5. Cane

He wasn't cursed.

That was the first thought that had gone through his mind each time he'd stepped into his office since the day Hart had done his little cursebreaker fuckery.

It was the only thing he wanted to focus on, because the other thing was Hart, and he was so fucking sure he didn't have the luxury to go there. Not yet.

So…not cursed.

That was a fucking turn up if he'd ever seen one. In a business like his, shit going sideways wasn't out of the norm. Quite the opposite. Backstabbing, betrayals, money exchanged between hands it shouldn't even touch…all of that came with the territory. But in all his years in the business, there had never been a time when shit had gone sideways this much in such weirdly specific ways. All at once. And when shit like that happened, you could put your slates on someone hiring a caster to get to you.

Cursing your enemies was as common as sharing boring, ass-kissing meals with them, pretending you got along and didn't have your finger on a trigger under the table.

It had to have been a curse. There was no way it was anything else.

He walked over to the window of his office, leaning against it and looking down at what he thought of as the throne room of his empire.

It was still ticking, still working as intended, but murmurs had started. Whispers had found their way to Cane's ears. Eyes turning. Not enough to shake the ground beneath him, but enough to ruffle some feathers and pique notice. Like a foreshadowing.

It made Cane want to keep a much closer eye on things. To make sure nothing slipped by him again.

The place was empty save for Raph setting up the bars for the night's events like he usually did. It didn't do to run out of liquor. He watched Raph work for a moment, stacking crates of beers before looking around himself surreptitiously. Cane frowned as he watched the nineteen-year-old, a pit in his stomach forming when Raph moved the last crate in the stack. It was empty, and Cane watched him flip it over, pluck something from the bottom of it, and stick it in his pocket, all the while looking around himself, nervous and jittery.

Cane was moving before he even registered the thought, slipping out of his office and down the stairs on silent feet, blood pumping in his ears.

There was no way.

Cane had pulled Raph and his twin sister from the gutter when they were teens. He'd given them both jobs, a place to live. He'd saved them from their piece-of-shit father and absent mother. Other than Ares, there was no one more loyal to him. No one more willing to do whatever Cane asked.

It didn't add up.

Cane strode over and grasped Raph's forearm, squeezing it in a merciless grip and spinning the guy around.

Raph gasped, fingers spasming as he tried to pull his hand away. His pupils were dilated to the point where Cane suspected he was on something, no matter how little sense it made. Raph had too many scars left over from his old man to count—the result of many a drug-fueled rampage.

"C-Cane…" Raph stuttered, squirming when Cane reached into the boy's pocket and pulled out several little plastic bags filled with a familiar white substance.

Cane's stomach turned. Drugs had no fucking place in his warehouse. He had other avenues for that, and his fight ring wasn't a part of it. It couldn't be. He wouldn't allow it. He kept this place clean.

He squeezed the bags in his fist, nostrils flaring as he stared at Raph. He had to stop himself from flattening the little traitor to the ground.

"Explain it to me," Cane demanded in a menacing voice. "You have one chance."

Raph opened his mouth and closed it, trembling. "I need the money."

"Why?" Cane growled, squeezing tighter.

Raph shook his head. "I…I just need it. I know I need it."

"You're going to tell me why or your sister will have to scrape you off the floor," Cane told him. It wasn't an idle threat.

He kept close tabs on all of his employees. Debts. Connections. You could never be too paranoid in this line of work. Paranoia was just good sense. Raph had nothing. Had done nothing but come to work and collect information to pass to him.

Yesterday he had been fine and now he was fucking everything up for the couple hundred slates he'd get for whatever shit he was trying to peddle.

It couldn't have been a coincidence.

Maybe if it were an isolated incident, he could believe that he had been betrayed by the brat, but there was just too much evidence and not enough answers.

"I need it," Raph whispered, almost fanatic as his eyes darted around. "I need it."

The kid wasn't even acting like himself.

Just like the others.

