Promise: A Lords of Action Novel

by K. J. Jackson

  She was not the woman that had left that tiny village in Norfolk to bring her sister home. And she never would be again.

  She now knew she would battle to the depths of hell to save someone she loved.

  And she was not about to allow Fletch to die on her.

  Not without a fight.

  {Chapter 12 }

  Talia stared up at the hulking man. Hulking with the round cherub face of a sweet baby. She wasn’t sure if she should be slowly backing away or smiling up at him and pinching his cheeks.

  “What of ye?” the barkeep asked from one of the two back doors at the Pink Filly brothel as he tossed the contents of a metal pot into the alley.

  Talia cowered appropriately, glancing with a side look up to him as she slipped into her harsh accent. “Oye be lookin fer work—‘em pots o’ filth aye cin empty. Oye ‘ave no problems ‘bout ‘em and will empty ‘em, ‘n scrub ‘em right good. Not but a sixpence.”

  The barkeep tilted his head toward the door with a sigh, his thick hand pushing it open. “Come with ye, then. If ye cin last the night, ye cin get paid.”

  Talia bowed her head, scurrying past him. She saw the shadow of Fletch move from the end of the alley as she disappeared inside.

  The barkeep sent Talia upstairs almost immediately to service the rooms above. This brothel was larger than the last, but much more intimate, the décor catering to a more well-heeled customer than in the previous brothels where she had searched for Louise.

  But it was all cut from the same cloth—the blood-red curtains in these rooms were the same as in the room she and Fletch had found themselves in the night before.

  She emptied pots, going up and down the stairs for two hours and passing each time by the table Fletch had staked out in the corner of the main room.

  The brothel as a whole was classier—the ladies working through the tables in the main room had bodices on their dresses that actually covered their bosoms. Cleavage was still plunging, but at least the nipples were covered.

  Talia gave slight thanks for that minor token, as she had to watch her husband ogle and pander to the many women that approached his table.

  Working her way up to the fourth floor in the building, Talia’s hope for the evening was waning. She looked down the hall on the last floor, noting she only had six more rooms to check in. At least they could leave the place soon.

  She stepped around the burly man that stood guard at the end of the hall. Curious, as there were no guards on the levels below, only at the bottom of the stairs.

  She knocked on the door closest to the stairs and the guard. With no answer, she opened the door.

  Inside, a woman sat alone on a bed, her back to the door. Talia could tell the bright turquoise dress the woman wore was similar to the ones the other prostitutes modeled, cut low all around the torso—showing everything but the nipples. The woman’s shoulders were softly shaking.

  “Fer the pot, miss?” Talia kept her voice soft so as to not startle the woman.

  The woman turned on the bed, and Talia almost dropped to the floor.

  Louise.

  Louise turned away from Talia. “Take it and go.”

  Frozen, it was a full minute before Talia realized Louise didn’t recognize her.

  Talia shuffled forward, grabbing the chamber pot underneath the foot of the bed. Striking the insane need to run to her sister and grab her and drag her down the stairs, instead, Talia backed out the entrance and closed the door, forcing herself not to say a word.

  She spun to the stairs, her chin on her chest as she went past the guard to reach the stairs. Chamber pot clutching her belly, Talia veered to the inside wall of the main area and made her path to the back door. It sent her behind Fletch’s chair, and she flung out her pinky, scratching his neck as she passed him and continued to the alley.

  Calm, he didn’t even twitch at the scrape. But he did set down his drink with haste.

  Within moments, he joined her in the back alley, pretending to relieve himself against the brick wall next to the cesspit.

  Talia had already dumped the chamber pot, but stayed bent over, shaking the pot, her back to Fletch as she whispered. “She’s inside. Top floor, first door on the right. Closest to the guard by the stairs.”

  “Do nothing, Talia. I will get her out,” Fletch hissed.

  “I will meet you in her room.”

  “Tal—”

  The door next to the bar opened and another patron stepped into the alley. Fletch coughed.

