Page 18 of Cross’s Reckoning

His eyes find mine. "Cross walked through my gates without Perdition colors," Kane says. "Far as I'm concerned, that means he decided who he belongs to."

"That's not how this works."

"Apparently it is."

Cyrus laughs, but there's nothing amused in it. "You think stripping patches makes him clean? He broke faith with his club."

I look at the bare front of my cut. "You patched Chains."

There's a pause. Then Cyrus says, "Cross."

"Still here."

"You want to explain yourself?"

"Already did. Left the explanation on the bench with the rest of the patches."

Beside me, Judge almost smiles.

"You rode under my colors for ten years," Cyrus adds.

"And I returned them."

"You don't return Perdition colors. It doesn't work like that."

"Looks like I just did." The silence on the phone stretches.

I've known Cyrus long enough to hear what it costs him not to lose his temper. He isn't calling because he wants an explanation. He wants submission, preferably with Kane listening while he gets it.

"Here's what happens," he says. "Kane sends you out of those gates by midnight. You come back with us, and Kingdom Come stays out of Perdition business."

Kane's expression doesn't change. "No."

"You might want to think before you answer."

"Already did."

"Then hear the rest. Midnight comes and Cross is still behind your gates, I bring Perdition to them. After that, what happens is on you."

Lola is staring at the phone as Cyrus keeps talking. About me, about Kane and about Kingdom Come. Not once does he say his daughter's name. My attention shifts fully to her. Her arms are still folded, but the fingers of one hand are digging into the sleeve of her shirt.

Kane notices too. "Anything else?" he asks.

"You've got until midnight." The call ends.

For a few seconds, nobody speaks until Lola looks at Kane. "He knew I was here?"

"Yes."

"And that was all he said?" I hate the question because I know what she's really asking.

Kane doesn't pretend otherwise. "That was all."

Something leaves her face. Not anger. She knows anger too well to lose it that easily, but something underneath.

She gives a short nod. "Okay."

"Lola—"