"Fuck this," Cane said, pushing Raph away. "Go home. I don't want to see you here again tonight."

Raph struggled to keep his balance, looking woozy and disoriented. He hurried away from behind the bar and out of the warehouse. Cane watched him go with a clenched jaw.

Motherfucker.

There was no way this wasn't a curse.

It was impossible.

"TYCE!" he boomed, voice echoing off the walls.

His huge enforcer and one of his best fighters stepped down from the office. His biceps and pecs were straining his simple black shirt, ready to tear it at the seams. "Boss?"

"Is Ares still on Hart?"

"Yes, Boss."

"Text me their location."

"Yes, Boss."

Cane was already on his way toward the exit. He checked he had his weapon loaded and tucked it back into the small of his back under his jacket. He whipped a cigarette out and lit it as soon as he got outside, passing the garage with his illegal cars.

With the way this fucking curse was going, he didn't want to risk being pulled over right away for driving without a license to own and drive in the city. He was working on getting a good forgery made, but it hadn't come through yet.

He made his way along the dirty streets, sending passersby scurrying across the road to avoid him. It didn't bother Cane, in fact, it was damn useful.

He'd smoked almost half his pack by the time he reached the train station. Cane glanced at the giant, circular metal legs holding up the platform and track overhead, the bolts rusted with age, the surface covered in years' worth of grime and graffiti. Some even used them as free advertising, putting up posters and business marketing. Currently, a bunch of nightclub posters had been pasted up, but they had been spray painted over with a huge red eye.

Fucking weirdos.

He joined the line for the escalator that would take him up through the metal-and-glass lined tunnels into the sky where the platforms were. He stayed vigilant, even as he casually looked at his phone, ready for anything at any moment. The skin on the back of his neck prickled and he took a covert look around himself.

It wasn't the first time he'd felt like he was being watched. He usually attributed it to looking the way he did. But with the shit going on around him recently…fuck knew.

The text came through with Hart's current location, and Cane smiled grimly, looking up at the boards that passed every five meters as they ascended for the next train going to that area of the city.

He parked himself at the edge of the station, half a foot away from the line separating the spot where you were allowed to stand from the area you weren't. The rebel in him wanted to toe it, cross it, but he had better things to do.

Raph's pockets filled with crap blurred everything else in his mind. His confused expression and lack of explanation made everything else fade away. Hart and his fucked-up diagnostics could eat shit for all he cared. Cane knew there was something wrong, and he was going to make that cursebreaker fix it for him.

The whistling sound and heavy, churning vibration of the wheels on the track pierced his wandering thoughts and he straightened up, giving the people around him a glare, forcing them to step back. He hated crowds elbowing in around him, and if he could make them too afraid to be close then he fucking would.

The train appeared in the distance, huge and imposing as it chugged along, the brakes screeching loudly as it came to a stop, a gust of wind and smoke from the funnel following and flooding everyone on the platform. A few people coughed, but most were used to the sooty fog.

It was a relic left over from when the city was first founded. Other cities had since swapped over to updated forms of transport, but Slatehollow was in the minority that had clung to their heritage.

The huge metallic beast panted and hissed as the conductors tended it, pouring water and shoveling coal. Its cylindrical body was covered in faded graffiti and scratches that marred the original coat of midnight black paint. The creaky doors on the attached carriages slid open and people poured out, rushing toward the exits, nearly elbowing those waiting to board out of their way.

Cane gave them a solid second to clear the path before he squared up and hopped on, wedging himself into a spot between two rows of seats with his back to one dusty window. He leaned against the glass and crossed his arms in front of him. His stance made sure at least half a foot of space around him was clear at all times.

The train chugged out of the station and hurtled along the suspended tracks, the lights of Slatehollow barely visible below them.

Cane pulled his phone out and tracked Hart's location as the train got closer and closer to it with each passing station. People got off and on, chattering, listening to music, living lives that had nothing to do with Cane, and yet he was forced to be a part of them now just to find an obnoxious cursebreaker whose help he desperately needed.