  A very pointed cough, but Talia refused to acknowledge the warning. She kicked the cover over the cesspit closed and tucked the pot under her arm.

  She scampered up the four flights of stairs as quickly as she could without drawing any attention to herself.

  Passing the guard, she moved back into the room. Louise still sat on the bed, silent to the movement behind her.

  Perfect.

  Talia lifted high the chamber pot and smashed it as hard as she could onto the floor. The porcelain shattered, sending jagged pieces far and wide on the floor of the room. Talia dropped to her knees.

  The door to the room opened almost instantly. The guard glared down at Talia. “Bloody id’it, ye fool wench.”

  “Oye slipped, sir.” She looked up at him, tears in her eyes. “Please don’t tell yer barkeep. I slipped.”

  “That’ll be all yer wages, wench. Clean it.”

  Talia nodded, her hands flying along the floor, trying to scrape the pieces into a pile.

  With a grunt, the guard closed the door.

  Talia looked up to the bed only to see Louise looking down at her with tears streaming down her face.

  “Ta...Tally?”

  A huge smile broke through the crusted muck on Talia’s face as she got to her feet, running over to clutch Louise.

  Holding Louise to her chest, she bent to her sister’s ear. “Do not say a word. There is no time to talk. No time for anything except for us to change clothes.”

  Louise nodded.

  Within two minutes, both sisters had stripped out of their dresses. Naked save for her boots, shift, and the binding around her breasts, Talia slipped the black maid’s dress up her sister’s body and tied the apron as quickly as she could around Louise’s waist.

  The door opened, sending Talia’s pounding heart into a frenzy as she jumped in front of Louise, her arms flying backward to keep her sister behind her.

  Fletch was in the doorway, glare unmistakable at the scene.

  But she saw the flash of understanding flicker across his face.

  His scowl deepened. He realized instantly what Talia intended. And he didn’t care for it one bit.

  He leaned backward out the door, a wide smile on his face as he looked down the hall in the direction of the guard. “This one. This one I’ll take.”

  Louise whimpered behind her, but Talia could only offer a squeeze on her arm to soothe her. Fletch stepped into the room, closing the door behind him, and Talia dropped Louise’s arm and quickly untied the handkerchief wrapped around her head.

  He went to Talia, grabbing her shoulders. Barely bridled anger threatened to pitch his voice loud. “Absolutely not, Talia.”

  Talia twisted out of his grip and spun to her sister. “It is already done. Louise is going to walk out of here and you are going to get her to safety.” She started wrapping the handkerchief around her sister’s head.

  “No.”

  Tucking escaping strands of Louise’s blond hair under the cloth, Talia glared over her shoulder at Fletch. “Yes. You are getting her to safety and then you are coming back for me.”

  She looked to her sister. “To your knees, Louise, hold out your apron.”

  Louise dropped to the floor, and Talia started scooping pieces of the broken pot into the apron. Fletch bent next to her, helping her to shovel pieces into the apron.

  The apron full, Talia grabbed Louise’s face. “You are going to walk out of the room with your head down. Go to the left, past the guard, and d
own the stairs. Do not look up at anyone. This is Fletch. You will trust him. He will follow you, catch you on the stairs, and guide you out. Keep your head down. Do not look up for anything. Do you understand?”

  Louise nodded.

  Talia looked to Fletch, her eyes pleading. He had to do this. She recognized how infuriated he was, and she would have to deal with that later. Right now, getting Louise out of this hellhole was the most important thing.

  He sighed, his lips drawn tight, but he nodded. “Get the bloody dress on, Talia.”

  Talia grabbed her sister’s arm, pulling her to her feet and pushing her to the door. Before fear overcame her sister, Talia shoved her out the door.

  Fletch moved past Talia, stepping into the hall. He looked toward the guard, pointing back over his shoulder as he closed the door. “No pot in there, I’ll be back up after a piss.”

  Talia set her ear on the door, listening. No sound, no scuffle.

