin turns cold.
“Well, Mr. Somerset?” Mr. Lee turns back to Harrison, his saber still in plain view. “Will you provide me with the introduction or not?”
Harrison flares his nostrils, frustration radiating off him. I can see thewheels turning in his mind, but it’s hard not to panic as I consider what I’m capable of. Can I manage flèches and parries? Can I grip a saber with these swollen fingers?
My eyes lock on Mr. Lee’s hands, waiting for the slightest movement toward his weapon. He’s wearing yellow wash-leather gloves, often used for driving sports cars, but they work just as well for dueling.
No.Why the hell am I even thinking about this? I’m a Public Person now. Breaking my weapons restriction would earn me much more than a slap on the wrist. Best case, I get arrested. Worst case, I face execution.
Harrison’s eyes drop to my injured hand, and he swallows hard, a bead of sweat sliding down his nose. I can see how close he is to caving, to making the introduction to save his own skin. The temptation is brief, gone in an instant, but it’s enough to make Hillaire’s warnings about him being a coward come rushing back.
He draws a ragged breath. “Apologies, Mr. Lee, but I am unable to provide you with an introduction at this time.”
