Devoted: Merritt's Story - Chapter 19

Here's the new chapter!  You can download the attached PDF or read it inline.  Chapter 20 will come in about 2 weeks.

[Table of Contents]

--------

Chapter 19

Merritt should have known Mercury wasn’t blind to Belmont’s schemes. Of course Mercury knew who Belmont really was, and of course he’d taken it into account when choosing his right hand. Merritt felt foolish for underestimating his King.

He’d only wanted to protect Mercury from someone who might turn on him. After a night’s sleep to clear his head after the meeting, he still wasn’t convinced that Belmont would stay loyal to Mercury. But Mercury would likely see Merritt’s concern as an insult. Mercury had traversed his own treacherous route to the throne, building a formidable web of allies and safeguards while simultaneously dismantling the web of his former King. If anyone was capable of keeping Belmont in line, it was Mercury.

Merritt had treated Belmont as a threat to the throne when he was in fact serving Mercury in a way that Merritt could only dream of. Belmont was exactly the cutthroat backstabber Mercury wanted him to be. But what was Merritt? Merritt had no idea what Mercury wanted of him. Mercury had shown appreciation for his obedience during their phone conversations, but he’d also offered praise when Merritt stepped out of bounds. Merritt didn’t know which words to believe; he felt like Mercury was testing him at every turn.

Mercury had handed the smoking gun back to Merritt and left any further decisions in his hands. But if Mercury found no reason to be concerned about Belmont’s actions, Merritt saw no point in going out of his way to ruin him. If there was anything he could do to foster peace in Mercury’s regime, he’d do it. If Belmont’s actions supported Mercury, then Merritt would act in support of Belmont.

Belmont had been pleasant at his party—charming, even—when he’d believed he and Merritt were on the same side. Would it be possible to support Belmont without falling into one of his traps? He’d have to be vigilant, but maybe if he proved himself trustworthy enough, Belmont would lay out fewer traps to begin with. 

He remembered the brush of Belmont’s fingertips across his body, and a shiver ran up his spine. Maybe… maybe there was a way to work peacefully with Belmont.

After an uneventful Monday and Tuesday at work, Merritt received a text from Devon asking if he wanted to meet for drinks on Tuesday night at Yackley’s Booze and Drugs. Despite his aversion to weeknight drinking, he eagerly accepted the request. He was sure Devon would understand if he only ordered a glass of Focus in mineral water.

Upon entering the bar, he stopped and took a quick glance at the wall. Beside the sign reminding patrons that Yackley’s was in neutral territory and no armed combat was allowed, a mounted chalkboard listed the number of days since the bar’s last brawl, knife fight, gunfight, poisoning, indecent exposure, and more. It had apparently been a calm day. None of the numbers had been reset.

There was, however, a troubling new entry that hadn’t previously been listed on the board: Two days since last piss in pool table corner pocket. Lovely.

At a table along the wall bordering the VIP room, Devon waved him over. Merritt shot him a grin and headed across the room. “You see the chalkboard?” Devon asked.

Merritt nodded and laughed as he took a seat. “Poor Yackley.”

Devon looked especially handsome today—somehow even more elegant than usual—but Merritt couldn’t tell what was different about him. Maybe it was the Charisma in white wine Devon had already nearly finished. Or maybe only Merritt’s perception of him had changed, thanks to their night together. He wanted to offer a compliment, but he wasn’t sure if Devon would interpret it as romantic, and he didn’t want to open that door if Devon was expecting no more than a friendly outing. He’d let Devon set the tone for their conversation.

A waiter arrived beside their table, and Merritt put in his order for Focus in mineral water. Devon ordered a refill. Once the waiter was out of sight, Devon leaned across the table and lowered his voice. “This silence has been driving me crazy, Merritt. You keep leaving me in the dark about….” He gestured with his hand toward the region below Merritt’s belt, and Merritt returned a look of confusion. Barely audible, Devon clarified, “The poisoned wipes.”

“Oh.” Merritt wasn’t sure why Devon would gesture toward his crotch for that. Then he realized Devon was probably aiming for the packs hanging from his belt where he’d previously stored the poisoned wipes. “Might not be the best idea to talk about it here.”

