by Zoë Archer
He should give the case to Eva, but that’d make her more of a target. He had to hang on to it. Drawing a breath, Jack steadied himself before launching into another round of blows. It was going to be a long fight.
* * *
Eva had never seen two men more determined to beat the hell out of each other. She’d witnessed Jack in some brutal fights before, but none of his opponents had been so much his equal. As he and Ballard continued to brawl, she had the mad notion that the whole of London would succumb to the ravages of time, collapsing around the two men as they fought.
If she tried to get in the middle of it, even to help, she’d only make Jack’s job that much more difficult. She’d be a liability.
Behind her, she heard the ping of Marco’s gun ricocheting off a metal plate, followed by someone returning gunfire. Was it Rockley? Another of his hired brutes? With the darkness heavy over the site, it was difficult to know who was where. Even an expert sniper like Simon would have trouble spotting his targets.
She whirled as heavy footfalls approached. There wasn’t time to reload or aim before one of the remaining thugs, running from Marco’s shots, plowed into her. She went sprawling, losing her gun and her handbag. Hell.
She just had time to clamber to her feet before the thug swung at her, and she ducked beneath the blow. They danced like this, as he threw punches and she evaded the hits. He had size, strength, and reach on her. Impossible for her to match him that way.
Light spilled on the ground behind the thug, cast by one of the lamps.
She waited. Until the precise moment when the thug threw another punch, and his equilibrium was off. Then she moved. She hiked up her skirts and kicked him in the chest. Unbalanced and propelled by the momentum of the kick, the thug stumbled backward, right into the pool of light.
There was the crack of a rifle. Her attacker jerked as a bullet hit his arm. He shouted in pain. The thug looked at her, then into the darkness where the shot originated from. Cursing, he ran off, vanishing into the night and leaving behind only spatters of blood upon the ground.
Eva couldn’t risk exposing herself, not when Rockley might still be lurking around the construction site, but she vowed that when she saw Simon later, she’d thank him for his expert marksmanship.
Picking up her gun, she spun back to help Jack and saw him standing over Ballard, splayed on the ground. The other man struggled to get to his hands and knees, but his limbs collapsed beneath him. Jack himself was covered in cuts and already darkening bruises, his coat torn, and blood dripping from the corner of his mouth. But he was alive. He still held the case of money.
Glancing up, he saw her. He took a step toward Eva. Then stopped when Rockley emerged from behind a crate with a pistol trained right at Jack’s head.
“My money,” he snapped. “Hand it over.”
Eva raised her gun.
“Get that thing on the ground and kick it toward me,” Rockley hissed over his shoulder at Eva, “or I’ll plant a bullet in his brain.”
She had no choice but to set her gun down and push it to Rockley with the toe of her boot. Leaving Jack wounded and vulnerable as he faced off against his greatest enemy.
* * *
Jack glared at Rockley, hate pumping through him. Leave it to the bastard to step in after his hired bruisers had softened Jack up.
“Hand over my money.”
Jack’s entire body was tense as iron. He was aware of Eva, watching him. He felt the weight of the case in his hand. It carried more than pound notes: a means for Miss Jones to rebuild her life, and some way to put Edith to rest.
But the gun pointed at his head had its own convincing argument.
Jack stepped forward quickly and swung the bag, slamming it into Rockley’s forearm. The gun flew from Rockley’s hand. Before the weapon even hit the ground, Jack wrapped his hand around Rockley’s throat.
Eyes bulging and face red, Rockley scrabbled at Jack’s fingers, trying to break his hold. But Jack kept his hand tight around the bastard’s neck. He lifted him up, so Rockley’s feet dangled.
“Feels good,” Jack growled. “Just a fragile bit of bone and flesh. So easily crushed.”
“Dalton, please.” Rockley could barely gather enough breath to wheeze. “Give you … anything.”
“Can you give me Edith? Can you give me back five years of my life?”
Rockley only stared at him with wild, terrified eyes, his hands clutching at Jack’s wrist.
