Shaking off Jones’s hold, Charlie took an unsteady step forward. As his vision began to clear, a flash of purple toward the back of the room caught his attention. There. Mina’s dress, and the back of her head. Jane and her friends were leading Mina out of the public house.
He breathed a sigh of relief, wincing at the way the exhaled air stung his cut lip. Behind him, he heard McNair’s churlish laughter. The bastard’s insults to Mina echoed in his ears.
He lurched toward McNair, intending to grab by the shoulders and spin him around. He’d land another facer right to McNair’s broken nose, and then he’d slam his fist so hard into the blackguard’s gut he’d be seeing stars for a week. Except he hadn’t anticipated how jerky his motions would be. Or how little control he’d have over his body, which no longer wanted to follow his orders after that collapse to the floor. He must have smacked his head harder than he’d thought.
No matter. He was a Thatcher, and Thatchers knew how to fight—it was the only damn thing he’d learned from his father, after all.
He changed course mid-swing, borrowing McNair’s body slam move. Something about poetic justice and irony blipped in his thoughts in the mere seconds it took for him to collide into McNair. Mina would have liked that. She was always going on about some book she’d read.
She was so damn intelligent. Too intelligent for a brute like him.
He planted a foot in front of McNair’s, then pressed a shoulder into his back. The impact sent a bolt of white-hot pain through Charlie, but it jolted McNair into the very people he’d been bragging to. Plates and tankards not already flung in the ensuing fight met the floor as another man fell back against the table, knocked off his feet by McNair’s tumble. Gang members got to their feet, fists raised.
Two men held McNair back, but he struggled against their grip, sputtering out insults, blood, and spit with equal vigor.
Charlie ignored McNair’s venom. He felt the weight of the men’s gazes upon him like the burn of a hot iron, singeing off the top layers of his flesh, leaving him exposed as something different from the rest of the gang.
It did not matter what his opponent did next, for if McNair did not finish what was between them, these men would. Here, in this public house he’d come to think of as a second home, Charlie was not their brother. Not anymore.
As McNair broke free from the men tethering him, a loud bang echoed through the bar. Charlie turned toward the sound too quickly, his vision swimming again with the sudden movement. But he didn’t need to see clearly to know the sound. It was the bell they rung to announce last call.
The black dots dancing before his eyes cleared. Matthew Harper stood atop a table toward the back of the public house, the bell held in one raised hand, and a long metal rod in the other. Jane must have shown him where the bell was kept—good on Jane, always knowing the right thing to do in every circumstance. He’d lost count of the number of scrapes she’d pulled him out of over the years.
Every eye in the bar was on Harper, a man kept in Zacharias Baines’s inner circle more for his brilliant mind than his strength. But in case any man dared defy the tall, lanky pawnbroker, they only needed to look at the glowering Jason Baines, positioned on the ground behind the table.
“Enough,” Harper commanded, his usual level tone replaced by firm demand.
All at once, the chaos silenced. Charlie would have to wait to find Mina, for now he didn’t dare to move. Some men paused mid-hurl of their tankards, whilst others were immobile, their fists raised at their intended target but never striking. He suddenly understood why rumors swirled that the elder Baines intended Harper to be his son Jason’s second-in-command someday. Charlie had initially dismissed the man as weak, for Harper had the manners and speech of a toff, due to his attendance at a ragged school and the teachings of his adopted father.
There was nothing weak about Harper now. Disgust at their lack of civility emanated off him in waves, his gray eyes steely as he peered down his hawkish nose at them. Charlie backed away from McNair and pressed the sleeve of his coat to his bleeding lips and nose, as if by staunching the flow of claret he could pretend he’d never instigated this fight.
But he had.
This was all on him.
A fact no one would let him forget, if Jason’s scowl was any indication. The knot in his stomach tightened as his head pounded. Jason had been the kid who’d tied cans to the tails of feral dogs and laughed when the beasts started at the noise. His temper hadn’t improved any in the last eleven years.
