“I may be a mangy cur,” Ernie growled, “but I draw the line at hitting a woman. Don’t touch her.”
“All right, Ern, as you say. No harm done. She won’t even know.”
“She’d better not, Fleet, and next time she wakes, she gets your dinner while you find something else.”
Fleet whined in protest, but Poppy fought a smile, which seemed impossible, given her situation. Still, she hadn’t expected chivalry in her captors, and it was a pleasant surprise.
Her amusement faded as the reality of her situation sank in. Ernie might oppose her being beaten, but that hardly made him a gentleman. There was no telling what would lie ahead, how long she would be here, or if another man tasked with minding her would be so accommodating where violence was concerned.
Poppy swallowed and forced herself to remain as limp as possible.
Oh, Alex… Please hurry…
Chapter Twenty
“Your best bet is in the last building, men. Scouts tell me the other two are dark and filled to the brim with stock.”
Alex nodded once, smirking at Jackal as they headed out of the inn. “And have your scouts removed the excess stock from these sadly filled warehouses?”
Jackal smiled just a little. “I’ve no idea what the scouts have done on their own time and without my express knowledge. They’re Tailor’s men, not mine.”
Fritz snorted once, then turned it to a cough, clearing his throat with a frown.
“All right, there, Weaver?” Jackal asked, thumping him on the back.
“Perfect,” Fritz fake coughed.
Two of the men brought their horses forward, as well as their own, while a third brought a great black stallion out, stopping before Jackal.
Gabe scoffed loudly.
“How’s a man who spends his entire life at sea in possession of such a fine animal as that? Not exactly feasible.”
Jackal mounted his horse smoothly, then raised a brow at Gabe.
“When you’ve grown as rich as I have, Rogue, you’ll find you can be in possession of anything you like, feasible or not.”
That earned him a round of appreciative laughter from the group, and Jackal was the first to sober.
“Good luck, men. Trace, get your woman back and slit a few throats for her.”
Alex nodded almost obediently. “Thank you, Jackal. For everything.”
Jackal dipped his chin in return. “A pleasure for a brother in arms. Just remember, I was never here.” He nodded once more, then kicked his heels in, sending the horse bolting away from the inn.
Alex watched him go for a moment, feeling a faint sense of disappointment and abandonment that the best of them were riding from them, though he understood the need for it. Jackal couldn’t be involved and couldn’t be seen, for his safety and for the good of the kingdom. There was no telling how many operations may hinge on him at any given time, so Alex could not possibly expect him to remain to go after the woman he loved out of loyalty.
Still, the pang was there.
He exhaled slowly, willing the feeling away and reminding himself who he was, and who he had with him.
“Right,” he murmured to no one in particular. “Let’s mount up.”
As one, the six men present mounted their horses, with Alex just moments behind. The others that had joined them on the ride had dispersed across the city to collect whatever information they could and see to any trouble they might have faced from the opposition, either in their attempts to rescue Poppy or in their exiting Liverpool. The scouts Jackal had sent out had given them a general idea and reported the sight of Poppy being brought in hours ago, but as far as the specifics of what they were facing, there was less certainty.
He was used to less certainty. He could work with that.
Gabe, Fritz, and the others looked at him expectantly, and he looked back at them for a long moment, steeling himself for what lay ahead.
“Ready?” he asked his friends, smiling just a little.
His cousin returned the smile. “Are you? This is your operation, Trace. We ride on your order.”
Fritz nodded in agreement and raised a brow in question.
Alex grinned and thought of the woman he loved being held in a warehouse on the Liverpool docks by men looking for him. His grin turned almost savage, and his heart began to race in anticipation.
“Let’s go get Poppy,” he growled, nudging his horse on and galloping away, hearing the others take off behind him.
The map of Liverpool they had studied unfolded in his mind; the shortcuts Jackal’s scouts had given them almost illuminated for him as clearly as they might have been in daylight. He knew each path to take, each curve of the road, how far they had to go, and where they would stash the horses until the task was done. He remembered everything they had talked about, and in far greater detail than he expected.
Had he always been able to do this? It felt more like a habit than an aberration, but he was so out of practice, he couldn’t be sure. Was this how Trace had always acted? Or was this due to Poppy being the focus of this mission? It might have been impossible to separate the two. He wasn’t sure he minded that so much.
It was oddly apt.
It wasn’t far to the docks from where they had been, especially with the shortcuts that Jackal’s maps had given them. A group of their size would certainly attract attention with the night wardens, so Alex signaled for half of the men to split off. They’d make their way to the warehouse separately, no doubt taking care of some of the lingering criminals loitering about.
Alex was pleased enough to have Gabe and Fritz with him. Gabe was a fiend with fists and staffs, and Fritz was unmatched with any blade. Alex wasn’t sure if he would go with his knives, newly sharpened and fitting perfectly at his side, as was his inclination, or if he would thrash whoever it was with his fists alone. Either way, he was looking forward to engaging in whatever violence was before him to get Poppy back.
There was nothing quite like extremes in situation to test his limits.
Apparently, he had very few where Poppy was concerned.
