10. Cane

Cane was used to seeing blood. In fact, he liked it. More violence meant more money.

What he wasn't used to was seeing blood oozing from a fucking stab wound his best fighter had just dished out. In the middle of a fight. In the middle of the cage. For everyone to see.

The crowd fell eerily silent after the initial scream, like someone had frozen them in a morbid tableau. It was unnatural. The warehouse was supposed to be shaking with pent-up aggression. The scent of sweat, blood, and money was what fed it.

Not like this though.

Hart's body trembled in his arms, a familiar shiver making its way down to his feet, but instead of eating it up, swallowing him and claiming him, Cane now had a barrage of other bullshit to deal with.

Motherfucker.

"Cane," Hart whispered, but all Cane could see was red, the haze descending and sinking its claws in.

He slammed his open palm against the glass until it shook, distorting the image in front of them. And it was as if that somehow pressed play on reality again. As if everyone could hear it.

The noise rose to an unbearable level, echoing and deafening them both. It started like a tidal wave, slowly and from a distance, then grew until it swept over them all. People screamed, chairs scraped, there was glass shattering, and a thunder of steps as everyone rushed to get out.

Cane pushed himself away from Hart, marching to the door and throwing it open, ignoring Hart as he called for him to come back and to not jump headfirst into danger.

Danger was what he knew best.

He rushed out, eyes wild as he took the stairs down, searching for his security staff. He dodged people slamming into him, gripping someone's collar to stop them from tumbling down and causing an even bigger issue as they ran away.

Where the fuck were his men?

As if summoned, Ares intercepted him, looking just as out of it as Cane felt.

"What the fuck is happening?" Cane growled.

Ares shook his head, grimacing. "We're looking into it, Boss."

Cane forced himself into Ares's personal space, bumping their chests together and looming over him threateningly. His vision was turning black in the corners.

"Look into it faster," Cane said, deceptively calm.

"I'll gather the bouncers as soon as they see the mass out," Ares said, nodding vigorously, trying to assuage Cane's boiling anger. "We don't want any more casualties."

"How did this even happen? I don't fucking allow weapons in here except my own," Cane growled.

"We're gonna get to the bottom of it," Ares said, looking around as the warehouse got emptier by the second.

Cane's skin crawled at the sight of it—the mess and the chaos left behind, the kind that did nothing for him.

"Make sure you do," he told Ares.

"Yes, Boss." Ares nodded, not backing down despite the obvious discomfort at having his personal space invaded. "And you should know…"

"What?" Cane snapped.

"The police and an ambulance are on their way," Ares said in a hurry, as if saying it faster would make it sound better. "Someone must have called it in. They'll be here any second."

Cane clenched his fists, the phantom feeling of metal cuffs closing around his wrists making his stomach turn. He tensed to stop himself from pummeling the first person he saw into the ground. There was an unwritten code. You don't call the cops. Things were handled in house. Now he had another fuck-up to add to the list.

There was a voice in the back of his head telling him he knew who, or more accurately what, was to blame for this. The mess, the panic, the loss of reputation, and the fact that the fucking police would soon be breathing down his neck, asking questions he didn't want to answer.

The curse.

Cane grasped Ares's collar and hauled him in until they were nose to nose. "Handle. It."

Cane shoved him away and Ares rushed to do as asked, leaving Cane to head toward the middle of the room, fighting against the stampede of the last remaining people rushing to get out.

He reached the cage in a few dozen steps, the stabbed fighter still on the floor. There were people around him applying pressure to the wound, and he seemed to be awake and aware of what was going on.

Cane hoped that meant nobody died on his fucking premises.

He looked into the opposite corner, finding his fighter curled up in a ball, his eyes wide as he stared at the unmoving fighter on the ground.

He was rocking back and forth, horror written clear on his face. It was pitiful, but all Cane could feel was rage.

He stormed toward the fighter, dragging him up with a fist in his sweat-damp hair until they were eye to eye.

"Talk!" he barked at him, ignoring the look of pain in his eyes and the confusion on his face.

"C-Cane…" the fighter whispered, shaking his head and opening and closing his mouth like a fish on dry land. Cane wanted to smash his skull in.

