11. Hart

His tongue snuck out without him noticing. The tip of it poked at the small cut on his bottom lip, the spit making it sting. He hissed slightly, closing his eyes at the sensation. He tipped his head against the back of his chair and suppressed the moan that pushed at the back of his teeth, imagining it wasn't his tongue touching the cut. Imagining it was someone else's spit brushing along his lip and making it tingle.

Imagining so many things he had at the tips of his fingers.

If he'd just reach out and take them.

Deep down inside of him, underneath the pristine suits and the cage of propriety, there was a tacit understanding, an unspoken truth as they crashed into each other's orbits.

Hart had searched for the same understanding in others countless times. He'd been unable to replicate it, even with detailed instructions, because the moment he had to start giving them, it all fell apart. He wanted to be seen, and known in a way that didn't need words. The way only Cane could. But Cane was an outlier. A deviance. One that was handmade for Hart, to reduce him to his basest self. The self that needed and wanted selfishly.

And now they'd broken the barrier between them once more. The wall that had stood firmly since they'd last seen each other was now dust under their feet.

Hart couldn't hide anymore.

He wasn't sure he ever could.

Not from Cane. Not when he got that close and really looked at him. Not when he just knew everything there was to know. Because Hart had given him that access repeatedly before snatching it away so he could try to pretend it had never been given at all.

Hart knew the power was in his own hands. It always had been. He just had to ask.

That was all Cane ever wanted. The iron stipulation that was written into every interaction. Hart had to ask, and he'd get it.

He wanted to scream with frustration.

He was tired of it. Wound up tight with it. This push and pull. Hart felt like he'd explode at any moment, and there was only one person who could contain the blast.

"You okay?" Fix's voice startled him out of his thoughts, making him straighten up in his chair and smooth down his tie. He swallowed hard and shook his head to get the filthy images out of his mind.

Fix frowned, walking into the meeting room and settling in one of the chairs around it. He was dressed in his usual jeans and boots, a dark blue plaid shirt buttoned over his wide chest. He looked tired.

"Fine. Just thinking about tomorrow's affirmation," Hart lied, doing his best to stay alert and focused. Cane had blurred his lines too much already. He couldn't let that bleed into his work. Or his family. "You?"

"Tired," Fix said, running a hand over his black and gray beard. "I can't wait to get home."

Those words made Hart freeze.

Home.

He'd been so out of it that he hadn't even registered that Fix hadn't been home in the last couple of days since Hart had slinked back to the house with his tail between his legs. Hart had booked it out of Cane's office after being caught by none other than Cyrus with his blood on his lips. He'd made it through that mortifying conversation, repeatedly deflecting all the questions about his safety and keeping it strictly about the case.

Then he'd made excuses about research and work to avoid going back to Cane's place at all. He hadn't bothered picking up any of his personal belongings, and it had been mostly radio silence between him and Cane in that time.

It made Hart itch.

Both with the unknown and…irritation.

Why hadn't Cane checked in? Why wasn't he hounding him? Dragging him back by his hair. Demanding his attention and time.

All of his senses had refused to leave that office. They'd stayed glued to Cane. He was the only thing Hart could think of as he moved through his days in a haze. So much so that he'd completely missed the absence of one of his brothers.

He wanted to slap himself. It felt unnatural. Fix was a part of him, just like every one of his brothers.

But…Hart hadn't been himself lately, had he? It felt like he had lost himself somewhere and now he was clawing through the darkness, trying to find his way back. He was spiraling as he lost the handle on his hard-earned control, and he didn't know how to stop himself before he hit the bottom.

"I'm sorry," he said instead, trying hard to be present. To be the Hart they knew him to be.

"Eh, it's just the job." Fix waved his hand dismissively, agreeable as always. "I did get a call from the team in Kinport."

"Oh?" Hart's mind cleared slightly at the information. Kinport's team was one of the ones he'd reached out to for information about Cane's case. Nobody else had replied or got in touch with him in any way so far.

