Redemption (The Reckless Rockwoods Book 4)

by Monica Burns

  “I don’t have a weapon.”

  She shrugged at Ruckley’s expression of suspicion and disbelief then offered up the reticule. As he tugged at the bag’s drawstrings, Rhea watched in silence. Just as she’d hoped, with his attention focused on the small purse, it was unlikely he would think to search her. As he pulled the bag open, Rhea released a scoffing laugh.

  “They’re simply tools of my trade,” she bit out as a familiar sense of humiliation crashed over her. Amusement crossed Ruckley’s face as he pulled a French Letter out of the bag.

  “I don’t think we’ll be needing this,” he chuckled.

  “As you wish.”

  “You answered that a might too quick, my poppet.” Ruckley’s eyes narrowed with distrust as he studied her carefully.

  “Perhaps I have a small, but unpleasant gift to share with you.” Rhea smiled slowly, enjoying the look of indecision on his face.

  When she’d been under Ruckley’s control the French letters had ensured she’d didn’t suffer from disease while being forced to lay with men. They were just one of many tricks she’d used to protect herself. It was the suggestion that she might have something disagreeable to pass on that made the man hesitate.

  “Why do I think you’re lying to me, Rhea?” His distrust made her laugh.

  “You seem to forget I’ve always spoken my mind, and I’ve never lied to you,” Rhea said with a careless shrug as she offered him a complacent smile. “Believe me or don’t believe me. The choice is yours.”

  With a grunt Ruckley shoved the French letter back into the small bag and tossed it back to her. The man’s irritation quickly evaporated as he took a step back and gestured toward the stairs. When Rhea hesitated, a sly smile curved Ruckley’s lips as he leaned forward.

  “Come now, Rhea, surely you’re not afraid of me.” The man’s voice held too much complacency, and it aroused Rhea’s anger. She arched her eyebrows and stared at him in disgust.

  “Fear you?” she sneered. “I hate you too much to fear you.”

  “Excellent,” he chuckled as his eyes glittered with lust. “That’s the fire I want to see in my bed. It’ll make things exciting. Shall we?”

  With a sense of doom, Rhea moved forward to silently climbed the stairs. As she reached the second floor, she saw the door to Ruckley’s rooms at the end of the corridor. On each side of the wall were doors to rooms she knew far too well. Rooms where she’d given up a small piece of herself to every man who’d used her body. Bile rose up to flood her mouth, and she gagged then swallowed hard in her effort not to throw up.

  Behind her Ruckley laughed. He knew she was afraid, but he didn’t know why. She wasn’t afraid of him. What terrified her was that deep down inside she’d been imagining how good it would feel when she killed him. The idea of watching Ruckley’s stunned expression as his life slipped away actually filled her with pleasure. She’d been thinking it would be hard to pull the trigger. If anything it would be difficult not to enjoy it. Ruckley brushed past her, the foul stench of him making her stomach roil. He opened the door leading into his rooms and leaned back against the doorframe as he invited her to enter with a sneering smile.

  Compared to the dimly lit corridor the room was bright, and God help her, almost cheery. A fire burned in the hearth while a low-burning oil lamp, sitting on a roughly hewn table, illuminated one small corner of the room. As her gaze swept toward the bed she grew rigid at the sight of Edgar, hands behind his neck, reclined against some dirty-looking pillows. Disgusted by the boy’s depraved grin, she whirled around to see Ruckley closing the door behind him.

  “Our agreement did not include anyone else,” Rhea said in an icy voice. She was now certain the moment she pulled the trigger she wouldn’t just enjoy watching Ruckley take his last breath. She’d revel in it.

  “What I said was that I want to saddle and ride you, poppet, and I intend to do just that,” Ruckley said with a smug smile before he grinned at Edgar. “The boy is here to watch how it’s done.”

  “To watch or give you pointers on what to do?”

  The moment she spoke she realized her mistake. An instant later, the back of Ruckley’s hand slammed against her face. The blow connected with the bruised area of her jaw where Edgar had struck her days before. Rhea staggered backward until her back was pressed into a chest of drawers. Pain shot its way through her head, and each breath she took seemed to exacerbate the throbbing in her jaw. Her hand fell down to the pocket of her dress as she tried to focus on where both men stood in the room.