Devon glanced at the scattered crowd. “Yeah. I guess it’d be pretty easy for people to overhear.” With a resigned sigh, he finished his first glass of Charisma. “I really want to know, though. You met with Mercury, didn’t you?”

“Yes. On Sunday.”

Devon waited, as if expecting Merritt to elaborate. When he didn’t, Devon gave a small laugh. “You’re killing me, Merritt.”

“Sorry.”

The waiter returned with their drinks, and Merritt took a sip of his Focus. He couldn’t help but compare it to the superior glass he’d had at Mercury’s house.

“I thought about you when I was at Mercury’s suite,” Merritt said. “I think you would have liked it there. His style kind of reminded me of your place. Very North Sphere.”

“You met at his suite?” Devon asked, stunned.

Merritt hadn’t anticipated Devon’s reaction. “Yes. Just in the entryway, though.” He awkwardly cleared his throat. “Mostly in the entryway.”

Devon put his palms down on the table emphatically. “Well, now I have to know how it went.”

Merritt took a glance around the room. It was still too crowded for comfort.

After a hesitant pause, Devon gestured toward the narrow hallway leading to the restrooms and the stairwell. “Wanna talk on the stairs? I haven’t seen anyone going out there for a hookup so far today.”

Merritt had never been invited to the stairwell for anything other than a hookup. It felt strange to use the stairwell for anything else. But it would likely be the most private area in the vicinity. “I guess we can do that.”

Merritt followed Devon through the stairwell door and out onto the landing. As usual, the area was too dim to make out the details of the stained walls and the rat droppings in the corners. Retrieving a flashlight from his pack, he checked the area for hidden recording devices. Finding nothing, he hurried down a flight of stairs and surveyed the area. Once he was satisfied, he did the same for the stairs leading up.

Returning to the landing, he said, “Looks like we’re all clear. What did you want to know?”

Devon shrugged, leaning against the door. “I thought I’d be reading about this in the news instead of coming to you for the details. What happened when you met with Mercury? What exactly did you tell him?”

Merritt lowered his voice. “I told him my theory about Belmont and the poisoned wipes. I showed him the samples I had tested. He said he already knew that Belmont killed Higgins, but he just didn’t know how. He said Higgins has loyalists who’d want revenge, but it was up to me whether I wanted to spread the word.”

“You told Mercury that Belmont killed Higgins,” Devon repeated, as if he was having trouble absorbing the information. “And you showed him the poisoned wipes.”

“Yes, that’s what I said.”

“And Mercury left it up to you to spread the word?”

“Yes.”

“So are you going to spread the word?”

“I don’t know. It’s too much for me to think about right now.” Actually, he did know. He had no intention of spreading the word. It didn’t seem worth it. But he saw no benefit to making his plan public.

“You don’t know,” Devon repeated. After a pause, he asked, “Do you still have the wipes on you?”

“I found a secure place to store them.”

“Yeah? I didn’t think there was such a thing as a secure place in the underground.”

“It’s secure enough,” Merritt replied.

“A standard thumbprint panel can be compromised if you’ve got a malicious user with reasons to hack it. Are you sure you found a good enough hiding place? Exactly what level of security are you dealing with?”

Merritt narrowed his eyes. The question seemed innocent enough, especially coming from someone with professional interest in IT security. But something felt off. Merritt couldn’t shake the suspicion that Devon was fishing for information on the whereabouts of the poisoned wipes. His tone was just a bit too insistent.

As far as Merritt was concerned, this conversation was over.

Giving a noncommittal shrug, he said, “It’s in a safe place. You don’t need to worry about it being breached.” He gestured toward the door. “I wish I had a more exciting story to tell you, but that’s about all of it. Want to head back?”

“Sure, whatever you want.” Devon unlatched the door. He’d barely cleared its edge when the door was jolted fully open and Belmont stepped inside.

Reflexively, Merritt reached for his packs. But before his hands could close on a vial, a split-second memory crossed his mind. Belmont, he’d concluded, was on Mercury’s side, and he’d intended to do whatever he could to support both of them.

Maybe there’s a peaceful way to resolve—

Belmont took a swing at him. The move was too fast for Merritt to do more than block the blurred fist that came toward his face in the dim light.

In the moment he shielded his face from the fist, something he hadn’t seen within the fist—something long and heavy, harder than flesh and bone—struck the side of Merritt’s head.

