by Aliyah Burke
“We leave in five.” The words were precise and clear.
He had just killed a man without care. Jo wished to be anywhere but here. When those brown eyes focused back on her, she struggled not to show her own inner turmoil. There was no doubt in her mind he would kill her once he had what he was after. Not only that, but go after her family. She saw the lust in his eyes once he had killed that man. It was an aphrodisiac to him.
He glanced at her and gestured. She went without much hesitation. The knowledge she carried a knife not giving her much confidence after all. She just was not skilled enough. Escape had to be it. Despite the threat against her family.
“Can you ride?” She nodded. “Do not test me.”
He waved a hand and someone brought her a horse. Another lifted her into the saddle and she adjusted her skirt. At least she did not have to walk. They rode off, Jo securely in the middle and leaving the slain body behind.
As it had with Trystan and riding hard—time began to blur for her. There was a lot of backtracking and other diversionary tactics. Jo was surprised as she heard one of the men mention Dover. She knew where she was then.
The moment she had her hopes up a bag eliminated her sight. Arms yanked her off her mount and tossed her over a lap as she kicked and screamed. The smooth prick of a blade in her neck stilled her.
“Stay still. I would hate for this to end before it begins.”
Trouble was she believed him. She barely breathed and he withdrew the point he had stuck in her skin. There was no fight as they secured her arms behind her. Riding this way was anything but comfortable.
Alive and uncomfortable beat dead and comfortable any day.
She rode, draped over the horse like a sack of grain for a while longer. Once they stopped they dragged her unceremoniously off by her hair. The ground delivered a bone-jarring hit as she landed.
Yanked to her feet and propelled forward, she stumbled as she fought to maintain her footing. Down some stairs she went, she could hear doors closing, or opening, behind her.
“Here you go.”
Her hands were freed, bag yanked off, and she was shoved hard from behind. She landed painfully on her hands and knees upon a cold stone floor. She glanced back in time to see a door slam. She was in a cell. The pain in her wrists and knees from the fall she ignored as she took in her newest surroundings.
One torch lit the area allowing her to see. It was horrid. Her area was small with bars on three sides. A cold wall at her back. No bed. No anything.
Well, that was not entirely true. She could see a skull across from her in another cell. She shivered and rubbed her hands together in an attempt to get warm.
“Who are you?” A small voice questioned.
She peered around yet did not see anything. “Hello?”
“Here.”
To the right a hand waved by another bar. More than only her sat here in this place? She pushed on the door, trying to open it. No good.
“It needs the key.” The feminine voice had a slight accent.
“My name is Jo. Who are you?”
“Vittoria.”
Italian. “Do you know where we are?”
“The Devil’s house,” she spat.
Jo shivered again but did not back down from trying to see Vittoria. “How long have you been here?”
“Shh. Here they come. They do not like it when we talk.”
“Wait. Who are they?” She strained and could make out a small figure huddling in a corner.
The door swung open and two large men entered first followed by the man who had been part of the group who had brought her here. It was the one after that who drew her attention.
Dressed all in black, the fire from the torch did nothing to add warmth. The second those eyes met hers she knew. The Alchemist was a woman.
Darkness lingered, making everything fuzzy. The touch on the back of his head blasted it to the back as he reacted. Trystan rolled, striking out with deadly precision. It would have worked too, if the person there had not had the same training and blocked him.
“Calm down, Trystan! It is me, Anthony.”
One of Cam’s men. He struggled to sit up, no longer in the kitchen but on a couch. “Where is Jo?”
Anthony shook his head, his dark hair moving at the motion. Trystan swore, then swore again when he realized by the sun’s location it was almost afternoon.
He had failed her. Surging to his feet, he ran hard upstairs and grabbed his bags. He grabbed Jo’s sketchbook and flipped through it. One picture in particular grabbed his attention and he tore it out before shoving it into his pocket.
God, his head hurt like an explosion or blast went off in it. He stared at his reflection as he passed the mirror. One day’s growth on his face and no expression. At the bottom of the stairs, he drew up when Jack walked in the door. Even more surprising was who came after him. Duchess Haversham.
“Where are you going?” Jack asked.
“Hunting.” He would find her one way or another.
“You do not even know where she was taken.”
“I will find her.”
Jack shrugged. “Eventually. I saw the note and you do not have that kind of time.”
“So why are you standing here wasting what I have?” he snapped.
The duchess cut off Jack’s reply. “It is a wonder anything gets done with men in charge. So much bickering. Tell him what you did, Jack.”
