Zoë Archer - Sweet Revenge

She and the others approached on foot, having left the cab several blocks back. The shapes of the scaffolds rose up out of the night, and the only sounds came from the river slapping against the pilings. The site was deserted.

“I’d expect this place to be patrolled,” she whispered to Jack.

“Wager Rockley paid off the guards,” he answered under his breath. “No witnesses.”

The swap was to take place in an open expanse, with the river on one side and a grouping of temporary buildings that served as construction offices on the other. Crates and piles of timber formed the final boundaries of the site. Jack and Eva would meet Rockley in the middle of the expanse.

With a silent hand signal, Simon had them stop. He pointed to the tallest scaffold, a structure three stories high. More crates clustered at the very top of the scaffold. It would make an excellent vantage for someone armed with a rifle. By the time Eva glanced back at Simon, he’d already disappeared.

Marco nodded toward a tall stack of metal sheets near the exchange site. It would serve as good cover for him as he kept an eye on the proceedings. Then he, like Simon, melted into the darkness.

Jack and Eva were alone.

The time was nearly two, but she allowed herself just a moment to simply look at him, just as he looked at her. He’d grown no less large or powerful in the time she had known him. The lamps’ flickering light only highlighted the hard contours of his face, the breadth of his shoulders. To anyone first seeing him, he seemed exactly like the kind of man one didn’t want to meet in a dark, deserted place.

Yet, only an hour earlier, they’d given each other a fierce, desperate pleasure, and it still resonated through her body. He’d kissed her with passion and care, his big, rough hands cupping her face tenderly. And he stared at her now with an expression both warm and fierce.

“Can’t kiss you now.” His voice was a low rumble, meant for her ears alone. “If Rockley’s watching—”

“We won’t give him any advantage.” A personal attachment could be exploited.

“But, God, how I want to taste you again. One last time.”

“Not the last time,” she insisted. “We stick to the plan, we punish Rockley, we survive.”

“Holding you to that,” he said.

She drew in a breath. “The orchestra’s tuned. Now we play the final movement.”

They were silent for a moment. Then, together, they walked toward the exchange site, weaving between the stacks of building materials and crates, until they reached one end of the open area. The space itself was the length of three train cars and exposed enough to give any hidden gunman a decent shot.

Two men appeared at the other end. One of them was the hulking tower of muscle, Ballard. Despite the other man’s dark clothing, she recognized him immediately: Rockley. He held a case, presumably containing ten thousand pounds.

Jack muttered a curse. Hatred seemed to pour out of him in unseen surges. But he didn’t rush toward Rockley. He kept his ground, waiting.

“He’s got more men with him,” Jack said, low enough for only her to hear.

“I see two lurking behind those crates to the right,” she whispered back.

“And two more off to the left.”

Not unexpected, but still troubling. They were outnumbered. At the least, they had Marco and Simon to help. “It’s going to be a fighting retreat.”

“Always knew it would be.” He seemed eager for it, in fact.

“Ready?” Eva whispered.

He nodded, terse.

Yet they hadn’t taken more than a step before Rockley’s command cut through the stillness. “Just you, Dalton. The woman remains behind.”

She and Jack exchanged a look, his gaze showing clear reluctance to leave her, but they knew they’d have to capitulate in order to complete the trade.

“Then your man stays put,” Jack shouted back.

A taut silence, and then, “So be it.”

Jack inhaled, and moved to take a step.

She couldn’t stop herself. “Jack.”

He stopped without looking back.

“Be careful.” Minimal words, but they were all she could offer.

After a moment, he said, “Same to you.”

She smiled faintly to herself. A fine pair of poets they were.

Her smile died as Jack walked away. There was nothing for her to do now but wait, watch, and hope.

* * *

Jack felt every step like an earthquake. He wondered why the scaffolds didn’t collapse and the ground didn’t shudder. It seemed as if he could break the whole sodding planet apart with each step forward.

The distance between him and Rockley narrowed. It was dark, so Jack couldn’t see the bastard’s face very well, but it didn’t matter. Rockley’s polished, handsome features were burned into his mind. He knew his face, his gait, his voice. He was like one of those diseases that ate a body from the inside out, always there, impossible to fully remove. Rockley was Jack’s sickness. After tonight, either Jack would be cured, or the disease would kill him.

He and Rockley faced each other. A distance of five feet separated them. Such a small distance. Jack could snap his neck before any of Rockley’s men could make a move. But this was about more than blood for blood.

Jack held up the portfolio. “Got the papers. I want to see the money.”

Rockley lifted the case. “It’s here. But I want to verify the documents are genuine.”

“And I don’t want you giving me bundles of newspaper topped by a few pound notes.”

Jack and Rockley edged close enough to each other so that they could reach for the cases. Both of them were silent and tense as they extended their arms, then made the swap. He and the lord eyed each other warily as they examined their respective goods.

Flipping open the case, Jack saw rows of ten-pound notes neatly bundled with ribbon. He pulled out one of the bundles and ran his thumb over the money, then did the same with all of the packets. It was all there. Ten thousand pounds.

All the more reason to distrust Rockley. The son of a bitch would never part with that much money, despite the fact that he could afford it ten times over.

Jack watched Rockley carefully as he examined the sheaf of documents, looking for any sign that Rockley suspected them to be forgeries. After a moment, Rockley stuffed the papers back into the portfolio.

“It’s all there,” Rockley said.

Jack silently exhaled. Marco’s forgeries had done their job.

Now he asked the question he’d wanted to ask for five years. “Why the hell did you kill Edith?”

Rockley’s lips tightened. “Edith was … a mistake. She panicked like an idiot when things got rough, and we struggled. Hurting her was an accident.”

Sickness burned Jack’s throat. Sickness and rage. “You should have called a damned doctor instead of letting her bleed to death on the floor.”

Staring at him, appalled, Rockley said, “I’d never risk my own reputation, my family name for a whore from Bethnal Green.”

Jack had to walk away. Before he killed Rockley.

“We’re finished here,” he growled.

A smug little smile danced around Rockley’s mouth. The bastard had never been a good card player. “Yes, we are indeed finished.”

Holding the portfolio, Rockley turned away. He took a step, then dropped the portfolio to the ground. The sound echoed through the construction site, loud as a cannon.

“Bollocks!” Jack shouted, and ran for cover.

* * *

Gunfire rang out. Eva sprinted toward the shelter of several crates. As she did, she cast a glance over her shoulder, looking for Jack. He took a step toward her, but more gunfire held him back. With clear misgivings, he ran in the opposite direction, finding cover behind a stack of lumber.