His vision flashed with white hot stars before going dark. He felt Devon’s arms at his waist, Devon stumbling to stay upright under his falling body.

The stars behind his eyes flared again then faded. He heard Belmont’s voice, distant and muddled as if separated by a plane of water. “Set him down and get out of here.”

Footsteps faded into the distance, echoing from every angle. Merritt was rolled from his stomach onto his side.

After a few blinks, Belmont’s hazy form began to take focus. He set an empty wine bottle on the floor beside Merritt’s head with a clunk. He loomed over Merritt, eyes narrowed. “Thank you for the Deering white, Merritt. It was most excellent.” He kicked Merritt hard in the stomach, and Merritt groaned, doubling over. Then he shoved his foot against Merritt’s midsection, grinding down on the spot he’d already kicked.

Merritt tried to speak. No words emerged. His breath had yet to return to him after the startlingly powerful kick.

“You conniving little bastard,” Belmont snarled. He hovered over Merritt, clenching and unclenching his fists, fire crackling in his eyes.

Merritt’s vision flickered. He tried to roll over, but Belmont sprang forward and mounted his chest, kneeling on Merritt’s arms and punching him across the face. Merritt groaned.

“Fucking offal scum!” Belmont grabbed Merritt by the jaw and gave him a jolting shake. “Everything you did with me was fake, then? You took that glass of Potent from me and kissed me and begged me for more—and the whole time, you were just thinking about how you planned to ruin me?” He released Merritt and threw another punch, striking Merritt’s nose. “How did I let you trick me into believing you were too innocent to pull shit like this? I should’ve known you were only out for yourself. You were using me as a stepping stone to get closer to Mercury.”

“You killed Higgins,” was all Merritt managed to gasp.

“Higgins got what was coming to him.” Belmont slammed Merritt against the floor, smacking his head on the concrete. “But you’re even dirtier than he was, aren’t you? Underneath that pretty face, you’re still nothing but offal.” With the final word, he threw another punch. Merritt recoiled, trying to roll onto his side and shield his face with his newly freed arm. His entire face pulsed with pain, and he tasted blood.

Belmont grabbed the arm blocking Merritt’s face, pulling it down and pinning it under his knee again. He grabbed Merritt by the throat and leaned in close. “You made a big mistake with me, honey.”

Merritt twisted under Belmont’s grip. Belmont easily outweighed him, but he’d trained with heavier fighters. The blows to the head had weakened him, but he hadn’t been stripped of his weapons. He could tell by the blows he’d received that Belmont had been trained but wasn’t anywhere near Merritt’s combat level. In a standard fight, Merritt would ramp up his offense, throwing punches and elbows off his back to keep his opponent’s attacks at bay.

But Belmont was Mercury’s right hand. The law of touch applied, and Merritt couldn’t strike him. There was no way Merritt could defend himself without breaking the law.

Belmont undid Merritt’s tie, twisting it around his neck and pulling tight. “I go into the office on Monday, and Mercury lectures me about how I have to be better at covering my tracks if I’m going to be his right hand. And then my friend Mannheim comes apologizing to me, telling me that they never should have wiped my thumbprint from the security system on Saturday ‘cause the hackers never even touched the thumbprint database. And then I found out that the guy who just happened to wipe them was the same guy you brought to my party.”

Belmont wrenched on the tie, and Merritt wheezed. Blinding pressure built in his head. He managed to twist just enough to free the hand under Belmont’s knee, but when he tried to grab Belmont’s hand to loosen his grip, Belmont caught his wrist.

“What are you doing?” Belmont asked, his voice dangerously low. “You’re trying to touch me without permission?”

When Merritt glared back at him, Belmont responded by tightening his grip on the tie. Merritt gagged, unable to do more than make a few sputtering noises.

Belmont released Merritt’s arm and pinned it under his knee again. Retrieving the wine bottle, he raised it up high then swung for Merritt’s face. Merritt braced himself for the blow he couldn’t block.