  Fletch had to succeed. He had to.

  ~~~

  Where was he?

  How long did it take to squirrel away one frightened girl from the East End?

  Unless something had happened. Something bad.

  Sitting on the bed, Talia stared down at the silver strands wrapping the dark green jade on the handle of the blade in her hand. She had pulled it free from the sheath in her maid’s dress before putting Louise in the garment, and was now praying she wouldn’t have to use it. Yet every second that ticked by, she was getting closer and closer to that very possibility.

  Her thumb moved over the silver, counting the bumps, attempting to speed up time.

  It had been too long. Something happened to Fletch. She trusted him to get Louise out, but something had to have happened to him on the way back to her. It had been far too long.

  Or maybe it just seemed long.

  Or maybe he wasn’t coming back for her. Maybe she had demanded too much of him. Defied him for the last time. Did not offer up what he needed.

  Maybe he was abandoning her.

  Her fingers tightened around the blade of the handle. Stop. She needed to stop her imagination. Fletch was coming for her. He was.

  But when?

  The door opened in a fast swing, and Talia froze, unable to turn around to her fate. Her eyes closed, her breath held, she sat on the bed in Louise’s cheap gown, her back to the door.

  It was either Fletch or it wasn’t. If it wasn’t, she prayed the person didn’t recognize the fact that Louise had blond hair and now the person sitting in the room had greasy black tinted hair.

  “Wot the bloody ‘ell?”

  Heaven help her.

  Boot steps came rushing at her and Talia fumbled with the blade in her hand, nearly dropping it before she got her grip on it, and spun. But she spun too late, just as the guard snatched her by the hair and yanked her off the bed.

  She swung wide with the dagger, her thumb and forefinger pushed up against the guard of the blade, slicing into his arm.

  Her wrist crumbled with the force of steel hitting flesh. She wasn’t holding the blade like Fletch had shown her—instead pointing it straight out along her arm—weak—it was weak and now she knew why.

  The guard yelped, swearing, but his hand stayed tangled in her hair and he ripped at her scalp, swinging her to the side. Her feet flying from under her, Talia hit the wall, her head feeling as if it were being torn in two.

  Scrambling for footing, only the wood floor in her vision as she hung from his hand, Talia swung the blade, frantic. She didn’t hit flesh, and her flailing didn’t cut short his vicious chuckle. He caught her wrist with his free hand and slammed it onto the wall. The blade dropped from her hand.

  More boot steps. Something splintering above her.

  She fell to the floor, free from his grip. She got to her hands and knees only to see the brute tackling Fletch. They fell hard, two unyielding bodies crashing into a chair that crumbled under the mass. Fletch was on the bottom.

  It only took a second for Fletch to shove the man off of him, and he was to his feet in an instant. The brute staggered to one foot and one knee, but Fletch was quicker, his boot flying up, kicking the man in the face before he could stand straight.

  The blow sent the guard down. Unconscious at Talia’s feet.

  Fletch stepped past his legs and grabbed the dagger from the floor at the same time he snatched Talia’s hand.

  “We have to run.”

  She nodded, jumping over the brute’s legs.

  Out the door and down the stairs, they shoved past the bottom guard and could hear yelling behind them as Fletch slammed the door to the alley closed. They ran, Fletch dragging Talia down the alley, along a street, and into an alleyway cutting to the next street over.

  Eight blocks they ran—a haphazard path through mazes of alleys—before Talia could breathe no more.

  “Fletch—Fletch—” Her words were cut off by her lack of air. She yanked on his hand gripping hers.

  His feet slowed, but kept moving as he looked over his shoulder to her. “We have to keep the pace, Talia.”

  His fingers tightened around her left hand, his steps quickening. She grabbed his wrist with her right hand, digging her heels into the ground. The cold air was hitting her now, even with the blood pounding through her body from the run, it hit her hard in Louise’s low-cut, bare-threaded gown. Every breath a shock to her lungs. Her ears stinging from the cold.

  “Fletch, slow.”