"They heard I was gonna be close by, so they wanted to give me something." He took a thumb drive out of his front shirt pocket and slid it across the table toward Hart. "Said those were all the cases they could dig up that might have even a slight resemblance to the Cane case. They hope some of it helps."

"Have you looked at it?" Hart asked, picking up the drive and twirling it in his hand.

His heart raced. He'd spent hours digging through Slatehollow's old cases until the words had blurred in front of his eyes. None of the cases seemed even remotely similar to what was happening to Cane. It was driving him as insane as the man himself.

"Not yet, no," Fix said. "We can do it now if you want? I'll stay and help."

Hart looked him over, the dark circles under his eyes making him look older than he actually was. The drawn expression.

"You should head home," he said softly.

Fix shook his head automatically. "I promised I'd help you."

"And you have," Hart said, waving the thumb drive in the air. "You brought me research. You can go and get some rest."

"Insert Hart quote about rest being for the weak," Fix said with a smile.

"I would never say such a thing." Hart gasped, feeling his own lips pull into a matching smile. He felt marginally more like himself with Fix around. Just slightly more like his skin was actually his. The smile pulled at the cut, dragging him back down. He shook it off. "There is virtue in work and there is virtue in rest."

"Okay, okay, I get it." Fix laughed. "But I really am fine. I'd just be pacing the house if I went back."

"Well, if you're sure," Hart said dubiously.

Fix scooted his chair out from under the desk and walked it closer to Hart without standing up. He settled in next to Hart, close enough that Hart could smell him. The pine scent of his beard products, the fresh smell of his bodywash, and then something that sent Hart on that same downward spiral he'd been trying to dig himself out of for days.

The smell of cigarette smoke.

He inhaled and paused, keeping it inside his lungs like he could preserve it somehow. Heavy and cloying and overpowering, even though Hart knew it was faint in reality. Hart was deprived. He was going through withdrawal and there was nothing but triggers wherever he turned.

"You smoke?" he choked out when it got too much for him to handle. When he had to exhale but was too scared it would come out as a whimper.

"Ugh, no." Fix grimaced, turning his head into his shoulder to sniff at his shirt.

Hart wanted to do the same. He wanted to drown in it.

"I just stopped at this dingy bar to grab something to eat on the way over," Fix said, reaching up to unbutton his shirt. "I'll take it off. I know you hate it."

Hart blanched. Shook his head. It wasn't the same. He didn't smell like the same brand Cane smoked, and there was no underlying scent of Cane mixed with it. It was wrong, but also the closest he'd get to it until he went back.

"No!" he said, and it came out more desperate than he wanted it to. More urgent and revealing than he was comfortable with.

Fix froze, staring at him with a furrowed brow.

"Hart?" he said, and Hart hummed, refusing to look at him. "Are you really okay?"

No. No, he wasn't.

"Yes." He plugged the drive into the computer in front of him. "I'm really okay."

"You'd tell me if you weren't, right?"

"You know I would." He sounded fake to his own ears, but he'd had years of practice. The only person who ever saw through the ruse wasn't here. "Don't worry."

"Easier said than done." Fix snorted, rubbing his beard. "You guys are the cause of all my gray hairs."

"And here I was thinking it was just old age," Hart said, trying for a more honest smile this time, ignoring the ghosts of the past two days dancing on his lips.

"Now that's just painful, Hart." Fix put his hand over his heart and mock sniffled.

Hart leaned into him and nudged him with his shoulder. Inhaling. Filling himself up. Stealing. And then ripping himself away.

"Okay." Hart cleared his throat. "Let's check this information out."

"Pull it up on the big screen."

Hart did as told, pulling up the case files the Kinport team had sent them and casting them to the huge screen taking up the wall opposite them. There were about fifteen files in there. The dates on them ranged from half a century ago to just last year. Having no other parameters to decide where to start, Hart just clicked on the first one.

2012, June

Kinport

Case no. I74853JL

Type: Interpersonal

Case reported by phone, see transcript. Victim reported curse and JL was sent to diagnose. Positive Diagnosis.

