“I still think I should go with you,” Targ said aloud, though he did not look at Cade.
“No.” The only light in the room came from the single lantern lying between them. Cade stared at the large shadow Targ cast on the wall behind him, like a giant leaning over to listen to their conversation. “You must get the other three. All must die tonight.”
“They’re expecting me to be there. The deal is with me. If they see you, they’ll know what’s up.”
“They won’t see me”-Cade’s voice was firm-“not until I want them to.”
“There’s nine,” Targ insisted, but Cade only answered with a shrug. Targ could think of nothing else to say. Cade insisted on taking on the gang alone. The mercenary didn’t like it. But there it was. Cade would do what he wanted, and he explained himself to no one.
“Why not take me?” Raif piped up. Targ just reached for the wine. He knew what Cade’s reaction to that would be. “You’ve seen how good I am with the knife,” he insisted. “They expect me to be there, too.” His voice trailed off at Cade’s dark look.
“Raif, killing a man is not so easy.”
“They killed my brother, too, damn them. I want my revenge.”
Cade’s hand banged on the table. “You’re talking like a fool. Do you think this is one of your daydreams? Riding up on a white horse, saving the city to the cheers of men and women alike? Revenge is bitter, boy, and far removed from justice.”
“But-” Raif started again, but this time he shut up when he saw the flash in Cade’s eyes.
“You’ve had your revenge, boy. Your information, your help has set this thing up. Now leave it to us to finish it.” He turned to Targ, but the mercenary just nodded. Cade could handle himself, and Targ’s prey, well, they were as good as dead. Targ could live with this. Cade never asked him to do something his conscience would forbid. Targ’s honor would not suffer from this.