  He looked at her again, looked at her face, at her panting. His gait tempered. “We cannot be here, Talia.” He glanced around, searching the surrounding buildings. A horse and cart passed, and he quickly dragged her across the street, ducking into an alley.

  He propped her against the wall, and Talia’s hands went to her sides, trying to squeeze out the sharp pains that had started to cut viciously across her innards below her ribs.

  Fletch stood in front of her, staring at her with his stance wide, shielding her against anyone passing by. “Our exit was supposed to be quieter than this, Talia. And now we’re thick into the exact area we should not be in.”

  “Louise?”

  “She is safe. The carriage should be nearing—or even at our house already.”

  Nodding, Talia pulled one hand from her side, gripping his left upper arm as she tried to suck in breath that would not fill her lungs.

  He instantly flinched away.

  “Your arm?” Talia asked.

  “It is nothing. It took the blow from landing on the chair—all my weight, all his weight.”

  “Can you move it?”

  “Yes.” He lifted his elbow, giving the limb a quick shake to prove it. “It is nothing, Talia. Can you breathe now? We need to move onward.”

  The dark forms had moved in silently around them in the alley. Small forms, but a number of them. Silent in their stealth. It wasn’t until the voice came out of the dark that Talia realized they were surrounded.

  “We be tak’n yer purse, now, guv.” A growl, it was meant to intimidate, even if it had the high pitch of a young man.

  Talia’s look ran along the shadowy group surrounding them in a half-circle against the wall. Fletch spun, drawing the dagger from the waistband of his trousers.

  Reckless.

  He was going to fight ten? Half of them not even fifteen years old. Two women. Three were tall, but thin and lanky. All of them looked desperate. Rabid. Foaming at the mouth at the rich threads that had just appeared in their alley.

  Fletch flashed the blade in a wide arc, defending the last of their space.

  Bloody reckless. Reckless when they could get out of there without anyone getting hurt. Talia had seen this countless times on these streets. This hodgepodge gang wanted a fight no more than she did.

  Talia went to her toes, hissing into the back of his ear. “Fletch, give them all the coin you have.”

  His hand jutted out behind him, pushing her to the wall. “Stay behind me, Talia. This was what I was meant to do.”

  She
stared at the back of his head in the shadows. What he was meant to do? Meant to do?

  Dammit. The idiot was being utterly reckless—reckless because he was waiting for death. Ready to die saving her.

  Her hands went onto his shoulders, fingernails digging in with her whisper. “Fletch, do not dare to think now is the time to be a bloody hero.”

  “Stay the hell behind me, Talia.”

  The tall, thin boy to the right took a jabbing step inward. Fletch swung the blade in his direction as he pushed her harder against the wall.

  She pulled herself up to his ear, her voice a wicked whisper. “You are not going to die in some imbecilic grand gesture of saving me, Fletch. No. You do not go down like that. Not because of me.” In one quick motion, she ducked under his right arm and ripped the blade from his hand as she jumped in front of him.

  She grabbed the dagger correctly this time, her thumb tucking over forefinger on the handle, the silver blade cutting out in a right angle to her fist. She could slice like this. Slice without her wrist crumpling from the force.

  Strong.

  She manifested her lowest guttural accent as she slowly flashed the knife in a half-circle at the group, finding each face. She was dressed as a whore, and she could very well speak like one. “Ye bloody rabble, ‘e be mine, I cornered ‘im fair—and I be cuttin’ each and every one of ye, if’n ye be takin’ a step.”

  The tall boy shuffled a step closer. “There be plent’ o’ ‘im, ducky.”

  She whipped the blade in his direction. “No, ye bleatin’ scrap dog. Ye want to put me—Redrock’s best whore in the gutter, and ‘e be comin’ after the lot of ye—ye know ‘e will. Now be gone with ye all, fer I cut ye just fer pleasure. This cull be mine.”

  Talia met each of the eyes she could see in the dark shadows, the blade high in front of her, moving slowly, with intent, in front of their faces.

  It took long seconds before a few along the edges started to shuffle off, grumbling. The rest followed suit within moments.