JL:This curse was not one I usually come across. The most common interpersonal curses are between two people, but this one encompassed many. It was made to make everyone in the victim's personal life hate her. It started with her partner, who left her, then also affected friends and family, who cut ties with her. She was self-employed so it also spread to her working circle and her business went under.

This is when she called us, because she had no one else to turn to. She made it seem like it was a long shot. She couldn't believe she was actually right and she'd been cursed.

I successfully removed the curse, but I have recommended she follow up with therapy if she can. I'll be marking this case for ourselves to follow up Also. She's high risk.

Caster unknown, case forwarded to PUMA for further investigation.

Hart felt sick. He realized why they'd sent that case. Because Cane's business was being threatened. Illegal as it was, it was crumbling around him just like the victim's.

It struck Hart viscerally in that moment.

Cane always seemed indestructible, but the cracks were starting to show. His anger and mood swings had turned manic and unpredictable as the curse ravaged through his life. Would he end up like this woman? Interpersonal curses were often dismissed. How could they be as dangerous as a violent curse? No one had died from an interpersonal curse, after all.

Which wasn't strictly true. The statistics for suicide after an interpersonal curse was lifted was higher than any other curse type.

People's lives got destroyed. Their relationships were left in ruins. Often they couldn't deal with the fallout.

Imagining that happening to Cane…

He clicked out of the case. The woman's curse had been visible at the first diagnostic procedure they'd conducted. Her curse had been there, centered on her. It wasn't the same.

He opened the next file.

Skimmed through. Curse obvious at first diagnostic procedure.

He closed it.

Fix was still next to him, smelling of pine and smoke. Still completely wrong, but closer to what he wanted than nothing.

His phone pinged.

Cane:You've been gone a while, sweetheart.

Hart's traitorous heart raced as he stared blankly at the screen for a moment.

The hungry animal in Hart's chest slavered and foamed at the mouth, catching a whiff of its favorite meal and begging to be sated after days of starvation.

Finally.

Hart forced it back into the cage he kept it locked in and typed a quick response with shaky fingers.

Hart:I'm working.

It only took a second for Cane to take his shot.

Cane:I want you back here.

The words struck Hart like a bullet, just as Cane intended. He lost all the air in his lungs and his vision went fuzzy around the edges. Damn him. The words replayed in his head, over and over. Whispers from a snake's tongue. Poison dripping straight into his ear and spreading through his veins to infect every part of him.

He refused to whimper and squirm like his body was begging him to.

Hart:I need to be here now.

He waited for Cane to demand, to force him to come back…and waited.

The texts stopped cold.

Hart wanted to scream.

How dare he…? How could he…? Why wouldn't he…?

"Hart?"

Hart realized he was white-knuckling his phone and quickly dropped it like it was scalding. Fix stared at the dark screen before glancing back up at him.

"Bad news?"

Hart shook his head, trying not to pant from how hard he needed to draw breath. "It's nothing."

"Didn't look like it. I've never seen you look so…intense," Fix said slowly.

Hart swallowed and turned back to the big screen. "Let's concentrate on the case."

He opened the next file before Fix could disagree.

He could feel Fix staring at the side of his head, his gaze like a hot brand, but eventually he turned his attention back to the board. Hart breathed a small sigh of relief, refusing to let his eyes stray back to his phone.

He didn't care.

He read through the summary notes, only half focused. The curse had been obvious at first diagnostic procedure, which meant it was useless to them. He groaned in frustration and put his head in his hand.

His phone pinged again, and Hart moved before he even registered the action.

Cane:Are you alone?

Hart contemplated leaving Cane on read this time, but his fingers had already typed a response and hit send.

Hart:No.

Cane:Who's with you?

Hart:Fix.

The texts stopped again, and Hart wished he had said a different name, one Cane didn't know, one that would make him storm the room and fight him over it. Pin him down and punish him for ever wanting to be with anyone but him. He closed his eyes and bit his lip. The cut reopened and blood trickled into his mouth, the copper taste making him shiver.

He was losing his mind.

He shoved his phone away from him, removing the temptation and trembling all over.