Belmont stopped millimeters short of striking his face. Slowly pressing the bottle against Merritt’s cheek, he leaned forward and lowered his voice. “If you want to run your mouth about what I did to Higgins, then do it. Tell your boss. Tell your friends. Tell Archer and Captain What’s-Her-Name and your little musician friend with the black hair. Tell everyone.” He leaned in so close his lips brushed Merritt’s. “And then I will come after you, and I will tear you down. I will destroy everything that matters to you—everything you’ve earned, everything you care about, every person you call an ally. Whatever you hold dear, I’ll burn it to the ground.”

Merritt met Belmont’s fiery gaze with his own, and his fingers flexed under Belmont’s knees. He’d sooner tear the crooked sneer off Belmont’s face than let him threaten the only family he had.

“You don’t look like you’re getting my message,” Belmont hissed. He set down the wine bottle, using both hands to pull the tie even tighter around Merritt’s neck. “What do I need to do to show you how serious I am?”

The door behind them swung open, and someone dark and broad-shouldered stepped into the stairwell. “Get the fuck off him, Belmont.”

Startled, Belmont looked over his shoulder. His initial surprise giving way to irritation, he barked, “Mind your own business. This is a North Sphere matter.”

“You’re a right hand now,” came the reply in a familiar voice—deep, mellow, with just a bit of a purring rasp. “Everything you do is my business. You wanna be a right hand? Then act like one. Beating the shit out of a two just because you know he’s too low on the ladder to fight back? Fucking pathetic. Fucking unacceptable for a right hand.”

“You have no idea what this is about, Samsid.”

“I don’t care what it’s about.”

Merritt squinted, trying to catch a glimpse of Samsid, but the throbbing in his head resumed, clouding his vision. He squeezed his eyes shut, doing his best to at least absorb the words he heard.

“We right hands hold each other accountable,” Samsid continued in his lower East Sphere brogue, “and you better learn that fast. I see you pullin’ shit I don’t like, I’m gonna call you out. And if you don’t stop, then whatever that kid wants to do to you but can’t, I’ll do. Because I’m the same level as you, and there isn’t a rule in the underground standing in the way of me kickin’ your ass.”

“You may be a right hand now,” Belmont sneered, “but how long do you think you’ll last, being the ace-lover you are?” He gave Merritt’s tie a demonstrative shake. “One of these days, you’ll learn that standing up for peasants won’t get you anywhere. They’ll take the hand you give them, and then they’ll drag you down to where they are.”

Merritt’s vision cleared enough to make out the glint in Samsid’s eyes as he stood steady and confident, his shoulders spanning the doorframe. “I’ve been a right hand longer than you, Belmont. You had the position for—what?—a week? And you’re already jumpin’ at shadows, threatening the same ‘peasants’ you look down on because you know they hold your fate in their hands.” Samsid narrowed his eyes. “Get off him.”

Despite Belmont’s attempt at retaining his composure, Merritt spotted a growing fault in his façade. His fingers loosened around Merritt’s tie. Reluctantly, he rose to his feet, carelessly clipping Merritt’s head with the tip of his fancy dress shoe as he stepped over him.

Samsid crossed his arms, gesturing with his head toward the door.

Before passing the threshold, Belmont turned back to Merritt. “Don’t expect me to forget this. Your life in the underground is going to be different from here on.” He forced a smile. “But keep the four thousand dollars. I still want you to buy that designer suit. And I’ll be able to tell if you cheap out.”

As Belmont headed for the door, he hovered over Samsid and glared down at him. Despite their difference in height, Samsid didn’t look the least bit intimidated. He even took a step forward, staring back into Belmont’s eyes. Belmont finally scowled and broke eye contact, heading out the door and letting it swing shut behind him.

Samsid turned to Merritt, examining him with narrowed eyes. “You’re not the first guy he’s cornered in this stairwell since being named right hand. You’re lucky the only bodily fluid on your face is blood.”

Merritt staggered to his feet, using the wall to steady himself. “I don’t know how to repay you.”

“Had nothin’ to do with you. It was about Belmont. That asshole’s been on his high horse this whole week, throwin’ his weight around as if the entire underground belongs to him. He’s gotta learn how things work for people like us. There’s no excuse for a right hand to beat on someone of your rank. ‘Specially not someone from his own sphere.”

“I’m not innocent in this. He had good reason to come after me.”

“Then he shoulda come after you on your level. Belmont’s not a fighter. He only went after you with his fists because he knew you wouldn’t hit him back.” He raised his chin, frowning. “And while we’re at it, there’s no excuse for you not to defend yourself. You’re a soldier, aren’t you?”