Life worked in fucked-up ways sometimes.

Hart's dot moved a few blocks, and Cane realized he could probably intercept him if he got off one stop earlier than he had planned.

He elbowed his way to the door, bursting through the moment the train came to a stop. He took the stairs down to the ground level and rushed across the street between glass buildings and stupid-looking abstract metal statues. He fucking hated the business circle.

He passed men and women in pristine suits who gave him weird looks as he hulked by. He knew he stuck out like a sore thumb. Clearly, he had no business there with his tattoo- and piercing-ridden presence. He scoffed, thinking about how well Hart probably blended in with all of them. At least on the outside. At least to everyone else. Cane fucking knew better.

He took a shortcut through an outdoor café belonging to one of the financial buildings and stationed himself at the corner of the main street and the side street that intersected with it.

Cane leaned against the wall, arms and legs crossed as he waited.

He heard Hart before he saw him. He was talking on the phone, that same serene voice breaking through the din of other voices around Cane, drawing him like a beacon.

"I can be there in about half an hour," he said to whoever was on the other end of the call, walking close enough that Cane could smell his cologne. Cedar. He could almost hear Hart's voice in his ear, telling him what it was that smelled so fucking good on him.

Cane gave him a few more seconds to get close before extending his leg right into his path, forcing him to look up.

Their eyes met.

Cane winked at him, and Hart paused mid-sentence, the warm whiskey-brown of his eyes going cold in an instant. The soft lines of his oval face hardened, and his full lips thinned into a single straight line.

"What a coincidence," Cane said, running his eyes down Hart's long body, refusing to admit he actually liked how well the suits he wore fitted him. The long, sculpted legs looked even longer in fitted slacks. His lean torso was accentuated by the trim jackets and tailored shirts. The perfectly styled, dark brown hair matched the aesthetic, even Cane could see that, and he knew fuck-all about fashion. He knew what looked good though. And Hart looked more than good. He looked all too perfect at all times. All too ready to be destroyed by someone. Unraveled.

"Are you following me?" Hart asked sharply, hanging up and lowering his phone.

Cane held his hands up in mock surrender. "Would I do that?"

Hart pressed his lips together, not saying another word. The look he was giving Cane said a lot though. Cane had already gotten under his skin. It left him with a deep, thrumming sense of satisfaction, and a hunger for more.

Cane smiled. "You're just easy to find."

"Right," Hart said, clearly not believing him. "What can I do for you?"

And those words…to anyone else they'd sound like a purely professional question. Much like everything Hart said sounded to most people. Measured and detached.

Cane knew better.

"There's a lot you could do for me, sweetheart, but we can start with you doing your damn job," Cane said. "You and your team members clearly fucked up, and I need my place fixed."

"Language," Hart said automatically, and Cane growled, pushing himself away from the wall and stepping into Hart's space.

"Bigger things to worry about than my filthy mouth," he whispered, smirking at the visible shudder that Hart tried his best to contain at his tone and proximity.

Hart moved back, putting distance between them and looking around self-consciously. As if anyone gave a shit about two random men talking in the middle of the street.

"Again, what can I do for you, Cane?" Hart asked, clearly agitated but controlling it. He couldn't hide the red flush working its way up from his collar though.

Cane weighed his options. On one hand, he could keep pushing Hart's buttons and see where it got him. The desire to lose himself in their push and pull was almost impossible to ignore. On the other hand, there was something seriously fucked up happening in his place of business and he wanted it sorted as soon as possible.

He could push Hart's buttons along the way, he figured. Two birds with one stone—business and pleasure and whatever other stupid proverb Hart liked spouting on the daily.

"The curse you said wasn't there," Cane said.

Hart eyed him suspiciously. "What about it?"

"You were wrong."

Hart bristled, chest puffing and jaw clenching. "I'm never wrong."