"I know my fucking name," he said, shaking the guy's head harshly. "Now talk before I make it impossible for you to."

"I didn't mean to," the fighter said. "I didn't mean to. I didn't even have a knife on me. Why…why would I…"

"Stab a man?" Cane finished for him, condescension dripping from his tongue like poison. "You fucking tell me, asshole!"

"I don't know." The fighter whimpered when Cane's fist tightened in his hair. He was standing on his tiptoes now, trying to ease the pull on his scalp.

"Figure it out," Cane said. "Now!"

"I don't know," the fighter repeated, face twisted with pain. "I came here early like normal. I didn't have a knife on me. I don't carry anything, ever. I don't know where it came from. I just know that in the middle of the fight I knew I had it on me and I felt like it was what I had to do."

"Knives just don't magically appear unless you had help bringing one in!" Cane yelled, letting the guy's hair go to punch him once in the mouth. The guy flew back against the cage bars, blood spraying from his mouth. Cane grabbed him by the jaw. "Who the fuck are you working with? What fucking caster cursed me? Give me the fucking name!"

"CANE!" Hart's voice pierced the cloud of rage. "CANE, STOP!"

Cane trembled with the desire to smash this guy's head in and find the answers he wanted inside. The guy whimpered in his grip.

"Cane, I mean it," Hart said, quick footsteps coming from behind him, bouncing off the ring floor.

"Not now," Cane growled. He didn't have the time to handle Hart and his preaching.

"Yes, now," Hart said, infuriatingly stubborn as always, soft hands gripping his wrist. "Listen to what he's saying."

Cane could barely hear anything over the thunder of his own heartbeat. Over the echo of ghostly laughter in his ears.

"Let him go," Hart said sternly.

"No," he said, tightening his grip on the fighter's jaw until his knuckles turned white and the tattoos on his arms distorted from the veins popping under his skin.

He could crush him with one flick, fighter or not. Cane knew his own strength.

"I need you to let him go," Hart said. That word made Cane pause. It was written into his being to respond to it when it was uttered by that voice. Because yes, he did know his strength, but Hart knew his weakness. "Please."

"You're playing a dangerous game, sweetheart," Cane growled, low and menacing.

Hart was writing a contract between them right now. Cane would always give Hart what he needed. But that meant he could take what he wanted in return.

He heard Hart's breath hitch beside him, felt his hands flex. "I know."

When Hart tugged at his wrist again, Cane let it move. He opened his fingers and the fighter crumpled to the floor like he'd been steamrolled, curling into a ball and shaking. It didn't make Cane feel anything.

"He was saying the same things Raph and Soph said," Hart said, pulling Cane's focus.

He fixed his eyes on Hart, a new target for the predator inside him. Hart swallowed, but stood his ground, meeting his eyes.

"They weren't cursed," Cane said, backing Hart up across the ring. "Apparently nobody is fucking cursed around here, so I'm just gonna handle shit my way."

"No, you won't," Hart said, lifting his chin and fighting to keep his feet. "Something is happening, and that's why I'm here, Cane. The incident we were looking out for just happened, and we have the man who did it here. Look past your anger and let me do my job."

Cane felt his chest heaving with the harsh breaths he was taking. In the back of his mind he knew it wasn't rational to want to argue with him. It was rage and loss of control forcing him to find an outlet for it. Fighting was instinct. Base and raw and ugly. Something tangible to unleash the beast inside him.

But Hart wasn't the person for that.

No. Hart channeled Cane's energy down a much different pathway.

The urge to take Hart to the floor now and lose himself in him was almost too hard to resist giving in to, but he held back. Barely.

There were still too many moving pieces on the board.

Beyond the betrayal that stung like another knife cut over the same wound, an aged one, Cane knew he wouldn't receive the answers he needed his way.

He grabbed Hart's arm instead. Not hard, but unyielding. "You're not going with him alone."

"You're not coming," Hart countered immediately.

"Yes, I fucking am," Cane said. Hart didn't understand the buttons he was pushing right now. Especially when it came to him. "I'm not leaving you alone with a guy who just fucking shanked someone. Cursed or not."