  “Enough lollygagging. Get out of your clothes, Rhea, before I cut them off.” All amusement was gone from Ruckley’s voice as he flipped open a switchblade. The long narrow blade flashed in the firelight. Stomach churning with fear and pain, Rhea realized her hands were clammy and cold. Slowly she set her purse on the table. With her back to Ruckley, she began to undo the buttons of her dress.

  “Turn around, poppet. I want watch you.” At Ruckley’s command, she heard Edgar snicker.

  Humiliation slashed through her as she turned to face them both. She pushed the top portion of her dress off her shoulders. The lascivious look on Ruckley’s face filled her with horror as she realized she might not be able to avoid letting the bastard touch her. No, she’d die before she’d let that happen. The dress pooled at her feet, and she picked it up, folded it, and turned to lay it on the table. As she pretended to smooth out the wrinkles in the gown, she carefully pulled the pistol out of the dress pocket and gripped it firmly.

  “Leave the dress be, Rhea. Turn around and show me that cunny of yours, because I plan on fucking you more than once tonight, me girl.”

  Rhea drew in a deep breath, cocked the pistol, and turned around. The moment the two men saw her weapon their eyes widened. Edgar’s reaction was typical of someone staring down the barrel of a gun. Ruckley’s reaction was different. The man stared at her for a long moment before he laughed boisterously. Oddly enough his laughter didn’t surprise her. Somehow she’d expected it. Ruckley chuckled as he played with the switchblade in his hand.

  “Now exactly what do you think is going to happen here, my poppet?” Ruckley shook his head in amusement. “Even if I let you go, do you really expect to simply walk out of here, dressed in nothing but your drawers?”

  The question threw her for a moment as she stared at the crime lord. He was right she wouldn’t be able to leave wearing nothing but her petticoats. A cold smile touched her lips as she met his gaze steadily. She shook her head.

  “I won’t have to,” she said quietly. Ruckley raised an eyebrow at her response, his lips curling back over his teeth like a cadaver.

  “Now exactly what does that mean, dearie?”

  “It means you’ll be dead and unable to stop me from dressing.” Her coldly spoken reply made Ruckley snort.

  “You never cease to surprise me, Rhea.”

  The man shifted his position, and Rhea knew her unusual behavior unsettled him. She allowed a small smile to touch her lips. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Edgar slide off the bed.

  “Don’t, boy,” she said softly. “One more step and I’ll kill him. Then where will you be?”

  “I’ll tell the police you killed him.”

  “And I’ll tell them you’re lying.” Rhea didn’t take her gaze off of Ruckley who was now looking distinctively nervous. “Who will they believe, Edgar?”

  Without a word, Edgar slowly sank back down onto the bed. Ruckley’s eyes narrowed as he studied her carefully. She didn’t flinch beneath his harsh gaze, and she saw an odd expression flutter across his face. It wasn’t so much a look of fear, but bewilderment. The man was uncertain as to how to react to her behavior. She could read it in his eyes.

  “Now then, Rhea, you’ve had your fun at my expense. Give up the gun to old Ruckley,” he wheedled.

  “No. I don’t think so,” she said as she took pleasure in seeing the man beginning to sweat.

  “Don’t be a fool, woman. Everyone downstairs saw you come
up here willingly.” There was a growing note of anxiety in Ruckley’s voice, and it made her smile.

  “What you don’t seem to understand, Ruckley, is that I don’t care,” she said with a quiet calm that surprised her. “I came here tonight knowing that I might be hung for killing you, but I decided it didn’t matter.”

  “Surely we can come to some arrangement, Rhea. It doesn’t have to be like this between us.” Fear invaded his voice as he pleaded with her.

  “No,” she said as she leveled her pistol at him. “It’s too late for—”

  Rhea didn’t get to finish as Ruckley flung his blade at her and it sliced into her arm, just above the elbow. She cried out in pain as Ruckley lunged toward her. Acting simply on sheer self-preservation, she supported her injured arm with her free hand and pulled the trigger.

