Page 22 of Vicious Souls

“No.”

“Would you really kill me?”

He pauses and looks up at me, no doubt wondering why I would ask the same question twice. Is my mind so confused that I can not keep track of the conversation? I’m known for my stoicism, my absolute emotion free demeanor when the occasion calls for it. I don’t even know why the question keeps revolving around in my head, as though on auto pilot, instilling a fear in me I have never known I was capable of. I don’t know what it is. In some ways, maybe there is a fear of loss of life, especially when I still have so many years ahead of me. So much I want to do. So many things I have to look forward to. But then again, the thought that I will die by his hand does something to my insides, knotting me up and causing me to become almost frantic with horror. How could he save me once only to now become my executioner? What sort of a world had I stepped into?

“Fearless Kingsley – not so fearless anymore, are you? You’re so afraid that I will kill you, yet you’re not afraid of the Savages?”

“You’ve given me no reason to believe that you want me dead up until now. Despite your motivations for holding me here, there’s something you want more – need more – than my death.”

“You’re right. But you chose not to play that game.”

I hold my lip between my teeth, my mind blinking back rapidly to everything I know about this man. What could he possibly want? A ransom? He is fixated on who I am and my relationship to the Murrays. This has to be about money, right? This will be an easy fix if that’s all this is about.

I throw my cards on the table and put my hands, palms down, on the table top. I straighten in my chair and face him, my mask slipping into its place. I am a Murray, and I will not drown in fear at the first whiff of trouble. If he means to kill me, he’d already have done it. I am a gambler, and if I have to place my wager anywhere, it would be on me coming clean and letting the chips fall where they may. He is the lesser of two evils, of that I am certain.

“What do you want?” I ask him, my face a stony mask.

He sits back in his chair and regards me carefully, wondering what has changed that I am now willing to talk. What he doesn’t need to know is that I am no idiot. I probably need this enemy in my camp – threatening or not, and I am more afraid of the Savages than I am of the Accardis. The Savages are an unknown risk. The risk standing in front of me right now has already saved my life once, which means there is the possibility he could do it again. Albeit, reluctantly. The trust I am placing in baring my soul to him will probably end up in my demise, but it is a gamble I am willing to take. If nothing else, it will buy me some much needed time to figure things out.

“What relation are you to the Murrays?”

I bite my lip again, that nervous trait I have possessed since I was a child. There is no turning back now. Only moving forward.

“Maddog Murray is… was… my father,” I whisper, the pain of saying his name lancing through my heart. I couldn’t even mourn him in peace.

Dante catches his breath, disbelief evident in the way he straightens his body. And there it is. The thing he’s been waiting for. Validation. Or confirmation. I don’t know which. But this is obviously an important piece of information to him. This is what he’s been waiting for.

“I thought Maddog had a son.”

“Maddog has a daughter who wears a silly disguise to fool the world so she can be protected. Father insisted.”

“You mean to tell me you paraded around all your life fooling everyone into thinking you’re a boy?”

He looks at me in disbelief when I nod my head. To my own ears, the story seems a little far fetched. I am nineteen, not nine. How could someone get away with something like that for so long? It defies belief. And that is where Dante Accardi lands – with a thud – when he finally hears my truth.

21

KINGSLEY

“How do I know you’re not lying?”

“You don’t. But you know I don’t have anything to gain by giving you this information. Contrary, I’m probably digging my own grave here.”

I roll my fingers back until my hands become two fists on the table, my nervousness apparent. My chest constricts as a sudden wave of anxiety overcomes me, squeezing my heart painfully. I try to fend it off, my fists clenching tighter as I sit ramrod straight in the uncomfortable chair. It is obviously not meant for long term use, something I’m sure Dante already knows. He meant to break me even with the discomfort of a fricking chair.

“Who else knows?”

“Only Tate.”

“What about the guards? The housekeepers?”

I shake my head, adamant that they don’t have a clue.

“But you walked past them every night dressed as a girl. And you’re telling me they didn’t know?”

“You were watching me.”

“A necessary evil.”

---