He held up his fist and they all slowed, dismounting in complete silence. Fritz snapped his fingers at a boy watching them nearby, holding up two coins. Immediately, the boy came over to them, eyes alight.
Alex paid little attention to what Fritz was saying to the lad, trusting him to take care of the arrangements. He started down the road towards the docks, tucking the cap of his disguise down low. His chest burned already, and he forced his breathing to calm, to steady him, to give him clarity. He always had clarity before a big mission, which was what made them successful. Despite his best attempts, there was no clarity here.
This wasn’t a regular mission. This was personal.
“Horses will be waiting two blocks from here,” Fritz said in a near whisper as he caught up with Alex and Gabe. “I promised him double.”
Alex nodded once, his teeth grinding of their own accord.
The three of them silently made their way down the road, the docks coming into view.
It was strange how the smell of the sea could suddenly make Alex both excited and wary, apprehensive and alert, and how the scars on his back all seemed to itch at the same time. His mind suddenly seemed confined to the dark corners of his hold aboard the Amelie Claire, and his throat went dry as though he had done something in defiance of his superiors and would soon receive his punishment. He forced himself to swallow hard, his brow furrowing darkly as the warehouses came into sight.
A man standing nearby swept a finger across his cap, and Alex went to him, nodding once.
“Last warehouse,” the man whispered, tapping the ash from the end of his cigar. “Water side, to the right.”
“How many?” Alex replied in the same tone.
“Seven.” The man drew in a long puff of his cigar, then held it, tilting his head back to slowly blow it out. “Two of them have been in there all day. Drunk now. Back door lock doesn’t work.”
Alex tappe
d a finger to his cap and moved on, the others following silently.
“Sentry,” Gabe hissed, inclining his head towards a slowly meandering figure on the dockside.
“Damned weak one,” Fritz scoffed under his breath.
Alex didn’t respond to either of them. He’d seen the sentry and judged his level of inebriation from the manner of his walking. He would be no trouble and wasn’t worth considering. So long as they weren’t obvious, they had nothing to worry about. Considering they were rarely obvious; he wouldn’t give it a second thought.
The back door of the warehouse was suddenly before them, and Alex tried the handle, wincing in anticipation of the squeak. No squeak came as it opened.
“Oil on the hinges,” Gabe breathed, reaching out to touch them, then sniffing his fingers. “Genius.”
Alex nodded, exhaling his relief. He nodded for Fritz to enter first, and then he followed, Gabe trailing him.
There wasn’t much space for them to maneuver, but that had never stopped them before. The crates were pressed up nearly to the wall with only enough room to get by, no doubt for the foreman to count. Hardly enough space for anyone to suspect an attack from invaders.
All the more perfect.
Alex directed Fritz and Gabe in opposite directions, while he would go over the crates. They were of varying heights and size, unevenly stacked, but sturdy enough. Over was generally not his preference, but the crates seemed to span the entire back wall of the building, and there was no guarantee that the paths on either side would actually exist. Gabe and Fritz may have wound up needing to go along the same route, or over as he was.
Unlikely, but possible.
Alex scaled the crates, suddenly grateful for all the times he had spent scaling the ladders aboard the Amelie Claire for his tasks even in the most treacherous conditions. It enabled him to reach the top quickly, making hardly a sound in his attempts.
There was plenty of space atop the crates and Alex could see the entire room easily, his half of the building more in shadow than anything else.
Five men were out in the open, though it wasn’t much of an open space there, either. The other two sat against the door, nearly asleep. A stocky one sat behind a desk with his legs propped up, a scrawny one was sprawled out on the floor, and three others of varying size between those two extremes lounged against various crates. Two telltale dark bottles sat atop the desk, and two more were on the floor, clearly empty now.
Facing the desk, away from Alex’s eyes, was a lone chair and a single woman with copper hair tied to it. Her head was bowed, and his heart stopped as he took in the sight of her.
Breathe, he ordered in his mind as he stared at her. Breathe, darling.
On cue, Poppy’s shoulders moved on an inhale, and Alex could have fallen over with the relief he felt.
Good. Had she neglected to do so, Alex would have given up any and all ideas of stealth and secrecy and lashed out at all five men present with the sort of rabid enthusiasm one usually expected of wolves or tigers. As it was, he would continue on.
Slowly, steadily, he made his way across the tops of the crates, praising whoever had stacked them so sturdily for doing so, as it made his path far less treacherous than it would have been otherwise. He crept closer and closer, breathing in silent bursts as he moved, eyeing the distance to Poppy’s chair and the shadows created by it.
He moved himself more in line with her, then began the more dangerous prospect of making his way down. There was no easy way to do it, and the risk of crates toppling over increased at least tenfold.
Had he been the same weight and stature he had been at the time of his capture, this would not have been possible. Now that he was far more slender, though certainly not so thin as he had been when he dropped on Poppy’s doorstep, he could maneuver with ease, almost light of foot.
Almost.
He was convinced that if he had been closer to the men than he was, they would have heard his tread. Provided, of course, they were not too inebriated to pay attention.