“Yes, but there are rules in the North Sphere.”

Samsid threw his hands up in the air. “Who gives a crap about the rules? Someone’s beating the shit out of you, you fight back! I know the North Sphere likes you all to be mindless yes men, but this is ridiculous.” He gave a devilish smile. “Besides, if you’re gonna just let someone fuck you up, at least let it be an East Sphere soldier during battle.”

Merritt’s adrenaline was beginning to subside, and suddenly, he realized how weak and wobbly he was. But he didn’t want Samsid to see. He leaned against the wall and, without thinking, dabbed his bloody nose with his tie. It was common for North Sphere soldiers to protect their ties from any damage save bloodstains, which they treated as evidence of their service to their sphere. Samsid watched Merritt wipe his nose, curling his lip with disgust but saying nothing.

Merritt glanced subtly toward Samsid, whose inexplicably vivid green eyes cut through the haze. They’d been together in the stairwell for a good four minutes, but only now was Merritt able to appreciate that he was in the presence of one of the underground’s most notable figures—a man whom Merritt had long admired.

Samsid’s face had graced countless TV screens and news articles in years past; the cameras had followed him from his days as a charismatic teen motorcycle racer to his current position as the East Sphere’s second most powerful man. He was, in Merritt’s opinion, breathtakingly handsome. Chestnut brown skin, full lips, a neat goatee, dreadlocks, and muscles that looked like they could have been carved from marble. Even the battle scars across his left eye and cheek—blemishes that would be derided in the North—drew nothing but fascination from Merritt.

Samsid carried his position as Cannon’s right hand without the slightest hint of insecurity. It pained Merritt to think that there might have been some truth to Belmont’s claim that he was attracted to power, but it wasn’t exactly a stretch to see Samsid as attractive.

“Don’t expect me to do that kinda thing for you again,” Samsid said, apparently noticing the way Merritt’s gaze lingered on him. “If you’re on Belmont’s shit list, you’re gonna have to watch your back.”

“I know. And regardless of your intentions today, you still have my gratitude for what you’ve done.”

“The fuck am I supposed to do with your gratitude?”

Merritt shifted his eyes. “If there’s something else you’d rather have….”

Samsid folded his arms over his chest, as if he worried that Merritt’s benevolence might be contagious without the proper protection. “Whatever you got, keep it to yourself. No point in makin’ nice with rival soldiers. You may have got Troy to drool over you, but you don’t look so special to me. Next time I see you, chances are I’ll be ordering one of my men to gun you down.”

Merritt gave him a short, respectful bow. “Understood.”

Samsid’s harsh words didn’t surprise Merritt; he would have expected no less from a queen card. It would take more than a few gruff comments to erode Merritt’s respect for him. That Samsid had declined the opportunity to have Merritt in his debt made him all the more admirable. It was in line with what Merritt had always known about Samsid: that he had an inexplicable drive to protect the people of the lowest ranks of underground society. “Ace-lover” was a pejorative term in the underground, but Samsid wore it like a badge of honor.

Merritt only wished he could have met Samsid under circumstances that didn’t make him look like a weak, incompetent soldier. And he wished he wasn’t too star-struck to come up with something more eloquent to say to the man.

Samsid gestured with his head toward the door, and Merritt stepped past him, turning to the restroom on the right so he could clean himself up. He winced when he saw his reflection in the mirror. Even after washing the blood off his face, there was no hiding the swelling and mottled bruises. He’d have to head to the military hospital for treatment. With their selection of topical medications, any injuries he had likely wouldn’t last long. But until he could get there, he’d have to deal with the questions and curious glances.

He needed another minute before he could deal with that. Backtracking to the stairwell, he climbed up to the top landing. A north-facing door led to a rarely-used, half-unfinished rooftop terrace. It was little more than a grimy, rat-infested mess of pipework and cracked cinderblocks, but it would at least give him the chance to collect himself in privacy.

He crossed the threshold and was startled to see Devon’s slim, spiky-haired silhouette already at the far end of the terrace. When Merritt had been semi-conscious on the stairwell floor and had heard Devon retreat, he’d assumed Devon had returned to the bar.

