Captive of Sin - Page 19

Seeing her trapped, he yielded to a deep, gut-churning anger. The will to kill coiled in his belly like a cobra. With a low growl, he reached into his pocket for his pistol, twin to the one he’d given her.

As his fingers curled securely around the handle, he strode up behind the bastards. None of them noticed his approach although he made no attempt at subterfuge. They were too focused on their terrified bounty.

Shaking and trying to stifle panic, Charis backed into the damp stonework. Her good hand fumbled for her gun in the coat’s generous pockets. The four burly men stank of liquor, rotten fish, and pungent male sweat. She sucked in a shuddering breath, then gagged on the foul stench.

Why hadn’t she listened to that persistent voice insisting she trust Sir Gideon? Now it was too late. She was a woman alone, fair game for any stranger.

The largest man ripped the shawl off her head and flung it into the sludge on the ground. As she choked back a futile protest, her insecurely fastened hair collapsed around her face.

“Eh, lookee, Jack! She got lady’s hair,” one of the men cried in delight.

“All the better to hold her with, shipmates.” The big man twined one meaty paw in a tangled hank while he ripped at his coarse trousers with his other hand. The tang of male excitement was ripe on the cold air and made Charis’s muscles knot with revulsion.

When she strained to break free, agony shot through her scalp. Bile rose as she read unmistakable intent in her captor’s sunken, bloodshot eyes.

“She’s been fair knocked around,” another of the sailors said doubtfully.

“I ain’t bothered with her sodding face,” the man snarled. “I reckon the bits I want are in fine working order.” He laughed salaciously. He was close enough for the alcohol on his breath to make her recoil.

“Leave me alone.” Her voice sounded raw.

“You don’t mean that, hinny.” His croon was more frightening than anger. Her stomach roiled with icy terror.

“Have at her, Jack,” one of the men urged in a guttural voice.

Frantically, she fought for a grip on the little gun but it kept sliding out of reach. She stretched after it, but the slightest movement ripped unbearably at her trapped hair.

“I’ll scream if you touch me.” Her voice cracked.

The man’s leering grin reeked confidence. His brutal hold tightened until hot tears rose to sting her eyes. ?

?You’d have hollered afore now if you reckoned it’d do you a mite of good.”

On the street, she’d hesitated one fatal instant before calling for help. Time enough for them to crowd her into this alley, stinking of urine and rotting refuse.

Charis opened her mouth to scream but only a whimper emerged when the man wrenched at her hair. “Shut your gob, bitch.”

“Let me go,” she croaked, still scrabbling for the gun, but her trembling, damp hand couldn’t find purchase on the pearl handle. Her heart pounded so furiously against her ribs, she thought it must burst.

“I’ll let you go, all right.” The beefy sailor smacked his thick lips together as if contemplating a hearty meal. “Once I’ve got my fill. And if you cut the ruddy backchat. Otherwise, I’ll wring your neck, my bonny.”

Desolation froze the blood in Charis’s veins. Death was a cold, tangible presence. There was no hope. All her struggles, all her suffering, all her defiance led to this. Lady Charis Weston violated and murdered in a port city’s backstreet.

“Get away from her.”

Like a honed saber, the command sliced through Charis’s blind horror. Sir Gideon is here. I’m safe. I’m safe.

Her galloping pulse slowed to a joyous hymn of gratitude. She dragged in her first unfettered breath since she’d escaped the inn, then gasped as her bruised ribs protested. Abruptly, she became aware of aches lingering from yesterday’s beating. Her sprained arm throbbed painfully.

The ringleader relinquished his grip on her hair. The burning pressure on her scalp eased. She slumped against the wall as a dizzying wave of relief washed over her.

He stepped to one side to face the man at the mouth of the alley. Charis at last got a clear view of Gideon. She shivered as she stared into that perfect, ruthless face. Fury blazed in his eyes. He looked strong, brave, in control. Lethal.

“Move along, chum.” The sailor folded his arms across his bulging chest. He was much broader than Gideon and stocky with muscle. The blackguard’s cohorts set up a solid barrier around him.

“Leave her be.” As Gideon approached, he sounded completely undaunted by the array of masculine strength. His voice was colder than the wind whistling through the alley.

The ringleader gave a contemptuous grunt of laughter. “Who’s going to make me, pretty boy? You?”

Tags: Anna Campbell Historical
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