Alex paused for a moment, eyeing all seven curiously. Why so many guards if they were not actually standing on guard? Why seven of them for one woman, if they were not properly armed?
None of them seemed to be anticipating anything, nor were they even looking in Poppy’s direction.
Hired hands, just as before, and likely they had no idea, or very few, about what was commencing in the wider world. So long as they could line their pockets, they were satisfied. But did they have ties to Battier? Mainsley? One of the Cardieus?
There was no way to tell until everything went down, and if they were mercenary enough to talk for the right negotiation. Loyal soldiers had to be broken. Hired thugs only needed bribes.
Alex was perfectly willing and able to do one or the other. Or both.
He carefully continued on his way down, keeping to the shadows cast by the crates, and thus mostly out of sight. The men were talking amongst themselves, but it was an idle sort of conversation that did not require any of them to look remotely interested or raise their tone in the least. They appeared to be just as bored with themselves as they were with the situation as a whole.
It wasn’t often that he got to participate in an assignment that had no complications or trouble, but this might have been one. He wouldn’t mind having a simple time of it. It would be a fine way to ease back into this life.
He paused as he reflected on that. Ease back in…
He wanted back in.
He blinked at his realization, then shook his head quickly. He could dwell on that thought another time, when the woman he loved was free of her restraints and not in danger of dying or being used as bait for him.
Alex clambered silently down to the last few crates, then frowned as he saw very little by way of footing to the ground. He could jump it, but he doubted that would be silent. He didn’t dare move forward, for that would put him more in the light.
Thinking quickly, he gripped the side of the crate he was on, setting his feet against the wood of the crate below, and let his feet slide down the boards, wincing as the wood at his fingertips dug itself into his skin. He dropped to the ground without a sound, then pulled the splinter out with his teeth, tossing it aside quickly.
Now, he would have to tread more carefully than before, as the shadows could no longer protect him. Still, an indolent audience was quite helpful, and there was no cause for them to look this direction unless he made a significant misstep.
Which he never did.
Exhaling slowly, settling his pounding heart, Alex moved forward, crouched low to the ground and moving in a direct line to Poppy, praying her skirts and position would hide him from the view of others.
He reached her in moments, and he knew in an instant that she was not unconscious. She stiffened as he drew close, no doubt sensing him there, but keeping her head down.
“Good evening, love,” he whispered, smiling a little as he took her bound hand in his. “Don’t react.”
Her fingers instantly curved around his tightly, shaking just a little.
“I’ll loosen these, but I can’t release you fully until we take care of your friends over there.”
Her fingers tensed against his briefly.
Alex reached for one of his knives and cut the ropes attaching her wrists to the chair legs, almost snarling at that. It put her in such a painful, vulnerable position, as though she were served up on a platter for these men.
“Oh, love…” he breathed as his blade cut through the ropes. “Are you all right?”
Again, her fingers tensed against his.
He exhaled and cupped his hands around hers. “I need to thrash some annoying thugs in the room, but I’ll be right back. And I brought friends, so no worries. You’re safe now. I promise.”
He rose up just enough to kiss the back of her neck, then glanced to the left just ahead of him, where Gabe waited in the shadows, eyes on him. Alex couldn’t see much to his right with all of the crates, but Gabe indica
ted that Fritz was there.
They were ready.
Alex gripped his knife tightly in one hand, exhaled, then nodded at Gabe as he rose from the ground quickly, striding forward to the blearily unsuspecting men.
They saw him almost at once and attempted to scramble to their feet, but Gabe reached one first, punching him square across the jaw. Fritz came up from Alex’s right, swinging a club of sorts that he had found, and the one on the floor eyed it in terror before it swung up into his face.
Two of them came at Alex, and he whirled to stab one in the thigh and jab one in the nose with his free fist. He pulled the knife out of its victim, then slammed the man in the back of the head with the hilt, sending him crashing to the floor.
Gabe kicked the man he’d knocked to the floor, then swiped the legs out from under the one Alex had hit. Fritz upended the desk into the lap of the burly one, who couldn’t get out of the way fast enough. He went crashing to the floor, the chair breaking beneath him as the heavy desk descended. He struggled against it, pressing the flat surface away from him.
Alex growled and picked up the one he’d stabbed and knocked out, heaving him over to land atop of the overturned desk, and the pained whimper from the trapped man brought him some satisfaction.
Fritz’s club whirled again as the two by the door came barreling towards him, and it collided with one’s chest while the other dodged it, only to have Alex send him sprawling with a quick succession of punches to the head.
The door burst open, and three more men came in, looking far less inebriated than the ones before.
“Lovely,” Alex grunted, fingering his knives as Gabe had the last of the original five by the throat, the man looking rather pale indeed at the moment.
The three men charged at them, but all activity stopped with the sound of a gunshot.
Alex jerked, fearing the worst, when the man in the center suddenly fell to his knees as his shirt turned red, his comrades staring in shock.
A dark and blinding whirl of movement appeared from the door, taking another by surprise, and Alex took advantage of the moment by darting over to the third, bashing his own head into his, then driving his fists into his ribs and stomach, and taking a hard punch himself into his face.
Fall from Trace Page 25