"Well you are this time," Cane said, closing the gap again and putting them nose to nose. "I've seen it with my own eyes."

"You're not cursed, Cane," Hart said.

"Yeah, maybe I'm not. But someone, or several people around me are, and it's fucking with my livelihood. So you're gonna come back with me and fix it."

"I will do no such thing," Hart said, taking another step back as if Cane was about to kidnap him in the middle of the street in broad daylight.

"It's literally your job, sweetheart."

"And I came and did it. No curse was found."

"On me!" Cane growled, finally drawing attention from the people around them. They whipped their heads around, side-stepping the two of them as they caught Cane's eye.

"Keep your voice down," Hart said, smiling at the people, trying to reassure them he was okay.

"Look." Cane took a deep breath and shook himself out of the rage he was stuck in. "Can we put whatever the fuck is between us on pause for a second?"

"There is nothing between us," Hart snapped, eyes flaring.

"Fine," Cane said, pushing down the urge to grab him and prove him wrong. "If that's how this is gonna go, have it your way, but I'm gonna need you to hear me out for ten fucking minutes."

Hart stared at him, his breath coming out in short puffs as he tried to find a way to get himself out of the situation. Cane knew he'd do the right thing in the end.

He could see the moment Hart deflated. The second he accepted Cane's conditions. His shoulders dropped and his eyes softened just a fraction. Enough for Cane to know he had an in.

"There's a café just on the other side of this building. It wasn't too crowded," Cane said, indicating. "I'll buy you a coffee."

"I already had one," Hart said, icy until the end.

"Since when is one enough for you?" Cane headed back toward the café he'd passed earlier. "Come on."

He didn't have to turn back to check whether Hart was there—he could hear his shoes clicking against the pavement behind him, could almost taste the tension in the air between them as Hart tried his best to keep enough distance from Cane while they walked.

He liked that he still had that effect on him. Stroked his ego quite a bit.

He led them to the nondescript café that looked like every other one in this place, picking out an empty table in the corner farthest away from both the street and the entrance to the building. Several tables around it were empty, and he felt they'd have enough privacy there to talk.

"Have a seat." Cane gestured to the chair and Hart sank into it, crossing his long legs and folding his hands into his lap. Perfect. Unflappable. For everyone else.

Cane flagged down a waitress and ordered them both coffees without needing to ask for Hart's order. Once she was gone he pulled out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter, flicking it on before extending both the box and the lighter toward Hart.

"Want one?"

"I quit," Hart said, his voice grating as he stared daggers at him. But Cane could see that his hands were shaking. The craving was written in every line of his body.

Cane dragged in smoke, letting it out in tiny circles, watching Hart's eyes follow each puff.

"It's just us here," Cane said, placing the pack in the middle of the table.

An offer.

Hart stared at the yellow box for a long, suspended breath before he reached out and pushed the pack back over to Cane's side. His fingers trembled and lingered before he jerked them back into his lap and looked anywhere else.

A denial.

Cane leaned back in his chair and stared at Hart as he smoked, trying not to feel some type of way about it. It was just a smoke, but in reality it was more than that, and it hit on a simmering rejection that Cane had let fester inside of him for a long time.

They sat in tense silence until their drinks were brought to the table, breaking the stalemate between them.

Hart took his with a small thank you, grabbing a napkin to place under the cup and arranging it at an exact angle, the handle perpendicular to the corner. He grabbed a sugar packet, fingers going back after he had one to arrange the rest of them, not stopping there and doing the condiments for good measure.

Cane watched him as he smoked, a little fascinated by the outward expression of how Hart's brain worked.

"So," Hart said once he was satisfied, sending him an arch look. "Do you want to tell me the truth about how you knew where to find me?"

"Secrets of the trade," Cane said, flicking ash into the tray on the table. "Let's just say it wasn't hard and leave it at that, hm?"

"What if that won't work for me?" Hart asked.

Cane shrugged carelessly. "You'll learn to deal."

