“I’m glad then,” he hissed, “I’m glad I made him pay.”
“No, Amuuth, you did not make him pay. You tortured him out of spite, because even with his ruined hands he made it out. Made a life. That’s why you did it, for petty reasons. For envy. I have known evil in many faces, Amuuth, but I have never seen it so pathetic.”
Amuuth sputtered, his mind refusing to give him words to match his outrage. This one, gods, all along. He could have had him long ago, had his revenge. But now . – .
Cade moved around the table toward him, like a great black cat, and he was the mouse. There was nothing definable in Cade’s eyes or face. Amuuth had no idea how he would finally die.
“Finish the job,” Cade whispered, moving closer, taking his time. Amuuth shuddered. He was frozen, could not move, and it wasn’t the drug that was holding him now. His broken left hand reached for the right. For the snake ring. Hitting a latch, long fangs extending. Could he get Cade with his own poison? Not likely … he could kill himself, before the pain started. Or …
Amuuth looked over at Raif. The boy stared at Cade, his face blood- less, his eyes wide. Amuuth remembered Raif’s brother-he had feared that one. He had tried to entice Raif into the gang, hoping he could mold him as the older boy could not be molded. The boy could be dangerous. Amuuth was struck by a memory. Cade had run a gang for a while: the Demons. They had been terrible, violent, dangerous. They only ran a block and a half but they owned it. And Raif looked, looks, so much like the young gang leader Cade had once been.