  The gunshot ricocheted off the walls of the room as Rhea stared at the man in front of her. Ruckley’s mouth moved but no words came out as blood spurted out of the hole in the side of his neck. The pleasure she’d been experiencing at Ruckley’s fear had vanished. Where was it? Where was the pleasure, the satisfaction, the enjoyment she thought she’d feel right now. It was missing. Helplessly, she watched Ruckley slowly fall to the floor.

  Sinking to her knees beside the dead man, the gun slipped from Rhea’s fingers as she stared at the life pouring out of Ruckley. Why didn’t she feel gratified? She’d killed the man who’d tormented her and others she loved. A loud cry roared out of Edgar and she fell backward as the boy threw himself on top of her. Pinned beneath the boy, she jabbed at his face with her fingers trying to make him release her.

  “You sorry bitch. You killed him.”

  There was a look of madness on Edgar’s face that terrified her. With a twist of her body she tried to knock him off balance and escape his hold. She gained a small amount of leverage only to have it disappear as Edgar pulled string from his coat pocket and wrapped it around her neck. In seconds, her supply of air disappeared. Instinct forced her to claw at the rope, but she knew it wouldn’t help. Somewhere in the back of her brain, she heard Ruckley cackling.

  The bastard would have enjoyed this, just as he would have enjoyed carving her up with his switchblade. The knife. Rhea flung out her hand, her fingers scrabbling for the knife Ruckley had thrown at her. Pain stabbed at her throat as Edgar tightened the cord around her neck. Fingertips scraping with desperation across the rough wood floor, she jerked as the blade sliced into one of her fingers. Ignoring the pain, she tried to remain conscious as her fingers fumbled as she blindly searched for the switchblade’s handle.

  Lungs on fire from lack of air, she fought to grasp the weapon that would ensure she could breathe again. The cold metal of the blade in her hand, she threw her arm in a wide arc upward and slashed at the boy strangling her. Almost immediately, the pressure on her neck vanished. As she gasped for air, she slashed at the boy again. Edgar made a gurgling sound and he fell forward on top of her. A metallic, coppery smell filled her nostrils as she continued to struggle to fill her burning lungs with air.

  Choking from a lack of oxygen, Rhea frantically pulled at the cord wrapped around her neck, and allowed a huge rush of air to fill her body. With a strength born of desperation, she pushed Edgar off her body. Terrified he might throttle her again, she scrambled backward like a spider until she reached the wall. Her hands felt wet, and as she raised them to the light, she shuddered with revulsion at the blood covering her hands.

  In blind panic, she looked down at the front of her petticoats and the large, dark stains on her corset. Frantic to rid herself of the blood, she tried to reach the lacing on her back. The cut on her arm made it too painful to undo the lacings. With a sob, she curled up against the wall. Every part of her seemed to ache, as her eyes remained fixed on the bodies of the two men she’d just killed.

  Somehow, she was certain they were merely toying with her. They weren’t really dead. They were simply waiting for her guard to slip, and then they would rise up to inflict more pain and suffering on her. Dry, rasping coughs continued to rip through her body as she drank in deep breaths.

  A gentle hand touched her arm, causing Rhea to scream and violently strike out at the touch. She scooted away out of fear. Again the touch came, and through the misty blur of blood and mayhem, Rhea saw Percy’s face. She raised her hand toward him then saw the blood on her fingers. Horrified, she jerked away from him.

  “Don’t touch me.”

  “Christ Jesus, Rhea. It’s me, Percy.”

  “Get away from me,” she cried out again.

  § § §

  Percy stared down at Rhea in horror. She was covered in blood just as Jamie had described. He could see she was bleeding from a wound on her arm, but the blood on her corset prevented him from seeing whether she bore any other wounds. He reached out to her again, but this time he didn’t touch her, he simply offered his hand.

  “Rhea, look at me. It’s over, sweetheart. They can’t hurt you anymore.”

  At his words, she looked up at him, and the glazed look of terror in her eyes made him want to scoop her up in his arms. She was clearly in shock, and she had begun to tremble badly. He stretched out his hand to her once more, but she retreated from him. Harry, the boy he’d met the other night, appeared at his side and touched Percy’s arm.

  “Let me try sir. Perhaps, she’ll come with me.” At the boy’s suggestion, Percy stepped away from her and watched as Harry squatted down in front of Rhea.

