Zoë Archer - Sweet Revenge

Once they stood before the door, Jack exhaled and stretched his neck from side to side, as though readying himself for a fight. Despite his respectable checked suit and slicked-back hair, he still resembled the brawler he had been. She didn’t want to take pleasure in the way he easily inhabited his size and strength, or the gleam of determination in his eyes, or a thousand other details that called out for her admiration. But what she wanted and what she actually did were very different things.

“Ready, missus?” he asked her.

It troubled her how much she liked hearing him call her that, especially after what he’d said earlier. “Get on with it.”

He sent her an inscrutable look, then knocked. As it had before, the door opened. The bully stood there, a large man with a face that appeared as though it had been on the receiving end of a concrete slab.

“Yeah?” the bully demanded.

“We’re here for the strawberries,” Jack said.

The bully narrowed his tiny eyes as he looked back and forth between Jack and Eva. He looked hard at Jack, then paused to study her. She offered him her best uncertain smile, just the sort a woman might bestow when stepping into unknown territory. As much reassuring herself as whoever looked at her.

Whatever he saw seemed to satisfy him, for the bully stepped back and held the door open. “Awright. Go on to the parlor an’ have a chat with the lady of the house.”

She and Jack moved into the foyer. It resembled the foyer of any successful businessman’s home, complete with umbrella stand, large mahogany coat rack, and vases of fresh greenery. Piano music and the trill of women’s voices floated down the hall. A central staircase led to two more stories—presumably where the girls did their work. Somewhere in this building was Rockley’s private room, and in that room they’d find his strongbox containing the evidence of his crimes.

“Parlor’s that way,” the bully said, motioning down the hall.

She and Jack exchanged a look. They could try to make a break for it right now, but that would bring the whole house down on their heads. Security may have been lightened, yet it still existed. Other guards were posted throughout the brothel. Better to try to get as far in as possible without struggle.

They were taking a chance, bringing Jack here rather than Simon or Marco. As Rockley’s former bodyguard, he might be recognized, but he knew the layout of the brothel. He also knew how the bullies would fight, if it came to that. She hoped that it didn’t.

Together, they walked down the carpeted hall and arrived at the parlor. The place still resembled a businessman’s home—dark furniture, floral wallpaper, and overstuffed chairs and sofas—except lounging on the furniture were nearly a dozen girls in robes and negligees. Three of the young women played cards, another yawned into her hand. A girl sat on a man’s lap, idly toying with his mustache. In the corner, a young woman with dyed red hair played an upright piano. It was dispiriting how good a musician she was. Eva could easily guess that she’d been some clerk’s daughter who’d been modestly educated in music, painting, and French, but some fall from grace had led her to this place.

Difficult to ascertain their age with the amount of paint they wore, though some couldn’t have been more than fifteen.

An older woman in burgundy silk approached, smiling. “Welcome, sir, and”—she glanced at Eva—“madam.”

Eva dropped her gaze, as if embarrassed.

“How might we gratify you this evening?” Mrs. Arram sounded halfway between a procuress and a grandmother offering tea and biscuits.

Though Jack had doubtless been in many brothels, he looked suitably abashed. “The wife and me, we were, ah, thinking maybe…” He chuckled nervously.

“Of course!” Mrs. Arram said to Eva, “We’ve only girls here, madam. Were you interested in watching, or were you considering a more participatory role? Or,” she added, “did you and your husband want an audience? There’s a wonderful room with plenty of hidden vantage points. A girl could be in the room with you, too, watching. Whatever you desire.”

For a moment, Eva found herself at a loss for words. From the corner of her eye, she saw Jack redden.

She was seized by a rather wicked impulse. “Perhaps we could find a girl for me, and my husband could watch?”

He made a strangled sound, and she smiled inwardly.

“That could easily be arranged,” Mrs. Arram said. “We have many fine girls…” Her words trailed off as she looked at Jack with a frown.

It was only a moment, an expression so quick and fleeting as to be nearly unseen. But Eva saw it. The smallest widening of Mrs. Arram’s eyes.

Jack and Eva exchanged glances. He understood.

“Let me ring for Genevieve,” the madam continued, cheerful. She strolled toward a bell pull. “She’s just the girl for you.”

“Don’t,” Eva said, darting forward. But too late. Mrs. Arram lunged for the bell pull and tugged on it.

A door concealed within the wall’s paneling swung open and a hulking man with thinning hair barreled into the room. He stalked toward Jack. “Lady of the house wants you out,” he said, with a bored tone of voice that spoke to the number of times he’d been called upon to roust unruly customers.

But he’d never dealt with a customer like Jack. Thinning Hair reached for him, and Jack immediately plowed his fist square into the bully’s chest. His would-be assailant staggered back, gasping.

Screaming, the prostitutes leaped up from their seats. The lone customer in the parlor unceremoniously threw the girl in his lap to the floor as he jumped to his feet. He darted out the side door without a backward glance.

“Behind you,” Eva called to Jack as the smashed-faced bully from the front door came thundering into the room. Smashed Face brandished a heavy cudgel and saw immediately that Jack was the threat.

“It’s Diamond Jack Dalton!” the madam screeched.

Both guards’ faces briefly paled with fear as they realized whom they confronted. Eva had known Jack possessed a reputation, but she hadn’t understood its true scope until that moment. These two paid thugs, both clearly hardened criminals, were frightened of him.

But they were rough men, too, and their fear turned to rage. Thinning Hair pulled a knife from a sheath on the back of his belt. Snarling, he waved it at Jack.

Eva stepped forward, intending to help Jack with his two opponents, but saw the madam reaching into the drawer of a table. Metal glinted. A gun. Before Mrs. Arram could pull out the pistol, Eva drove her fist into the woman’s face. The madam went down noiselessly, dropping the gun. The weapon skittered under a heavy cabinet.

In a flurry of lace and perfume, the girls in the parlor fled, shrieking like terrified parrots.

Whirling around, Eva saw Smashed Face charge Jack. The bully swung his club. Fast as fire, Jack lashed out, grabbing hold of Smashed Face’s wrist and preventing the bully’s strike from connecting. Jack seized hold of the other end of the club. Using his hold on the bully’s wrist, he flung Smashed Face to the ground. Smashed Face grunted as he went down hard, and Jack twisted the club out of his hand.

Armed with the cudgel, Jack faced off against Thinning Hair. The bully slashed at him with his knife, gaslight gleaming lewdly off the blade. Jack parried the blows, holding his assailant back with swings of the cudgel. Back and forth, they traded feints and strikes. Eva longed to run to his aid, but if she tried to insert herself into the fray, she’d only distract Jack and likely get them both hurt in the process.

And to watch him fight like this, tough and dirty, mesmerized her. He had a natural skill, an innate understanding of when the next strike might be coming, and he battled back with a street-born warrior’s grace. There were no civilized rules, no gentlemanly principles at play. He only meant to hurt his opponents, by any means.