Hart glared but opted not to say anything else, picking up his cup and taking a sip of his coffee. He set the cup down, pulled out his phone and opened a stopwatch app. He set it to ten minutes and started the countdown.

"You're actually gonna time me?" Cane asked with a snort.

"You set the conditions," Hart said, haughty and clearly proud of himself. "I'm making sure they're being followed."

"You…"

"You're wasting time," Hart said, tapping a finger on the screen like he hadn't just spent fifteen minutes doing something that would be ruined as soon as the next person sat down. "Get to the point."

"Fine." Cane rolled his eyes, kicking his feet out to sit up a little more. "I caught one of my bartenders trying to sell drugs out of my ring."

Hart remained still and silent, staring at Cane without a flicker of an expression on his face. "Okay?" he said finally.

Cane rolled his eyes again, running his hand over his head and taking another drag from his cigarette. "It's not like him."

He knew Hart wouldn't immediately get it. Honesty was a rare thing in his line of work, loyalty even more so. But Cane had learned the hard way how to surround himself with people he could depend on for the most part, and seeing it crash around him shook him to his core.

"It's not like a bartender in a shady fight ring to commit an illegal act," Hart deadpanned, confirming Cane's assumptions.

"Raph isn't a bad kid."

"I never said he was." Hart raised his chin. "Just that I'm not sure how his questionable actions led you to believing there was a curse in place."

"Because he was really weird when I confronted him," Cane said and that got Hart's attention.

"Weird how?" he asked slowly.

Cane snuffed his cigarette out in the tray, realizing it wasn't calming him down in the slightest.

"I caught him trying to stash the drugs and he looked like he wasn't even fully aware he was doing it. His eyes were all unfocused, and when I asked him why he did it and stuff he just kept repeating that he didn't know, that he needed money, but it didn't sound like the truth. And it's not the first time I've heard that either. I caught someone trying to sell information to a competitor, but he swore up and down that he didn't know why he did it. Just that he felt compelled and then trapped."

Hart tilted his head, pursing his lips the way he did when he was contemplating something.

"Okay," he said, voice a bit more agreeable. "That does sound suspicious. Could either of them have been under the influence?"

"I don't let my staff get into that shit," Cane said, voice hard.

"Doesn't mean they follow all your rules," Hart pointed out, and…okay, he had a point there, but Cane knew Raph at least.

"Look, if you asked me about Jones, then sure, maybe," Cane said. "But I've known Raph for years. I got his twin Soph and him out of a really shitty situation and set them both up with a place to live and a place to work until they can stand on their own. They had a shit life but they're both good, decent kids and great employees. I make sure they're not getting into anything that could land them in trouble. I want them out of the underground as soon as possible. They wouldn't fuck that up for themselves. Not like this."

He sucked in a breath when he was done, tense and on edge as he waited for Hart to mull over his words.

The countdown on his phone pinged as their ten minutes ended.

Hart picked up his cup and swallowed the rest of his coffee, wiping his mouth off with another napkin and leaving both neatly off to the side for the waitress.

"Fine," he said as he stood up and Cane's heart clenched. "I'll go with you and check your staff for curses."

"You will?" Cane asked, surprised there wasn't a catch.

Hart nodded, straightening his cuffs and tie. "Yes."

"Thank you," Cane said reluctantly. It wasn't a phrase he said often. Only when it was necessary.

He set a bill on the table blindly to cover their drinks, not even checking to see how big of a tip he was leaving.

"One condition." Hart raised a manicured finger.

"Always conditions with you."

Hart bit his lip for a second before releasing it and looking up at Cane.

"If there is no curse," he said. "You'll stop tracking me."

"Who said I was tracking you?" Cane asked calmly, crossing his arms over his chest.

Hart turned his back on him as he headed back to where they'd come from. "You forget I know you just as well as you know me," he said, leaving Cane to jog after him, spine tingling from the rush of memories the words brought.