“You’re scared,” Jack rumbled. Pure, clean hate burned through him. “Want to live. Feeling alone, desperate. This is what Edith felt. As she slowly died. And now you feel it, you son of a bitch. I want you to feel it. I want you to look at my face, and know who’s killing you and why.”
Softly, Eva said, “Jack.” Not a plea or a demand. Just the speaking of his name.
His hand still tight around Rockley’s neck, Jack lowered him to the ground.
“But I ain’t going to kill you,” Jack said. “Killing you’s too merciful. I want you to live. You’re going to suffer, Rockley. Every moment of every day. Edith’s at peace now, but you won’t have any. Never again.”
Jack uncurled his fingers from their grip on Rockley’s throat. He took a step back and watched the nobleman gag and cough like a chimney sweep.
He turned at Eva’s approach. She held a hand out to him. “Let’s go.”
Jack reached for her. Their fingers barely brushed, then impact jarred through him. Ballard’s heavy weight bore down on him. The bloke looked like raw meat, cut and bleeding, yet he was relentless, pinning Jack in the dirt, his arm across Jack’s throat.
“You and me ain’t done,” Ballard muttered.
Jack tried to plow his knee into Ballard, but the younger man twisted to avoid the blow. Jack continued to thrash, striving to get a hit in somewhere. Didn’t help that he was already battered and exhausted from their earlier brawl.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Eva pull a revolver from her handbag.
Then the gun fell from her hand, clattering to the dirt, as Rockley grabbed her from behind. He wrapped one arm around her, pinning her arms to her sides. In his other hand, he held a long, thick nail, and pressed its tip against Eva’s neck.
She twisted, trying to break free, but he dug the sharp tip of the nail into her skin. A bead of red appeared.
Jack’s eyes clouded. He thought he’d been angry before.
“A little less fight,” Rockley spat. “That means you, too, Dalton.”
Fury tore through Jack. It burned along his veins, set fire to his muscles. Gave him strength beyond any he’d ever had. He grabbed Ballard’s wrist and shoved the man’s arm off his throat. He twisted Ballard’s entire arm. The man groaned as something in his limb snapped.
Jack pushed to standing, throwing Ballard off. Fist like a freight train, he rammed it into Ballard’s face. Bones crunched beneath Jack’s knuckles, and the hired muscle collapsed onto the ground. Black spatters of blood landed in the dirt. Ballard’s eyes rolled back. Though his chest moved, the rest of him didn’t.
Panting, steaming with hate and swaying on his feet, Jack faced Rockley. Eva held herself still beneath the sharp point of the nail, but she looked as angry as Jack felt. Marco and Simon had to be holding their fire, concerned that they might hit her.
Rockley glanced at Ballard’s prone form. “No wonder I hired you, Dalton. You were always the best at administering beatings.”
“Saved one for you.”
“I’ll decline your generous offer.” His gaze flicked to the case Jack held. “Let’s try this again. Hand me the money. And if you make the slightest move, the merest twitch, then I give this woman a new means of breathing.” He pressed the nail harder against Eva’s neck. She didn’t make a sound as more blood welled and dripped down beneath the collar of her dress.
It was all Jack could do to keep from launching himself at Rockley and tearing the bastard’s head clean off his body. But the long night had taken its toll on him. His
legs felt so goddamn heavy. He wouldn’t be fast enough to reach Rockley before the son of a bitch stabbed Eva.
Moving stiffly, Jack closed the distance between him and Rockley. As he got nearer, he saw white lines of rage around Eva’s mouth.
“Slowly,” Rockley warned as Jack lifted his hand holding the case.
Jack did as Rockley commanded, moving at a drugged pace. Rockley snapped out his free hand and grabbed the case. Still holding on to Eva, he edged back, putting distance between them and Jack.
“Now you let her go,” Jack growled.
“I may as well put a gun in your hand if I do.” He glanced down at Eva. “She comes with me. The same terms apply. If you make a single move, or,” he added, raising his voice, “if your friends out there try to shoot me, then I stab her. Am I clear, gentlemen?”
There was a long silence before Marco’s and Simon’s voices came from out of the darkness. “Clear.”