“The next man who throws a punch will be meeting with me,” Jason said, his voice as lethal as Harper’s had been authoritative.
For a second, so quick Charlie wondered if he’d imagined it, Harper’s eyes narrowed with disapproval at Jason’s speech. But then his expression flattened once more into staid blankness, and he nodded. “So we suggest you go back to your drinks. Let the fiddler play, and be nice to your barmaid.” He cast a glance about the room, looking for Jane and not seeing her. “Wherever she is.”
Once Harper jumped down from the table, conversation resumed in the bar, as people took their seats, careful not to sit on any of the spilled mutton, potatoes, or clay shards. If one ignored the debris, it almost appeared like a normal night at the Three Boars.
Another Chapman man, one Charlie knew by sight only, laid a hand on Jason’s shoulder. He turned to answer the man’s inquiry, gesturing for Harper to do the same.
Charlie didn’t waste time. All that mattered now was that he find Mina and make sure she was safe. He grabbed the wipe Jones offered him, and he bolted as fast as he could with every limb of his body still sore from his fall, toward the rear where Jane had taken Mina. He intended to make a quick exit through the back door, which opened onto an alley frequented by beggars sleeping off their blue ruin haze.
The door to the storeroom opened, and a familiar face popped out. “Psst, Thatcher,” Kate O’Reilly hissed, waving him over. “In here.”
If Kate was here, then Jane probably was too. The two had been joined at the hip ever since the death of Kate’s father had forced her into the rookeries four years ago. Mina would probably still be with them.
He ducked into the storeroom. As soon as he closed the door, Mina surged out from behind a row of stacked boxes, hurling herself against him. “Charlie, oh my God, Charlie!” He grunted at the sudden impact, his bruised ribs protesting with a sharp stab of pain.
“Oh!” She exclaimed, drawing back from him guiltily. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that. Of course you’re hurting—”
He didn’t let her finish, grabbing for her and pulling her back to him for a quick hug. He released her a second later, but it felt longer. He forgot about the other people in the room. It was a common occurrence around Mina. The rest of the world seemed to fade away when she was around.
“None of that,” he told her, his voice rougher than he meant it to be, tinged with the effort it took to stand up. “It’s better when you’re here.”
The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. It’d always been better with her. He’d never expected to admit it to her, though.
She peered up at him with those crystal blue eyes still wet with tears, and his heart did a somersault. “How can you say that, when I’m the reason you got hurt?”
“It’s not your fault.” He started to smooth his hand through her hair—to finally, finally touch her the way he’d been longing to all damn night—before catching sight of the crusted blood on his bruised knuckles. That would never do. Mina had already been sullied by the violence tonight; the last thing she needed was to have blood flaking off into her long, satiny tresses.
“It’s McNair’s fault.” Kate’s voice pierced through the quiet haze of their reunion, reminding him that they were not alone. “Not the first time he’s picked a fight with a woman.”
Mina dropped a quick curtsy to the assembled party. “Mrs. O’Reilly, Mr. O’Reilly. Jane.”
A familiar pang stabbed Cha
rlie’s chest at Mina’s show of formality, one more reminder of the difference between them. Zacharias was the only person he’d ever bowed to, but Mina was high-class, through and through.
“Kate and Daniel will do fine,” O’Reilly piped up, slinging his arm around his wife’s waist. She leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder.
Again went that knife to his chest, a slippery, slick shot he couldn’t wrangle into submission. Such was his fate, forever longing for a woman he couldn’t have. He could only wish that whoever she married treated her well, and made her happy—because if he didn’t, the bounder would have to answer to him.
But he couldn’t think of that now. Not when half of Chapman was in the bloody bar, ready to draw blood. “Nice as it is to see you again, we’ve gotta leave. Not safe for her here anymore.”
“We know. That’s why we’re all here,” Kate said. Her gaze was fastened on Mina’s face, concern darkening her eyes. “I’m sorry, Mina. This must be frightening.”
