Zoë Archer - Sweet Revenge

“He can’t hurt anyone if he’s dead.”

“That isn’t an option,” she said.

“Cut off his cock, then.”

Both Marco and Simon winced.

“Tempting as that prospect might be,” she murmured, “there are other ways we can harm Rockley, and get a measure of retribution for his latest victim. And that, Mr. Dalton, is where you come into play.”

* * *

Dalton was all calculation as he stared at her. She had familiarized herself with his file, knew the general details of his life. But for a former street rat turned boxer turned bodyguard, he possessed far more intellect than she had expected. That made him all the more treacherous. Underestimating someone was a short journey to catastrophe.

Bitter experience had taught her this valuable lesson. She had the scars to prove it.

“Lay it out for me,” Dalton said.

“Rockley will pay for what he’s done. To Edith, to Miss Jones. The dozen other women he’s hurt. Do you know how he seduced Miss Jones? He saw her behind the counter at one of her father’s shops. Wooed her. Made promises of marriage, promises that he’d help promote her father’s business to his genteel friends.”

“He didn’t make good on those promises,” Dalton surmised.

“As soon as she slept with him, he abandoned her. All her letters went unanswered. Her calls were turned away. And she realized she’d ruined not just herself, but if word ever got out about what happened between her and Rockley, her father’s business would suffer. Such is the nature of our moral world.” She drew a breath. “So, you see, we will bring Rockley down, make sure he is utterly ruined. But it must be done from the inside. Chip away at his foundations until he collapses.”

“And you plan on doing that, how?”

Marco planted his hands on his knees. “We find out everything we can about Rockley. His associations, his movements. He’s too well guarded for us to get close enough to learn more, but we do know that, on top of some suspicious connections, he’s involved with illegal enterprises. Somewhere in all that is the key to taking Rockley down.”

“That is why we need you.” Eva kept her attention entirely on Dalton, watching the minute shifting expressions that crossed his face. No, he was far from stupid. There was a fatal, gleaming intelligence beneath the abundance of muscle, and she feared it as much as it drew her in.

He made a sound that was part growl, part laugh. “Him and me weren’t chums. We didn’t unload the secrets of our hearts over pints of bitter. All I did was watch Rockley’s back when he’d go jaunting about town.”

“Exactly.” Warming to the subject, Simon leaned forward. “You’ve got intimate knowledge of Rockley’s habits, his movements and vulnerabilities. Information available nowhere else.”

“He’s got plenty of other blokes working for him.”

“But you are the only man who has ever left his employ and lived.” Eva had researched the subject exhaustively. From the beginning, she’d been leery of using Dalton. Nemesis was only as strong as its people, and reading his file had convinced her that he was too vicious, too undisciplined, his connection to Rockley too personal to handle the mission.

She was still wary of him, but not quite for the same reasons.

“So I’m going to be the one who draws up the map.” He drew an X in the air. “Ten paces then dig here for the treasure.”

“The treasure in this case being Rockley’s weaknesses.”

He considered this, looking out the window at the dark countryside speeding past. She had to give Dalton credit. He played this game close, revealing almost nothing. She was well trained in the art of deciphering people. Being experienced with deception, she could see its painted surfaces everywhere. Whatever Dalton thought, he kept those thoughts deliberately obscured.

“Supposing I don’t help you,” he said at last, turning back to face her. “Supposing I tell the lot of you to go bugger yourselves and I find Rockley and kill him.”

“You wouldn’t get that far,” Marco said, “before we stopped you.”

Dalton smirked. “Think you could?”

“Consider everything we’ve done tonight,” she said. “What we’re capable of.”

His nostrils widened, his lips compressing. Yes, he understood exactly how Nemesis operated. They had him well and truly trapped. And he didn’t like it.

She couldn’t blame him. Her own life had followed a course of her own choosing for that very reason. Freedom was a rare delicacy for most women. Sacrifices had to be made in order for her to taste that delicacy. She never regretted those sacrifices, for the end result was infinitely better.

Dalton had been imprisoned, and now Nemesis had him caught once more. No one would care for the circumstances, and a man such as him would chafe like a wild bull beneath the yoke.

“Say all this works, say we do bring Rockley down, I’d better get something in return.”

“You’re in no position to make threats, Dalton,” Simon clipped.

Hostility snapped between the two men like a whip.

Though she seldom played the role of peacemaker, she had to diffuse the tension before Simon and Dalton began to throw punches. “You might get a chance to start over.” She added quietly, “And justice for Edith.”

Dalton became as mute and still as a mountain. As forbidding as one, too. How would they ever control him? He had broken himself out of prison for the chance to kill Rockley, a feat few could achieve. The irony almost made her laugh. By proving he was exactly the man Nemesis needed, he had also proven he would not easily submit.

The train began to slow, and the conductor walked past, calling the name of the stop.

As the station slid into view, she and the others eyed the platform, searching for waiting police. The only people standing on the platform were a few weary travelers and an old woman with a battered pram. Instead of a baby, however, the pram held paper-wrapped bundles. Pies. Passengers stepped out of the stopped train to buy pies from her, tearing into them before they even got back onto the train. Not everyone could afford the dining car, and it was likely closed at this hour.

Eva pulled a handful of coins from her reticule and handed them to Simon. “I think we could all use something to eat.” She nodded toward the old woman.

He stood, but not before grumbling and giving her a sour look. Marco chuckled as Simon hopped off the train.

Dalton drummed his fingers on his knee, his gaze vigilant.

When Simon returned, he carried an armful of pies, all but throwing them into everyone’s laps. “Hope everyone likes mutton. If you don’t, too bloody bad.”

“What excellent service,” said Marco.

“And so courteous,” she added.

Still scowling, Simon unwrapped his meal and took a bite. “Sod off,” he said deliberately through his food. He accompanied this charming request with a spray of crumbs.

After the stationmaster made a final announcement, the train pulled from the station.

Marco dug into his food, and she pulled open the paper to break off pieces of savory pastry. As she nibbled, her gaze kept straying to Dalton. The pie looked like a fairy cake in his large hands, and he stared at it.

Longing gleamed in his eyes.

Prison diets didn’t include mutton pies. At best, a convict could hope for a few ounces of boiled meat thrice a week, maybe a bit of cheese. The rest of their food was gruel, tough bread, and potatoes. With a diet so austere, a mutton pie would look like a dish straight from the queen’s own table.

So why wasn’t he eating it?

His gaze kept darting to Marco and Simon. Not precisely as if he were afraid they’d take his food, but distinctly uncomfortable with their presence. Oddly, he didn’t look at her. Just the other men.