Tryst had not ever seen a look of such discontent on his handler’s face. In addition, were he not so concerned about Jo, he would have been amused by it. As it was, he wanted to get on his way. “Tell me what?”
“Either you tell him or I will.” Duchess Haversham’s voice injected coldly.
“Jack?”Trystan questioned.
He blew out a breath, shoved a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair, then crossed his arms. But still said nothing.
Trystan’s annoyance rose with each wasted second. “What are you two talking about?”
Jack ground out, “He does not need—”
“Ballocks!” Haversham bit off the curse. “You increased the risk on Jo by leaking out the information of what she had seen.”
Trystan glared at the man who he had trusted for years. “What did you do?”
“It got out she had seen the face of the traitor.”
Trystan frowned. “Traitor?”
Jack nodded then cut his eyes toward Anthony. No way. Trystan huffed as he glanced between both Jack and the duchess. He read the truth in their eyes and dropped his bags. He spun and headed for the man by the entryway to another part of the house. It was a fluid move and he grabbed the man only to slam him back into the wall. Anthony’s eyes were wide.
“Where. Is. She?”
“Wha…what are you talking about?”
Trystan scowled. “You are a traitor. Where is she?”
He expected another denial. He did not get it. Anthony’s green eyes narrowed and gleamed with calculating coldness.
“You will never find her. Not alive anyway.”
Trystan wrapped a hand around his neck and began to squeeze. The defiance, which had blazed so brazenly moments ago, flickered, giving way to panic. He did not stop until Jack forcibly pulled him away from the mottled face.
“Enough!”
“Fiend seize it,” he growled. “Again you used her as bait.” Whirling on Anthony again, he got right up in his face. “You know my reputation, right?” Anthony glared but remained mute. “I will take that as a yes. It was no lie. And neither is this, if anything, anything happens to her, I will kill your family. And I will make sure you are there watching it all.”
He figured it was the lack of emotion in his voice, which resonated the most with the man. Anthony’s eyes widened before he wrested himself back under control.
“You cannot.”
“Why do you think that?” He withdrew a razor-sharp blade from his waistband and began cutting buttons off Anthony’s shirt.
“Sir?” A
nthony peered past to where Jack watched.
“You believe he can stop me before I stop your heart?” Trystan baited.
“Kill me and you will never find her.”
Trystan swallowed back more anger. “You will not get whatever promised you.” Narrowing his eyes, he continued, “Or are you willing to die for his cause. And condemn your family to the same fate?”
“You will never win.”
“And you will never—”
“Trystan!”
He paused at the shout, halting the knife, which sank into Anthony’s chest. “Tell me,” Trystan growled. Pain filled eyes watched him in disbelief. “Tell. Me. Because, trust me when I say I have no problem assisting you in your goal to die for his cause. Easy or hard, however is your decision. Either way, you still watch your family die.”
“Let him go, Trystan.”
He twisted the knife, slightly, uncaring about the gasp of pain. “Where? How do you think your father will withstand this? Or your wife?”
“Do…Dover.”
“Damn you, Trystan. Step away from him!”
He withdrew the blade and leaned in close to whisper. “Enjoy your death.”
“I told you,” Anthony said.
“And you had better be honest about it or you will see exactly what I promised.”
Trystan released his grip and pivoted around. Anthony crumpled to the floor and Trystan sheathed his weapon.
Jack moved in front of him, arms crossed.
“Out of my way, Jack.”
“You are being foolish.”
He sidestepped only to snarl softly when Jack mimicked the move. Twice more he tried to go by only to have Jack continue to block his way.
“Move.”
“No. We need a plan,” Jack demanded.
He snorted. “You and your plan can go to hell. Now move or I will move you.”
Jack straightened and glared down his nose at him. “Do not forget who you are talking to.”
Tryst blinked then launched a fist, clipping him hard in the jaw. Jack dropped and he barely caught him before the floor stopped him. Lowering him to it, he peered at the unconscious man.
“I have not forgotten. You are the bastard who made it worse for Jo,” Trystan whispered.
“He will not be happy when he wakes.” The duchess had an amused tone only to have it sober. “Go. I will wait with him. And Trystan?”
“Yes, Your Grace?”
“Bring her back safely. I have grown fond of her.”
He rose to his full height. “I will.”
It did not take long for him to be on his way. Ptolemy ran hard and sure; he was well rested. He pushed hard, resting the bare minimum. Slowing only upon reaching the outskirts of Dover a few days later.
Under the cover of darkness, he entered the town and headed for the first tavern. He was filthy and scruffy, not a problem for the type of place he was going clean-shaven members of peerage did not go. Not if they valued their life, anyway.