Mina blinked at her for a second, then glanced at him. He knew her well enough—knew her better than his own self sometimes—to understand her wordless inquiry. Could she trust Kate? He nodded.
“I’m tougher than I look,” Mina said slowly, pressing her lips together. “But I do appreciate your offer.”
Kate nodded. “I’ve met your brothers. I imagine it takes a lot to frighten you.”
Jane let out an undignified snort, and Mina’s laugh rang through the tiny storeroom. Relief momentarily surged through him. As long as she was happy—maybe this would all be worth it.
If he was still alive at the end.
He bit back a groan, not wanting to worry Mina. This was his battle. She’d simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time.
“Can’t do any plannin’ until we get outta here,” he said, with a pointed look toward the door. “We’ll deal with the rest once Mina’s safe.”
She didn’t meet his gaze, frowning down at the dirt floor. “I’m sorry, Charlie.”
“I don’t wanna hear that from you.” He resisted the urge to pull her toward him, to smooth away the anxious furrow of her brows. “You’ve got nothin’ to be sorry about, you understand? McNair’s a blackguard. Always has been, always will be. You did nothin’ wrong.”
She gave him a small smile, yet that light didn’t reach her eyes. He’d have his work cut out for him, trying to convince her she wasn’t to blame. Hell, all she heard from those brothers of hers was her duty—what she owed the family simply because she’d been born female.
“All right then,” Jane declared, wiping her hands on her apron. He allowed himself a little bit of hope, for whenever she was in charge of anything, the problem was solved efficiently. He’d known her since he first joined Chapman as a cub, and had been friends with her brother before he’d been pinched.
“Kate and Daniel will leave first, and make sure there’s no one waiting in the alley. Once you’ve made sure it’s fine, Kate, come back and knock on the door and Mina and Charlie will go out,” Jane instructed. “I’ll go to the front and try to talk sense into the boys, as much as anyone can when they get this way.”
Kate and Daniel exited, and Jane went to follow them.
Charlie caught her arm before she left. “Thank you, Janey. For helpin’ Mina.”
“Always,” Jane assured him, with one of her rare grins. “It’s what family does. We’ve got to look after each other.”
He smiled back at her. “You’re a good gel.” Not for the first time, he thanked the lord for Jane. She was the closest thing he had to a sister, and he depended on her sage advice.
And she’d saved Mina, which made him infinitely indebted to her.
Jane left, and Charlie allowed himself the briefest of comforts by standing next to Mina. Closer than was truly proper, breathing in the sweet vanilla scent of her soap and pretending that the nearness of her did not cause his mind to stop and splutter.
In the minute that passed before Kate returned, their eyes locked. He forced a smile onto his split lips to soothe away the fear splashed across her face.
“Hey now, Minnie,” he murmured, daring to lay a hand on her arm—as friends would do, of course. Nothing more. “It’s gonna be fine. I’d never let anyone hurt you.”
“I know,” she said, the absolute certainty in her voice shaking him. “You’ve always protected me. I’m not worried for me. I never am with you.”
How could she believe in him with such conviction? He’d been a thief most of his life—and his barkeeping job wasn’t much higher on the morality scale. He shook his head.
“I’ll think of something to say,” she murmured. “Something that will remove you and Isaac from Joaquin’s cross-hairs.”
“Don’t you worry about me,” he said. “I’ll handle it.” Mason was the least of his worries—and that proved how dire his situation was, if Joaquin Mason coming for him was an afterthought.
“You always do.” She started to scoot closer to him. That would never do, for no matter how much he longed for her, she deserved better than a beat-up orphan with no more than a tiny one-room flat to his name.
He stepped back, even though it took every damn bit of willpower he possessed.
The knock saved him from further response. He opened the door, stepping out into the hall where Kate waited. Using his larger frame to shield Mina, he hurried her out and into the alley behind the bar he’d always thought of as his second home.
Now he wasn’t so sure if Chapman territory really was where he was welcome.