"You just blew up, and nobody needs that right now," Hart said, trying to free his arm.

"Hart," Cane said in a low growl, "don't push me."

Hart scowled at him and spat, "You don't trust me to handle myself."

"You can handle yourself just fine," Cane growled back, putting them nose to nose. "But I don't trust anyone else withyou."

Hart startled visibly and stopped trying to escape. He looked between Cane's eyes slowly, like he was trying to figure him out.

Cane let out a huff of angry air. Hart still didn't fucking get it.

The sound of rolling sirens getting closer interrupted the moment and Cane swore violently. He let go of Hart's arm and stepped back, running a hand over his tattooed head. Hart stared at him for a second more, his eyes swimming with something before he blinked it away and hurried around Cane to the fighter on the floor.

He spoke to him in a hushed voice, soothing and low, making Cane's insides twist at hearing it directed at anyone who wasn't him. The fighter nodded at whatever Hart said to him and stood up with Hart's help. His knees buckled beneath him, but he managed to stay upright.

"I'm taking him up to your office for diagnostics while you deal with all of this," Hart said, his expression daring Cane to challenge him again.

Cane ground his teeth, everything in him fighting against it but having no other choice. "ARES!" he boomed.

Ares came running over, looking harried. "Boss, the paramedics and cops—"

"Escort Hart to my office. Make sure this asshole doesn't get any more sharp ideas. And clean the place up. It's a mess. Got it?" Everything else was left unsaid, but Ares got it loud and clear. Clear the office of anything incriminating. Protect Hart. Cane would deal with the cops.

"Yes, Boss," Ares said quietly, taking the fighter's other arm.

Cane saw Hart's pulse in the barely visible vein throbbing on the side of his neck. He knew he was pushing him, but he didn't give a fuck. Hart wasn't risking his safety to solve the mess Cane had pulled him into.

Hart held his gaze for a second, looking for an out, but Cane wouldn't give him one. Hart realized it.

"Fine," he said finally.

Cane watched Hart guiding the fighter out of the ring and upstairs toward his office, a soft hand on his sweaty shoulder. He wanted to rush after them and rip it off, wash the foreign sweat off Hart's palm and keep him far away from the fighter.

Hart was his.

"Pretty nice mess you made here," someone said before he could make a move, and Cane groaned at the sound of that fucking voice.

He turned around on his heel slowly and came face to face with someone he had no desire to talk to.

Cyrus hadn't changed much since Cane had last seen him on the other side of a jail cell.

The hardass had the same hairstyle, shaved sensibly short on the sides and messy on top like every other average law drone here. He still had a five-o'clock shadow that never went away and circles under his eyes that offset his tanned complexion and spoke of endless overtime.

You could always spot his type a mile away. The ‘heroes.' Cane had pegged Cyrus from the first disappointed look in his flinty eyes. The ‘son, you could have done something else with your life,' even though Cyrus was only a few years older than him.

Cane had wanted to punch him right in his perfectly square jaw.

He found the instinct hadn't dissipated with time.

"Cyrus," he said, making sure his voice revealed just how unwelcome the other man was.

"Long time." Cyrus looked around himself casually with his hands in his pockets as the paramedics and other police officers swarmed behind him.

"Funny how that happens when you learn to keep your nose out of shit that doesn't concern you," Cane said, keeping an eye on where everyone was in the room.

Cyrus chuckled, flicking a hand at the mayhem behind them.

The paramedics had settled down next to the stabbed fighter and the cops were already detaining people for questioning and cordoning shit off.

"Oh, I'd say this is right up my alley," Cyrus said. "Illegal fight ring, a well-known ‘entrepreneur,' and a stabbing case."

"Illegal?" Cane tilted his head. "First I'm hearing about it. As far as the paperwork says, this is a legitimate business."

"Interesting," Cyrus said. "Because this is raising all sorts of red flags for me."

"Last I checked you were after curses these days," Cane said, ignoring that last remark. His front was solid. He'd made fucking sure of it this time. No amount of law enforcement posturing would shake that. "Or were you that awful at it they told you to fuck off?"

"Nope," Cyrus said with a smile. "Still with PUMA. And happily so."