Devon turned at the sound of gravel crunching under Merritt’s shoe, his abrupt movement betraying surprise even though the distant outdoor lighting was too dim to offer a clear view of his face. Merritt approached, taking slow steps until he was close enough to make out at least a hint of Devon’s features.

Merritt stepped into a strip of light, and Devon winced at the sight of his bruises. “Are you okay?” he asked, a bit of a tremor in his voice.

A motorcycle passed on the nearest suspension bridge, its headlight drawing a stripe across the wall and momentarily illuminating Devon’s face. In that split second, Merritt saw that Devon’s poker face had failed. There was guilt in his eyes. Merritt remembered that moment of suspicion he’d felt in the stairwell—a moment that had been dislodged from his mind after the blow to the head—and he felt an acute pang of disappointment. “You invited me to Yackley’s,” he said, his voice hard. “You led me to the stairwell. You leaned against the door and repeated what I said so he could hear on the other side.”

Devon’s face was once again obscured by darkness, but Merritt could read tension in his shoulders.

Devon opened his mouth, but before he could respond, Merritt took a swift step forward. “Did you tell him about Archer too?” he hissed.

Fear surfaced in Devon’s eyes, and he took a backward step. “I didn’t,” he whispered. “I swear I didn’t.”

Merritt’s fists clenched harder, but he didn’t press Devon. In the stairwell, Belmont had challenged Merritt to “tell Archer” about what he’d done. It seemed he’d assumed Archer didn’t already know, which suggested that Devon was being truthful.

“Belmont already knew I was involved,” Devon confessed. “I didn’t cover my tracks well enough. He confronted me, and I had no choice. But he told me he wouldn’t hurt you. He said he just wanted to know who you’d told, and he wanted to threaten you so you wouldn’t tell anyone else. I told him as little as I could, but I had to give him something.”

Merritt wasn’t sure if he bought Devon’s explanation. Something about him still felt too… elegant. His eyes narrowed with recognition. “That’s a nice suit jacket you’re wearing.” His voice was so weak with disillusion that it broke mid-sentence. “It looks expensive.”

Devon’s gaze dropped to the floor.

Merritt pressed his lips together, wondering if he should follow his hunch. “How long have you and Belmont been together?”

New signs of guilt surfaced on Devon’s face. “It’s brand new, I swear. We never even talked before yesterday. And it’s nothing serious.” He looked away. “More… self-preservation.”

Merritt examined Devon’s cracked poker face in silence.

“This is the underground. I have to watch my back. And if I have to choose between having a right hand as a lover or an enemy….” He shrugged.

Merritt felt deflated. Even in the wake of betrayal, he couldn’t find comfort in being the one on higher ground. This was his own fault. He was the one who’d invited Devon to Belmont’s party. He was the one who’d decided to involve Devon in his scheme to search Belmont’s suite. He’d enlisted the help of a civilian but had failed to guard him from the enemy.

Merritt might have been stubborn enough to risk his own destruction by defying Belmont, but how could he demand the same from Devon? This had never been Devon’s battle. Merritt had sentenced him to his fate with Belmont.

“I did this to you,” Merritt whispered.

Devon looked confused for the briefest moment before his poker face returned.

“I’ll find a way to get you out of it.”

“You don’t need to do that.” Devon fixed his gaze on a broken cinderblock lying a few inches from his foot. “Things could be worse. If I do what he wants, I’ll be set for life down here.”

“And that security is worth becoming Belmont’s dog?”

Devon chewed his lip.

“What exactly are you getting in return for selling me out?” When Devon didn’t reply right away, Merritt took a step closer, giving Devon no room to avoid his gaze.

Devon’s reply was barely a whisper. “He’s trying to make Mannheim Director of Technology, and if he does it, he says I can take Mannheim’s current position.”

Merritt shifted back again, more to give himself space than to ease the pressure on Devon. He wasn’t surprised. How could he be? Elite blue-ties only valued loyalty when their lives depended on it. Soldiers covered each other on the battlefield, but any other blue-tie wouldn’t hesitate to stab another in the back for something as petty as a promotion. He never regretted his own loyalty, but he’d been daft to assume it would ever be returned.

“Belmont won’t be any more loyal to you than you were to me,” Merritt said, his voice hard.