Chapter 3
“When I find that bastard Isaac, I’m gonna rip him limb from limb.” Charlie’s vow broke the suffocating silence in the hack where the narrow bench forced them to sit too close for Mina’s mind to truly relax.
It was the first thing he’d said since he’d helped her into the hack and slid onto the tattered squabs next to her. For once, he hadn’t protested the cost of the fare from Ratcliffe to Stepney Green. He hadn’t even protested when they’d had to go out of their way to hail a cab, for drivers never liked to enter these parts at night. The gas lamps that kept the rest of London cheery and relatively safe stopped at the poorer districts, leaving the rookeries swamped in inky blackness. Mina had never minded the dark when she was with Charlie, never doubted his ability to protect her from the sundry dangers.
“Don’t blame Isaac. He’s not the one who attacked me.” She picked at a glob of someone’s mutton on the skirt of her dress. She ought not to have bothered, for the dress was as good as ruined, and she had plenty of other gowns. But it gave her something to do. Something other than focus on the sharpness of Charlie’s promise, the way his lips turned up in a snarl. Sometimes she forgot how familiar he was with brawling, making his point through the swing of fists and the slosh of blood.
“I’m so sorry you were hurt,” she said quietly. “Isaac too. Jane will make sure he’s tended to, right? Maybe I shouldn’t have left.”
“He was supposed to protect you, not the other way around,” Charlie said. “He’s the last thing you should be worryin’ ’bout.”
She gave up on picking off the dried food from her dress. It made no difference. “I can’t help but feel this is my fault. If I hadn’t told Isaac he didn’t need to watch me so closely—”
“Now, you see here.” Charlie’s sharp tongue made her sit up straighter. “I won’t have any of that. Those brothers of yours keep you locked up. All any caged bird wants is wings.”
She managed a tiny smile. “That’s awfully lyrical.”
“Maybe I’ve been rememberin’ some of those books you used to read me.” Charlie scratched at his jaw, blood flaking off on his fingers, one more thing that threw her off-balance.
Her fingers inched toward his free hand through their own volition, even though the forced closeness with him—this raw, utterly masculine version so different from the boy she’d known—set her nerves aflame.
“They were good books,” she agreed. “I wish we could go
back to that time. I hate that you got injured.”
“It’s nothin’.” He shifted in the seat so that he could look her directly in the eye, his muscular thigh brushing against hers, all coiled power when she felt so small. “I’ve had worse.”
She knew that was the truth. When she’d first met him, all those years ago, he was curled up on the steps of Joaquin’s King of Spades hell, blood soaking his clothes, streaming from his nose. A toff had caught him filching, and beaten him within an inch of his life. He hadn’t wanted to go home, not when his father would have delivered another thrashing for getting caught.
Joaquin had refused to let him inside, but she’d sneaked out and brought Charlie some bread and cheese. She’d tended his wounds, made him laugh.
They’d been friends ever since.
So she didn’t miss his quick hiss of pain as he moved, even if he tried to hide it with that boyish grin that usually made her insides tingle.
“Really, I swear,” he said in response to her arched eyebrow. “’Tis but a few scratches.”
“Charles Ephraim Thatcher—” She wielded his full name like a whip, remembering how Jane had always done the same to Cyrus after a fight when they’d been courting. It’d always worked for Jane, but with Charlie it only produced a scowl.
Still she proceeded, undaunted, because she’d learned growing up with two brothers that men could be devilishly foolish until a woman made them listen to reason.
She grabbed his sleeve, gesturing to the blood that saturated the fabric. “You’re hurt. And I’m not fragile. I can handle the truth.” While she gentled her tone, her frown matched his in fierceness. “I never had to remind you of that before.”
“Minnie, I’m damnably aware of how strong and clever you are. Too clever to be spendin’ times with the likes of me, that’s for sure.” He rolled up his sleeves, letting out a grunt of discomfort as the carriage shook. The wheel banged over a rut in the road, jostling them closer together, the edge of her skirt draped over his thigh, their shoulders rubbing against each other.
When a Rogue Falls Page 13
