Page 21 of Fool Me Twice
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.”