“I know who Belmont is,” Devon said. “The only people in the underground who have anything good to say about him are his exes. He saves the malice for his professional rivals, and I made it clear to him that I’m not a rival.” He gave an awkward laugh. “You could have done this if you wanted. Instead of investigating him, you could have just accepted his alliance. You probably would have been better off.”

Merritt shook his head. “I refuse to be owned by anyone other than my King.”

There was an odd flicker in Devon’s eyes, as if he’d considered arguing with Merritt before thinking better of it.

Merritt still didn’t know what to make of Devon’s confession. He didn’t want Devon to be trapped in a position he didn’t want for himself. But the more Devon insisted he wanted to be with Belmont, the more Merritt had to wonder just how hard Belmont had to work to convince Devon to turn on him. It wasn’t a line of thought he had the stomach to pursue.

The bottom line was that Devon belonged to Belmont now, and Merritt couldn’t trust him as an ally.

“At least….” Merritt cleared his throat then gave a hollow laugh. “At least I have one nice night to look back on.”

Devon’s lips tightened, and Merritt was sure he saw a hint of genuine sadness within the cracks of his poker face.

“Stay well, Devon.”

*  *  *

“He sold you out?” Archer cried over the phone. “Devon sold you out to Belmont? That unforgivable swine!”

Merritt winced at her tone. Archer had a special knack for making G-rated language cut deeper than the most vulgar of curses. “I don’t think he had much of a choice,” he said. “If he hadn’t gone along with Belmont, he would have been ruined.”

“I warned him what could happen when I asked him to take on the project. He knew the risks when he agreed to help you. If he’d done a competent job, he wouldn’t have gotten caught in the first place.” Her heavy sigh made the speaker crackle. “So. What should I do about him now?”

“What do you mean?”

“Do you want him fired or do you want him killed?”

“Neither!” Merritt gasped incredulously.

“You can’t just let him go about his life after what he did to you.”

“This was my battle with Belmont, and Devon got caught in the crossfire. He never stood a chance against Belmont, and I’m not going to punish him for my failure to protect him.”

“He’s not your soldier, Merritt. He’s his own person. It was never your job to protect him.”

Merritt wished he was rude enough to tell Archer she was wrong. Of course it had been his job. He’d been a poor excuse for a blue-tie, jumping head first into a mission without the proper planning. If he targeted Devon now, he’d be no better than the worst of the North’s military officers—the ones like Colonel Harding who put out half-baked strategies and then blamed their enlisted soldiers for suffering losses on the battlefield.

“How do you know he didn’t have a choice with Belmont?” Archer asked. “It sounds like he’s being richly rewarded for selling you out. How do you know he wasn’t the one to proposition Belmont?”

“I guess I don’t know. Devon is hard to read. But I….” He remembered the night they’d shared together. Devon had been genuine with him. “I just don’t think he would have sold me out unless his safety was really on the line.” Merritt sighed. “But in the end, it doesn’t really make a difference. The whole ordeal is over now.”

Archer let out a frustrated growl. “So, I take it you won’t be pursuing the lead on Higgins’s murder anymore?”

The disappointment in Archer’s voice surprised him. “I thought you didn’t want me pursuing this in the first place.”

“I didn’t. But then you were stubborn and you went ahead anyway, and I started to get my hopes up that Belmont would finally be held accountable for something he did. Nothing ever sticks to him.”

“It’ll catch up with him.”

“But when? He’s not just going to leave you be, knowing you have all the information you need to destroy him.”

“I realize that.” Merritt remembered Belmont sitting on his chest, gripping his tie and glaring at him with unbridled fury. The look in his eyes had gripped Merritt even harder than the hand twisting his tie. Unlike other blue-ties, Belmont never hesitated to let emotion show on his face, but the emotion Merritt saw this time felt different. It was naked and unguarded, and unquestionably dangerous.

Your life in the underground is going to be different from here on. That was the warning Belmont had given him. Belmont likely already had a plan, and Merritt couldn’t afford to let him set it in motion.

“I’m going to take care of it,” he said. “If Belmont wasn’t serious about targeting me before, he is now. And I won’t let him put me on the defensive.”

“What does that mean?” Archer asked.

“It means I need to catch Belmont in my web before he can catch me in his.”

--------

[Table of Contents]