  “It’s all right, Miss Rhea. We won. Fanny, Vincent, all the others, and me—we’re all safe, just like you wanted. You saved us.”

  Rhea stared at the boy, and her expression was one of confusion. Her eyes shifted to where Ruckley and Edgar lay still on the floor, and she shuddered. Rhea’s gaze swung back to Percy. It was obvious she was trying to discern if Harry was telling her the truth. As if reading her mind, Harry scrambled over to one of the bodies and prodded the corpse.

  “See, Miss Rhea. They’re dead. They can’t ‘urt you anymore. You did it. You saved us, just like you always said you would.” Harry scramble back to her side, and stretched out his hand to her. “Come on now, we need to get you home. Mr. Rockwood has a carriage all ready for you.”

  Hesitantly, Rhea stretched out her hand to Harry. When he took her hand in his, Harry helped her rise to her feet. “Now then, Miss Rhea. Mr. Rockwood and me, we’re gonna take you to the carriage. Can you walk?”

  Rhea nodded at the question. Harry stood on one side of her, as Percy gently wrapped his arm about her waist, his fingers cupping her elbow. She moaned and, he bent his head toward her.

  “Will you let me carry you, sweetheart?” At his question, she looked up at him, her eyes glazing over again with pain and sadness.

  “I can’t marry you now,” she whispered. “I can’t even be your mistress.”

  For the first time in his life, Percy felt utterly helpless. She’d always been so strong, but whatever strength she’d possessed had disappeared until all he could see was her vulnerability. She was exposed completely, and it terrified him that she might never come back to him.

  “It’s all right, Rhea. Everything is going to be all right, sweetheart” he murmured as she sagged against him.

  She didn’t protest as he gently lifted her up into his arms. When she curled up into his chest, he pressed a kiss on her temple and carried her out of the room that held enough terror to last both of them a lifetime.

  Chapter 19

  “Why did you choose to address this yourself, Miss Bennett instead of calling on Scotland Yard to investigate the matter?” The inspector’s voice held a note of censure as he wrote something down on the small note card he held. Rhea eyed him coldly, and the man frowned slightly as he looked up to meet her gaze.

  “Exactly how many complaints a month on matters such as this do you receive, Inspector Graves, and how many are followed up on quickly?” At her question, the man had the good grace to flush beneath his swarthy features.

  “I can
assure you Miss Bennett, every request Scotland Yard receives for assistance is acted upon,” the man replied with a touch of umbrage.

  “I don’t doubt that, inspector, but it wouldn’t have helped Fanny, would it? By the time Scotland Yard investigated the matter, Fanny would have been forced into prostitution. A child not yet ten.”

  Rhea glared at the man seated across from her. The inspector’s affronted expression had collapsed into chagrin. The man cleared his throat and nodded.

  “You’re right, Miss Bennett, it would have been too late for the child, but you cannot deny you put yourself in harm’s way.”

  “Inspector Graves, I was sold to Ruckley by my father shortly before my nineteenth birthday. I knew what Fanny would endure, and I refused to let that happen to a child.”

  Rhea closed her eyes for a brief moment as she realized she wasn’t being completely honest. She’d gone to the Bull and Hare with the intent to murder Ruckley. In the end it had been self-defense, but her motives were not completely pure. She’d plotted to kill a man, another human being. No matter how vile, debauched, and evil Ruckley had been, planning his death had been wrong. It made her no less callous than the man himself. But she wasn’t sorry for it. She refused to feel guilty for an act she performed in self-defense. She opened her eyes again to meet the inspector’s chagrined and sympathetic gaze.

  “I apologize, Miss Bennett, I’d not been made aware of this aspect to the case,” Graves said quietly. “I understand why you felt the need to go to the child’s aid. Nonetheless, the end result could have been far more calamitous than it was. But as it is, two criminals are dead, and you’re safe.”

  “Thank you, is there anything else you need to know?”

  “Just a couple more questions,” Graves said as his gaze skimmed his notes. “I was informed by several witnesses at the tavern that you went willingly with Mr. Ruckley to his rooms. Is that correct?”

  “Yes.” Rhea didn’t expand on her answer as she tried to breathe, frightened as to where the inspector’s questioning was headed.