"Save me the nostalgia." Cane hoped he sounded just as pissed off as he felt. "I'll repeat myself one more time before I ask you to leave. What the fuck are you doing here?"

"That was Hart, right?" Cyrus asked, ignoring his question and pointing to the stairs leading to Cane's office.

Something about Cyrus saying Hart's name flicked a switch inside him. Explosive. He got into Cyrus's space in an instant. "How the fuck do you know Hart?"

"Now, now, Cane. That's no way to speak to an officer of the law. Don't go biting my head off," Cyrus drawled lazily, though his eyes were calculating. Cataloging and filing the extreme reaction Cane had given away so freely. God fucking damn it. "The Prevention of Unauthorized Magical Activity department has to work with cursebreakers quite a lot. There's only one cursebreaking team in Slatehollow, so I've worked with Hart on multiple occasions."

Fuck him and his logic.

"Still doesn't explain why you're here. I'm starting to get real impatient, Cyrus."

Cyrus shrugged, still feigning ease. "Heard it through the grapevine you've been having a few, what shall we call them…issues? And that you were suddenly working with the cursebreakers. Storming their headquarters doesn't really go unnoticed."

"You're wasting your time," Cane said.

"You know, I think I'll wait for Hart to tell me that," Cyrus mused. "If the stabbing was curse induced, this is very much my area, and I trust Hart's judgment."

Cane was seething. He was an inch away from having Cyrus thrown out on his ass, consequences be damned, when his phone pocket vibrated against his thigh.

Cane already knew who it would be. He'd been expecting it. He schooled his reaction in front of Cyrus though, not willing to give him any more ammunition.

"Knock yourself out," he said, walking around him to the entrance of the ring.

"Don't go anywhere, Cane," Cyrus said to his back. "I'll have questions."

"This is my place. I'm not fucking leaving," Cane growled back, making sure he was far enough away before taking the call.

"What?" he snapped into the receiver.

"That's no way to speak to your clientele," a slightly robotic voice said. Voice distortion. Or a caster equivalent.

Cane gritted his teeth. "I've got it under control. Tonight was a one-off."

"We beg to differ. There've been quite a few rumors spreading around about you and your business that are very concerning to us."

"You take rumors as facts now?" Cane asked.

They laughed. "You know as well as we do that rumors in our sphere are often more truthful than facts."

"So what?" Cane snapped. "You call me to make a point or just bitch and moan?"

"We're pulling out," they said succinctly. "With the police attention and your string of…bad luck. We don't think this is a fruitful relationship anymore. We'll be taking our business and money elsewhere."

"You motherfucking—"

They hung up and Cane narrowly avoided smashing the phone against the wall, the only thing saving it being another call from an unregistered number.

By the time Cane had finished, he was a volcano about to erupt.

Fighters were pulling out. Suppliers were canceling his orders. There were even some thinly veiled threats about the presence of the police from some of the crime bosses who frequented the warehouse. The ends of all the ropes he'd been clutching for so long were slipping through his fingers and he could see everything around him crumbling to dust.

Someone needed to die. It had helped the last time the same thing had happened. One trembling final breath and his life had been back on track again.

Cane stormed upstairs, refusing to take another call from anyone and shouldering past the police who called after him.

He wanted fucking answers, and he wanted them instantly.

"Your man here says Hart's still working," Cyrus said, pitched up against the wall lazily with Ares staring him down. "You shouldn't interrupt a cursebreaker mid-flow."

Cane ignored him completely. He didn't have to tell Ares to move, he simply stepped aside to allow Cane to enter.

He found the fighter settled into a chair at the corner of his desk, Hart's supplies spread all over. The mirror had replaced the pile of paperwork Ares had probably already shredded. His entire office stank of the stupid oils Hart used and that annoying music was thrumming around him, making his skin crawl.

Hart was standing behind the fighter, hands on his shoulders as he guided him to find the answers, and once again Cane felt that primal urge to maim.

"Nothing," Hart whispered, not noticing him in the room.

Cane stared at him for a split second before the word finally registered in his head.

"Excuse me?" he growled.

Hart snapped his head around to find him in the room and grimaced visibly before he could school the expression into something calmer. He swallowed, then leaned down to whisper something into the fighter's ear.

