her arms painfully. A bag was thrust over her head, and Beth was dragged somewhere. Loud sounds of the city blended with her thundering heartbeat. The bag was removed. Beth stood upon a thin metal beam that hung off the roof of the building with her arms tied behind her back. “W-what’s this about?”
Mr. Kingsly stepped onto the beam, and it wobbled. He strolled up to her and used the sharp end of his knife to cut open the front of her shirt. His brow raised at the bindings upon her chest that had been fashioned out of two corsets. Mr. Kingsly cut those open as well, baring her tender breasts to the cold winds. Beth shivered, but she refused to cry.
“Beautiful, isn’t she, fellas?” he asked mockingly. “Chicago has a diamond in the ruff.”
“What do you want?”
He reached into her pocket and retrieved the letter. “Dear Miss Mason...Blah blah blah...grandmother’s last will and testament...blah blah...oh, yes! Here it is.” Mr. Kingsly cleared his throat. “I am pleased to announce that you are the heiress to a rather impressive fortune.”
Beth shook her head. “It’s a trick. Clearly, they’ve got the wrong woman.”
“You lied to me for nearly ten years, Beth. I’m quite sad to say that I cannot trust you any longer. My heart is broken, and only you can repair it.”
“Got to hell.”
Mr. Kingsly chuckled. “This can all go away if you agree to marry me.”
It was Beth’s turn to laugh. “Like I said, go to Hell. And if you’re going to threaten someone with forcing them to jump into a river...make sure they don’t know how to swim.” She flipped backward over the edge, tumbling four levels down into the rushing waters of the river.
Beth hit the surface of the water and felt pain radiate through her bones. She wiggled her shoulders and kicked her legs to breathe through the water. Her lungs burned as she gasped for air and tried to get to the river bank. She slammed herself against the hard ground and looked for something to tear through her bonds. Beth saw shards of broken glass twinkle in the moonlight. She scooted over and clutched a shard in her hand.
She sawed at the binds, hearing footfalls in the distance as the bruisers gave chase.
Even exposed to the cold wind and sopping wet, Beth managed to free herself. She raced towards the streets, hearing the sound of her water-logged boots pound against the ground. Three of the bruisers called her name. Numb fingers worked to cover herself once more. Beth ducked through alleys and took sharp corners to throw her chasers off, but they caught up.
Her body bounced off of the brick. Beth dropped to her knees and breathed deeply through her nose to help ease the pain in her ribs. She clenched her jaw, hissing through her teeth, “How much is he paying you to hurt me?”
“You’re more trouble than you’re worth, apparently.”
“I’d hate to be boring,” she quipped. “Tell me...did Mr. Kingsly tell you about the knives?”
“Knives?”
“The ones you forgot to take off of me.” Beth climbed to her feet and retrieved four silver blades that she twirled between her fingers all at once. “These knives.” She threw them in the blink of an eye. The bruisers fell to the ground in a river of blood. Beth reached down and plucked her blades from their bodies. She had been hurt by them before, and she knew if she hadn’t killed them, then they would have harmed the other children.
Beth grabbed one of their shirts and left them where they belonged: in the gutter.
If Mr. Kingsly thought she would submit to him, that she would ever agree to marry him, then he was terribly mistaken. Beth would never submit her freedom to a man...never. She walked along the streets of Chicago and swiped a long duster coat, flipping the collar up to hide her face. Beth moved through crowds of folks heading home for the night after a long day at work in the so-called enterprising city.
She stopped outside of the train station and took a deep breath to steady her nerves. There was only one way Beth could find out if she truly was an heiress. Beth pushed open the door and approached the ticket vendor. “One ticket to Colorado.”
“Sorry, sir, there aren’t any trains headed that way at the moment. There’s war brewing down there. May I suggest getting a train to Texas?”
“Texas?”
The ticket vendor leaned forward and lowered his voice. “There’s a man that will take folks from Texas to the Colorado Territory if they’re willin’ to trade or pay a fair price. He’s a simple man, and he won’t ask for much.”
“What’s the man’s name?”
“Leroy Pearl.”
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About the Author
Haley Weir is an author from South New Jersey. Obsessed with all things romance, you can catch her over at FictionObsessed.com, where she one of the head writers.
Growing up near Philadelphia, she always loved taking trips into the city and felt magnetized by its culture and art. She recalls her first trip to the Philadelphia Museum of Art as a young girl. The vast displays of skills and beauty left her in awe and she slowly developed an interest towards the creative side of life.
She began drawing and writing at 13 years old and graduated from Drexel University with as an English major in 2011.
You can find her outside reading at her local park in South Jersey, strolling through the streets of Philly, or awkwardly sipping a glass of wine at a nearby bar.