Rockley started walking backward, taking Eva with him.
Enraged at his own helplessness, Jack could only watch as Rockley crept farther away, holding Eva.
“I’ll make you pay, Rockley,” Jack said through gritted teeth.
“No you won’t” was the answer.
Eva released her hold on Rockley’s arm. She speared her hand between her throat and the nail, pushing her palm against its tip. Blood dripped down her hand as she tried to shove Rockley’s arm away.
Jack leaped forward. He grabbed Rockley’s arm and pulled it back. As he did, she ducked out from Rockley’s grip.
Knowing she was safe, Jack launched himself at Rockley.
He and Rockley crashed into a stack of girders. Jack pinned him against the metal beams. As Rockley struggled, snarling and cursing, Jack pried the nail out of his hand.
Holding Rockley’s gaze with his own, Jack rammed the nail into the bastard’s chest.
Rockley’s eyes went round and wide. He stared down in disbelief at the nail sticking out between his ribs. Blood soaked the front of his elegant shirt. He dropped the case. Feebly, he clawed at the nail, trying to pry it from him, but blood made the metal slippery, and he couldn’t find a good grip.
Jack stepped back. He watched Rockley slide down the stack of girders, until the man sat on the ground with his legs sticking out like a doll. The case filled with money lay beside him.
“You can’t…” he gasped.
“I did,” Jack answered.
Rockley turned his glassy eyes to Eva, who came to stand beside Jack. “Please … as a woman … you must help…”
“As a woman,” she said, “I’m happy to watch you die. You won’t hurt any more of my sex. Ever again.”
“One final thing.” Jack strolled over to Rockley and crouched beside him. He reached into Rockley’s coat and pulled out the folio containing the documents. “All these? Forgeries. The real evidence is already in the government’s hands. Papers are going to be full of it tomorrow morning—your treason. I’m just sorry you won’t be around to see it.”
Rockley’s face turned even more chalky. His lips moved, but no sound came out.
“Look at me, Rockley,” Jack said. “I’m the last thing you’re ever going to see. Take the image of my face with you to Hell. I sent you there because of what you did to Edith. The moment you killed her, you killed yourself.”
Rockley gasped, shuddered, and then went still. His gaze became vacant. His chest stopped moving.
He was dead.
Slowly, Jack got to his feet. He stared down at Rockley’s lifeless body. The elegant nobleman sprawled in a pool of his own blood, his handsome face now waxy. Jack waited for the feeling of triumph. It didn’t come. All he felt was tired.
“Jack.” Eva took his hand, tugging him away. “The police will be coming.”
He turned from the body to look at Eva. The exhaustion wrapping around him disappeared. She was scratched, bloodied, beautiful. And alive.
All he wanted to do was wrap her in his arms and never let go. But the coppers’ whistles cut through the air.
He grabbed the case of money, took her hand, and together they ran into the night.
* * *
The back room at Ockham’s public house was filled with odd and broken debris: tables missing legs, chairs whose backs had broken off, half a poster advertising Greywell’s beer. Currently, it also held all the members of Nemesis, some of whom looked just as damaged as the furniture. Too tired to sit, Eva leaned against a wall, while the men arranged themselves throughout the cluttered room, talking in low voices.
A note had been sent to Miss Jones and her family, telling them to meet Nemesis here, rather than at headquarters. With Rockley’s mysterious death all over the morning papers, it was the safer option.
Those papers were now spread across several listing tables. NOBLEMAN’S TREACHERY! LORD ROCKLEY MEETS A BAD END AS BETRAYAL IS JUSTLY REWARDED.
Sunlight trickled through a high window as Harriet finished bandaging Jack’s back. Despite the fact that his wounds were more severe than Eva’s, he’d insisted that Eva be treated first. The cut at her throat wasn’t very deep and wanted only some cleaning and a salve. Her hand, however, bore a deep puncture, and was swaddled in bandages. It would be a few weeks before she’d have full use of her hand. But this was all inconsequential compared to the damage Jack had taken.
