Paul and Lucas readjusted their positions, and Caine lifted the hands and carefully, carefully used a piece of concrete to scratch his nose.
“Caine—” Paul said.
“Give me a minute,” Caine said. “All of you. Give. Me. A. Minute.”
He closed his eyes. Pain in his hands, a deep ache of something—or more than one thing—broken. The pain was terrible.
Worse by far: the humiliation.
He’d been outwitted by Penny. Weakness.
He’d been made to bear the torture he and Drake had invented. Weakness.
He sat here now on the steps of town hall, the steps where not two days earlier he’d ruled as king. He sat there now with piss-smelling pants, made to feel weak and small and cowardly by Lana.
He hadn’t been this low since he had walked off defeated into the desert with Pack Leader. Since he had crawled, weeping and desperate, to have his mind messed up by that malevolent, glowing monster.
Lana could let it touch her mind. She was that strong.
He could not. Because he was not.
What did it matter anymore? he wondered. It was the end at last. Darkness would fall and the sun would never rise again and they would wander lost in inky blackness until they starved. The smart ones would just walk into the ocean and swim until they drowned.
What did he, Caine, matter? Let alone Diana. Or the … whatever. Baby. Kid. Whatever.
He closed his eyes and he could see Diana. Beautiful girl, Diana. Smart. Smart enough to keep pace with him. Smart enough to play her games with him.
They’d been happy, mostly, on the island. Him and Diana. Good days. Then Quinn had come with a message that he was needed to rescue Perdido Beach.
He had come back. Diana had warned him not to. But he had come back. And he had proclaimed himself king. Because kids needed a king. And because after he saved their stupid lives for them he deserved to be that king.
Diana had warned him against that, too.
And no sooner was he in charge than he’d realized it was Albert who was the real boss. And no one really respected Caine. They didn’t realize how much he did for them.
Ungrateful.
Now they wanted him, but only because they were all scared of the dark.
“We’ll try a smaller hammer now,” Paul said anxiously.
Caine gritted his teeth, anticipating the blow.
CLANG!
“Ahhh!” The chisel had missed. The hardened steel chisel blade skipped and bit into his wrist. Blood poured out over the concrete.
He wanted to cry. Not from the pain but from the sheer awfulness of his life. He needed to use the bathroom. He wouldn’t even be able to lower his own pants or wipe himself.
Lana took his wrist. The bleeding slowed.
“You need to let them keep at it,” Lana said. “It’ll be a lot worse in the dark.”
Caine nodded. He had nothing more to say.
He bowed his head and cried.
TWENTY-FIVE