They went through a few more cases, and Hart was unable to keep still. He tapped his fingers, bounced his leg. All he wanted was to grab his phone. All he wanted was for Cane to come and get him.

Taylor popped her head into the meeting room. "Delivery."

Fix spun in his seat just in time for Taylor to drop a plastic bag with a few containers inside on his lap.

"We didn't—"

"The delivery boy said it's all paid for," she said before flouncing out.

Fix pulled the food out, opening the containers to find a steak with baked potatoes and vegetables in one. The other held a rich-looking salad with grilled prawns and dressing.

"Do I even have to ask?" Fix said, pushing the salad toward Hart.

He took it, frowning at the container.

His phone pinged again.

Hart stared over at it for a long time before reaching out, happy that Fix was too engrossed in his food to notice. Hart didn't need the questions. He didn't have answers to them anyway. At least not any he could say out loud.

He flipped the phone over slowly.

Cane:You need to eat, sweetheart.

Hart was stunned.

The carnal desire, he could take. The push and pull and the violence of who they were together, he could deal with. But Cane being able to read him that well, know him that well…it was too much.

"You hate that I know you. Better than your trainers. Better than your brothers. I know you."

He shivered as the ghost of the words danced on his skin, closing his eyes against the truth of them.

"Not hungry?" Fix asked.

How could he be when his stomach was twisted into knots? He hadn't been able to eat properly for days. He wasn't hungry for food.

"Not yet," Hart said quietly, opening his eyes again and setting the box to the side.

He opened the next file on the drive. He could get lost in work. It was what he'd always done. It was why he'd escaped back home. So he read with single-minded determination, taking in line after line of information to try and drown out everything else screaming in his head.

And then he hit something.

"Wait," Hart said suddenly, sitting up straight in his chair and scrolling back. "There. Transfer curses."

"What's a transfer curse?" Fix asked around a bite of food.

Hart had almost forgotten he was still there.

"It's really rare," he said, trying to remember what they'd been taught about it at Nexus. "It's basically a curse made to act like a virus. It spreads from one person to the next in various ways, usually touch."

"Okay?" Fix said. "Is that what you think is going on with Cane's case?"

"No," Hart said, ignoring the name and chasing down whatever thought it was that had made him pause when he saw the mention of them. "Transfer curses don't…disappear. They spread. They increase the number of cursed people without limit."

"So…it doesn't help us?" Fix said slowly, frowning.

"Not directly," Hart said, taking his tablet out and pulling up a blank document and his stylus. He started mapping out the trajectory of what had been happening to Cane, from the first moment he'd called Ash to what happened just two days ago. Hart circled the names responsible for the occurrences and the consequences of them.

"These are all the incidents Cane has reported since he believes he was cursed," Hart said, pointing to the screen. Fix leaned in to look closer, hitting Hart with the smell of smoke once again. Hart exhaled against it. "All different people, but all in some semblance of contact within his organization."

"So they're giving it to each other?" Fix asked.

"I don't think so?" Hart said, voice growing frustrated again as each new question poked holes in whatever his subconscious thought he'd stumbled upon. "None of Cane's people showed as cursed, not even the fighter who was diagnosed right after he stabbed the other guy."

He tapped the stylus lightly against the table, trying to unravel the mess.

"And another thing," he said after long minutes of just running around in circles inside his head. "Transfer curses usually hop from person to person based on negative emotions. So if the first person cursed were to transfer it to someone, it would be to someone they feel negatively toward, and the curse would then enhance that negativity."

"So the endgame of it…" Fix said.

"Is destruction," Hart said. "Transfer curses are chaotic in nature. That's why they're very rarely used, and why so few people even know about them. They're hard to contain, hard to catch, and hard to stop completely. You never know if you've broken the curse on everyone who has it. And if you haven't, it just keeps on spreading."

"So it doesn't have to be centered on just one person?" Fix nodded. "Like this thing is with Cane, or that first case we looked at."

"Exactly," Hart said. "Emotions are messy. Always. And transfer curses feed on that mess."

"Where would you even use something like that?" Fix asked.