He tied Ptolemy and went to the door. As expected, the inside was loud and raucous. Tired barmaids squealed and flirted as they delivered tankard after tankard. No one paid much attention to him.
Securing a table of his own, he waited for a drink. Time for him to find out what he needed to know. It may have been a while since he had played a man who fit in well here, but he had not forgotten.
It still took him almost all night to get the information he desired. It had cost a bit of coin for drinks, however, he did not care. He had a location and that was all that mattered.
His opportunity came two nights later. It had killed him to wait, but he had had to, knowing full well he needed to not rush headlong into the situation. Numerous people came and went but he never saw Jo.
Tonight they had heavy cloud cover which added to the darkness. Content it was sufficient, he made his way in. There was no killing of those standing guard; he avoided them, not wanting to send out an early alert of his presence if he could help it.
He made his way through the house, frustration increasing with each passing moment. She was not there.
“I have to give them something!” a feminine voice declared.
Tryst retreated into the shadows and watched two maids stroll by.
“Why? They all die. I do not understand why we have to feed them.”
“The Alchemist wants it that way. Makes them last longer.”
Both women shuddered a bit and went in different directions. He followed after the one who mentioned feeding “them”, whoever they were. He watched with disgust as she ladled some slop in a bowl and spat into it before wiping the back of her mouth with her hand.
His stomach rolled at the thought of that being served to Jo. The woman went to a panel in the hall, near where he had hidden by a statue of a pharaoh and touched it, causing it to slide soundlessly back, disappearing to the side and leaving a dark opening.
He took a deep breath and slipped into the thick blackness. Sword drawn, he crept down the stairs. Eventually he saw a faint light and heard some muttered words. He hesitated and ducked into a small alcove as she passed back, the empty tray tucked under one fleshy arm.
Once she passed, he finished descending. The smell made his eyes water. Christ, what the hell was Jo going through? A single torch offered minimal light, but it was not enough to hide the despicable conditions. The place was lined by cells. Dirty cells.
He paused at the corner of one and peered down. A skinny female scurried to another part, eyes wide and overflowing with fear. Christ, they have young women here too. His heart went out to her but, right now, he had to find Jo. He kept on and found her almost diagonal to the other cage. At least he thought it was her.
This woman lay in a corner, her blue dress torn and dirty. “Jo?” There was little movement. “Jo?”
He shook the bars, cursing when it did not open, not that he had expected it to. Staring at the lock, he reached for his pocket withdrawing tools to pick it. He paused when she rolled toward him. Her face was battered and bruised, lips split.
They would die. All of them. Rage unlike anything he had felt before swarmed over him. He made short work of opening the door and hurried in to crouch beside her.
“Jo.” He tapped her cheek. “Open your eyes, baby.”
Only one opened. Only one could for the other was swollen shut. Fear so thick he could taste it filled that eye and broke his heart. Eventually it turned to confusion and disbelief.
Her lips moved but no sound escaped. He stroked her face with a gentle touch.
“I am here, baby. I am getting you out of here.”
A single tear ran down her face and he swiped it away with his thumb.
“Tryst?”
“Right here, hellcat. We need to go.”
She had been beaten. Badly. And he wanted revenge for it. First, he had to get her out of here.
“Door.”
He turned to check the door and found it had closed behind him. Shite. He had been so focused on Jo he had not even paid attention.
Her body shuddered and she tried to speak again. “What Jo? I will get you out of here.”
“Save the girl.” The words were so faint he had to strain to hear her. “Promise.”
“I will do what I can.”
“Thank you.” Her one moving eyelid closed only to fly back open. “Alchemist…she…careful.”
The words came out jumbled and only part of whatever she tried to tell him. He had to get her out of here, then they could talk. The Alchemist would pay for daring to harm her. He left her side and checked the door, then took her in his arms and left the cell. At the barred cell of the other female, he paused, readjusted his hold on Jo and undid the lock.
“Can you understand me?” She nodded, still in the corner with wide eyes. She was much younger than he had first estimated. A child. “Stay behind me and keep quiet.” He opened the door and walked off, it was her decision on whether or not to follow. His primary focus glued on Jo.
&nbs
p; It did not go as smoothly on his way out. He ran into two men. Stabbing them both in the chest, he kept the three of them moving. Jo’s head lolled on her neck, there was no response from her. He noticed how the young girl watched over her while he fought. Finally they made it out into the fresh air of the outside. He hesitated, his horse could not carry all of them. He would have to steal another. Keeping to the shadows, he made his way toward where he left Ptolemy.