He sat on one of the backless chairs while Harriet made her last adjustments to his dressings. Gauze crisscrossed over his bare chest. He was bruised, battle weary—a warrior.
Jack had fought for her, been willing to do anything to keep her safe. Warmth centered in her chest and spread outward.
He caught her looking at him, but he didn’t smile. Just stared right back. She wanted to press her lips to his bandages. Feel the thrum of his pulse beneath her hand, and swallow his breath. The seconds kept creeping forward, toward a time when she’d no longer know the texture of his skin or hear the rough rumble of his voice. She had to gather close what she could while she still had time.
“If you rest and not push yourself overly hard,” Harriet cautioned him, “you’ll be healed within a few weeks.”
Jack grunted softly. “Don’t know what you mean by rest.”
“Familiarize yourself with the term.” Harriet patted him on his shoulder, missing the sharp glance Lazarus aimed at her.
Jack stood and was slipping his arms into the sleeves of his shirt when Miss Jones and her parents entered. The young woman and her mother took one look at a partially dressed Jack before they immediately turned their gazes to the floor.
“Perhaps we ought to come back a little later,” Mr. Jones suggested, red faced.
“Be done in a trice.” Jack quickly did up the buttons of his shirt, though his face tightened in pain from the effort. “There. Presentable as a sermon.”
It was still scandalous for a man to talk to anyone without a jacket, let alone tucking in his shirt, but they’d long moved past social niceties by this point.
“You’ve read the papers,” Eva said to Mr. Jones.
“So we have,” he answered, somber. “A very bad business.”
“Given the evidence of Lord Rockley’s treason,” Simon noted as he came forward, “there isn’t going to be much of an investigation into his death. Imagine you’re rather shocked by it all.”
“Glad, more like,” Miss Jones said with surprising vehemence. “But Lord Rockley’s fatality … did any of you…?” She glanced at Jack.
Before he could speak, Eva said, “Nemesis always protects its clients, even after the job is done. The less you know of the circumstances surrounding his demise, the better.”
“So, it’s all over, then?” Mrs. Jones asked. She gripped her daughter’s shoulder. “My girl is safe?”
“From future threats by Lord Rockley, yes,” Eva said. Unfortunately, a woman’s reputation was a fragile thing, easily broken and difficult to repair. Everyone in the room knew this, acknowledging it with a brief silence.
“You may find it easi
er to begin again in a new city,” Marco suggested gently.
“I’ve a brother in Wolverhampton,” Mr. Jones said. “He’s been after me to join his business there for years. Perhaps now is the time to take him up on the offer.”
“We’ve many contacts in Gloucestershire,” Simon added. “If you ever have need, they can assist you.”
Mrs. Jones said earnestly, “I cannot find sufficient words to thank all of you for what you’ve done for us.”
“Wasn’t no more than you deserved,” Jack said. “Than any wronged woman deserves.”
Eva handed Miss Jones the case. “And here’s something that might make the transition into your new life a bit easier.”
With a puzzled frown, the young woman set the case on a table and opened it. She gasped. Her mother took one look at the contents and tottered over to a chair, with her husband fanning her using his hat.
Miss Jones stammered, “But … that’s … it’s…”
“Enough to start over,” Jack said.
Coldness seeped through Eva. “One more thing.” She gave Miss Jones an envelope. As the girl examined the papers inside, Eva explained, “A deed to a country estate. It’s yours now, to keep or to sell, as you see fit.”
For a moment, Miss Jones could not speak. Holding the deed, her head bowed in thought, she walked the length of the room then back again. “I know precisely what to do with it.” She glanced at her parents. “I won’t be going to Wolverhampton.”
Mr. and Mrs. Jones exclaimed in surprise, but Eva, Jack, and the other Nemesis operatives kept quiet, waiting.
“I aim to take possession of this estate,” the young woman continued. “With the money you’ve given me, I’ll start a school—a refuge, for girls who’ve been abused. I can help them gain new lives, as you’ve given me mine.”
“Are you certain, my dear?” her mother asked.
“I am,” came the confident answer. “This is what I’ve always truly wanted to do.”