Hart grimaced. "Wars, rebellions, overthrowing governments."

"So not to settle a personal grudge."

Hart shook his head. "I wouldn't bet on it being used like that."

Fix hummed, tapping his fork against the takeout container. "What got your attention then?"

Hart honestly had zero idea.

"I'm not sure. I saw the words on screen and got this weird feeling there was something there, but now that I'm talking it out it's just not connecting. Let's just move on."

"We can move on later," Fix said, shaking his head. "Our intuition was always our strength. Talk the rest of it out with me."

Hart let out a frustrated sigh but complied, pointing at the screen again.

"If this Cane thing really is a curse," he said, chasing after the loose threads in his head. "It's definitely shared between multiple people. None of whom diagnosed as cursed. What if it's not spreading like a virus? What if it's like an unwanted gift you just pass on to someone else to get rid of it?"

"Is that even possible?" Fix asked, eyes wide.

"I have no idea," Hart said, dropping the stylus and letting it roll away from him. It rattled across the table and fell off the edge. Hart realized he didn't really care. He ran a hand through his hair, stopping at the nape and tugging. Just a little bit. Just enough to make it sting. "I've never seen anything like that before, but…humanity is depraved beyond what we know. The creativity born from their desire to hurt knows no bounds. Someone could have done it. Somehow."

Fix stared at him for a long moment, mouth slack.

"That's fucking terrifying," he said finally, and Hart nodded. "Okay so…how do we figure out if this potential curse of Cane's is being passed along like a hot potato?"

Hart's phone pinged, and he stuttered on his next sentence. "I…I…"

Fix looked from him to the phone, then reached out.

Hart was faster, whipping his hand out and pulling it to his chest defensively. He realized that what was making his heart beat in his throat and making him feel sick wasn't Fix seeing it was from Cane. It was Fix seeing anything Cane had written at all. Twisted possessiveness was making him greedy, hoarding every word for himself.

Fix let his outstretched arm drop to the table in shock. "Hart…"

"Transfer curses are the only ones I know of that act even remotely similarly, and like I said, they use negative emotions to travel. All the people involved in this are people Cane trusts. People who are good with him," he rambled, trying to blanket everything under professionalism. Like he wasn't falling apart at the seams.

Fix wouldn't let him pretend anymore.

"Something has to be wrong, Hart. I've never seen you this wound up. You're acting erratic and you can't sit still. It's not like you. You're not acting like yourself."

Hart wanted to laugh out loud.

This is the me I don't let you see.

But he couldn't say that. He didn't even want to admit it to himself. He didn't want to acknowledge the person who had always lurked alongside the serene, composed demeanor he presented to the world. He was two different people living in one body, fighting for control because he refused to let them coexist.

"This case is just throwing me off."

"Is it Cane?" Fix continued to press. "Is he the one that's texting you? He's the only one who's ever been able to get under your skin in this way."

Fix was too shrewd for his own good.

"He just wants updates on the case, and I don't have any. It's…frustrating. That's all."

Fix huffed a breath through his nose at the dismissal, and they fell awkwardly silent for a moment, a barrier between them.

"Are you sure he's telling you everything?" Fix said quietly.

Hart snapped his head around to look at him, and narrowed his eyes before he could check the response. "What do you mean?"

"It's a shady world, Hart, you know that. You're the one who points it out every time Cane comes up in conversation," Fix said. "Most people have a hidden agenda."

Hart gripped the edge of the desk tightly, something ugly rearing up inside him. "He wouldn't lie to me."

Fix raised a brow. "Why not? Doesn't he lie for a living?"

"That's not the same thing."

"Why are you suddenly defending him?" Fix asked incredulously.

Because the alternative would make him explode. It was already a lit fuse inside his chest waiting to go off.

Hart sprang to his feet, his chair rolling off behind him. He gathered his things quickly and made for the exit, heart in his throat. Fix lumbered after him.

"Hart! Where are you going?"

"To get answers."

"Hart—"

"Don't follow me, okay," Hart said, whipping his head around to stare at Fix through the red haze. "I mean it."