The man got up and tried to scurry out of the room, avoiding even looking at Cane. Cane grabbed him by the arm but kept looking at Hart. "Explain."

Hart crossed his arms over his chest. "Let him go or I won't. You said."

"Hart." His voice was barely more than a rumble in his chest. An animal sound.

Hart didn't flinch. "Now."

Cane shoved the fighter toward the door, hearing him crash into it before fumbling for the handle and exiting.

"Ah, just the person I wanted to talk to," Cyrus said before the door closed. "Step over here please."

And then they were alone again, the air between them charged and weighted.

Cane didn't let it sit. He locked the door, the sound reverberating in the silent room, then stalked toward Hart, backing him up against the desk. "I know you don't have bad news to tell me, sweetheart."

Hart licked his lips, finding it hard to hold his gaze. "He's not cursed."

Cane had reached behind Hart and thrown Hart's mirror before he'd even really registered the action. It shattered against the wall, the pieces scattering and tinkling to the ground.

Hart turned his head to stare at it incredulously before fury, raw and righteous rose up inside him.

"You…you…fucking asshole!" Hart yelled, losing all composure.

"Say it again," Cane said.

"Why?" Hart continued to yell, shoving at his chest. "So you can break something else of mine because you can't handle your own emotions, you unhinged brute?!"

Cane stared at him. The angry red on his cheeks and neck, the wildness in his eyes, the mask nowhere to be seen as he lost control. He was gorgeous. And maybe this was what Cane had been after all along. What he'd been seeking. A storm to match his own. Two hurricanes meeting and colliding.

"I can't believe you just did that!" Hart continued to rant now he'd been unleashed, hitting him in the chest some more, touching him. Being there. Solid and present. Real where everything else was burning to ashes. "That was my favo—"

Cane smashed their mouths together to end the rant, swallowing the words that didn't get the chance to tumble past his lips. He felt Hart stiffen in his arms for a split second before the man Cane knew was back and biting down on Cane's bottom lip. Hard.

Blood bloomed between their mouths, and it soothed the wounded animal in Cane's chest. Grounded him. He gripped Hart tighter, driving his hands into his hair and holding him captive while they devoured each other.

"You owe me another mirror!" Hart growled, tonguing the cut on Cane's lip to make it sting. The insolent little shit.

"Shut up," Cane said, biting at his chin with teeth stained crimson.

"Don't tell me what to do," Hart countered, and Cane dove back in, biting at his lip in return, matching the cut Hart had left on him. He ran his tongue over it, tasting Hart in the most primal way before sucking the skin behind his ear and trailing bites down his neck. Hart tipped his chin up with a gasp and Cane pushed him into the desk, the rest of his supplies scattering all around them. Hart didn't react to it, and Cane felt a surge of satisfaction knowing he'd rendered Hart incapable of being fully present.

He groaned as he brought their lips together again, his eyes rolling in forgotten pleasure when Hart's tongue found its way around Cane's old piercings. All thoughts of the mayhem outside his office door left his mind.

There was only this infuriating cursebreaker and the hold he'd had on Cane since the moment they'd first met. He'd give him anything.

He pulled Hart closer, lifting him up and sitting him on top of his desk, pushing his way between his thighs and trapping him between his arms.

He was going insane, he was pretty sure of it. But what a fucking way to go.

The sudden hammering on the door was reality knocking, and Hart froze up.

"What the hell is going on in there?" Cyrus shouted through the metal. "Open up right now or I'll bust through your meat shield here and the door."

"Ignore him, sweetheart," Cane growled between their mouths, but he caught Hart's eye and the mask was already firmly back in place.

His hair was mussed, his shirt wrinkled, and the cut on his lip held a drop of blood, but Hart was back to his icy prince mode and Cane wanted to scream in frustration.

He needed HIS Hart back. He leaned in for another kiss, an attempt to get them back to where they had been, but Hart turned his head away and scrambled to push Cane off of him before he could make contact.

He got back to his feet and, without a single look, scurried out of the office, ignoring Cyrus calling after him as he fled the scene, leaving Cane standing alone in the rubble.