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“And secondly”—Sebastian split up the darts by color and handed Maxwell his usual blue ones, Sebastian’s competent, problem-solver side taking over—“how bad is this?”
Seeing Sebastian’s ruthless intensity turned toward Maxwell’s problem made him feel a surprising amount better, and Maxwell took his set of darts and followed Sebastian to the throwing line. “Bad.”
“How bad?” Sebastian lined himself up and weighed the first dart in his hand.
Maxwell glanced around them and lowered his voice. “He knows about me.”
Sebastian paused—frozen stiff—for a few moments before he blinked, nodded, and threw his dart just a little off-center. Then he spoke so quietly, it was only because Maxwell was right beside him that he could hear. “As in, knows you’re a torvar?”
Fear stabbed through Maxwell’s belly. He’d only explicitly, audibly been referred to as a torvar two other times in his life; when his mother told him what they were and when he told Kurt. After that, every mention had been oblique, implied, a reference only to what he was. Despite Sebastian’s tiny voice, he still felt like the whole bar must have heard.
He could only swallow and nod.
Sebastian blew out a breath and threw his second dart. “How?”
It took until Sebastian had thrown his last dart and stepped aside with a concerned look for Maxwell to get the words out. “I told him.”
Sebastian’s eyebrows rose into his hairline. “You told him?”
“Yes.” Maxwell gritted his teeth and shot Sebastian a glare. He didn’t need Sebastian’s additional judgment about the whole situation.
“Sorry.” Sebastian raised his palms and took another step back from the line to give Maxwell room to throw. “You’re just so careful about that.” He dropped his hands and cocked his head as he watched Maxwell’s dart embed itself in the board—far outside Sebastian’s cluster in the middle. “But I guess he’s why, isn’t he?”
Maxwell threw his last dart and then dropped his arms and shrugged one shoulder. “I was raised to be careful about it. He was a moment of weakness.”
“A moment of weakness you paid for,” Sebastian muttered as he walked past to pull all the darts out of the board. He pointed a finger at Maxwell as he walked back. “Not that I think it was a moment of weakness, by the way. You know my thoughts on this secret.” Sebastian set his feet up and lifted his dart. “It’s better to be out and done with it. Trust me.”
Maxwell did not. He admired Sebastian’s brazen, devil-may-care attitude, but he didn’t want to live Sebastian’s life. He didn’t want to move through the world fighting for space and respect and shrugging off everyone’s fear and loathing. All his life, he’d been a trusted source of comfort and aid to everyone he’d ever met. And maybe he’d achieved that through some deception and careful distance, but that was only because he had to.
Sebastian sighed when Maxwell didn’t say anything and threw his first dart. “Alright. So the asshole knows your greatest secret. What does he want?”
Maxwell looked down at the floor, feeling small and nauseated and dirty. “Me.”
Sebastian’s feet turned from the dartboard toward him, and Maxwell felt his eyes on him but didn’t look up to meet them. The moments dragged out, and Maxwell could see Sebastian’s fingers twitching and tensing. Then Sebastian’s feet turned back to the dartboard. “Well, he can’t have you. Obviously.”
Maxwell raised his eyes back from the floor now that Sebastian was safely distracted by the game again. “I’m worried about what he’ll do when he realizes that.”
Sebastian threw his last dart—dead center—and put his hands on his hips with a decisive nod. “I’ll just have to get rid of him.”
“Sebastian,” Maxwell hissed with a wild glance around them, but no one had heard. “You don’t mean that.”
Sebastian gave him a bemused look. “Of course I do, Maxwell. I assassinate people all the time.”
That was only a slight exaggeration. Sebastian didn’t exactly specialize in assassinations, and Maxwell was pretty sure that Sebastian didn’t like them, but he’d certainly done them, and he didn’t exactly kick up a fuss when he did.
Maxwell moved to the throwing line mechanically when Sebastian beckoned him forward for his turn. “I don’t want his blood on my hands.”
“It won’t be on your hands. It’ll be on mine.” Sebastian shrugged a shoulder and looked off toward the board.
“He’s an asset to the Resistance.” Maxwell threw his dart wildly off-center, and it bounced off the sheet metal wall. He grimaced and aimed his next one carefully enough to at least stick into the board. “He’s a good operative.”
Sebastian shook his head. “He can’t be trusted. We don’t want someone who can’t be trusted.”
Except Leon would never allow Sebastian to go around murdering fellow Resistance members just because he didn’t like or trust them. Which meant Sebastian would either do it behind Leon’s back, in front of Leon, and in direct opposition to him, or he’d have to tell Leon Maxwell’s secret, which he never would. Sebastian—loyal friend that he was—would do whatever he had to no matter what it cost him, and his broken relationship, along with Kurt’s blood and the blood of whoever Kurt might help if he were still alive, would all be on Maxwell’s hands.
“No.” Maxwell threw his last dart hard, and it slammed right into the center of the bull’s-eye. “No, don’t do anything, Sebastian.”
“Maxwell.” Sebastian gave him a placating—pitying—look.