"You expect me to let you go when you're acting so irrational?" Fix asked, almost scoffing.

"I have it under control," Hart gritted out. "I don't need a babysitter."

Fix glowered for a few seconds, looking like he wanted to argue the point further before nodding tightly. "If I don't see you or you don't text within twenty-four hours, I'm coming after you. Whether you like it or not."

Hart nodded once before leaving the building.

The drive to Cane's side of the city was a blur, and he definitely broke the speed limit. He parked haphazardly in front of the warehouse and bolted from the car, ignoring the police tape that had been left up.

He climbed the stairs to Cane's office like he was being chased by every single demon Cane had ever unleashed from within him. They nipped at his heels and made the roiling emotions he didn't know how to contain thrash inside his body.

The space smelled like Cane. Like smoke and alcohol and danger, and Hart sucked it in deep, let it fuel the storm inside him.

He pushed past Ares, who stepped aside easily, bursting through the door and leaving it rattling wide open as he advanced.

"What aren't you telling me?" he hissed, eyes zeroing in on Cane, dressed the same as he always was, sitting behind his desk with his phone to his ear.

"I'll call you back," Cane said, eyes cutting over to him and making him shake.

It had only been two days, but it felt like a lifetime since he'd seen him. Since he'd had those eyes focused solely on him.

Cane slowly lowered the phone and stood up, leaning both hands on the desk. "Is that any way to start a conversation, sweetheart?"

"Don't patronize me," Hart said, stalking forward. "What are you hiding from me?"

Cane kept him laser-focused, not backing up. The muscles in his bare arms flexed. "The fuck are you talking about?"

"I spent the last two days buried in old cases trying to find anything to solve this mess around you," Hart said. "I keep hitting wall after wall after wall. And I don't think it's me. Or whoever cursed you."

He didn't really know what he was saying. What he was implying. He was seeing red, so pent up and angry for no reason that he couldn't even think straight. What he really wanted to say was; why weren't you around, why didn't you find me, why do I need you so much?

"I'd watch my mouth if I were you," Cane warned.

"You've been watching it enough for both of us. Is that what this is? This supposed curse? A ruse to lure me back in?"

Cane rounded the desk and grabbed him by the arm in one movement. Hart barely registered it before he found himself pressed against the desk face-first, Cane flush behind him, chest to his back, mouth just next to his ear. Hart could smell him. Finally. He could feel him. Finally.

He whimpered, eyes rolling back in his head, the whimper turning into a hiss when Cane bit down on his earlobe. "As if I need ruses to get you where I want you."

Hart panted into the wood under his face, fingers curling in the papers there as Cane wound an arm around his stomach and the other up toward his neck. He yanked him upright against him and nosed behind his ear.

"We have unfinished business, you and I," Cane whispered.

He slipped his pinky under Hart's waistband but no farther. He found the space between his shirt buttons and used his nail to scratch at his skin but wouldn't press. Hart couldn't contain the cry of disappointment, head falling back on Cane's shoulder.

"I need you to tell me the truth," Hart said, his voice coming out in short bursts. He was barely holding on.

"Is that what you need?" Cane asked, breath hot and wet on Hart's neck.

"Yes," Hart moaned.

Cane tutted. "I gave you that a long time ago. I've never been anything but honest with you."

"But—"

"Tell me what you really need, Hart." Cane licked a stripe over the pounding vein in his neck before biting a bruise that would stick.

"Answers," Hart gritted out, eyes rolling at the sensation, the pain, the sting of Cane's tongue and lips and teeth back on his skin. He reached up and grasped the back of Cane's head, pushing him harder, arching deeper into the contact.

"Liar." Cane branded the word into the abused flesh and used his large hands to grip Hart's hips and turn him around.

Hart barely stayed on his feet, hands searching for Cane, desperate not to let him go. Not again. He looked up into Cane's eyes and found them dark, wild, and uncontrollable. He knew that look. He owned that look.

"Cane…"

"Just ask," Cane said.

Hart broke. "I need you."