the years. Protests for fair wages, suffrage, better working conditions . . . She was no stranger to joining a mass of people in the streets of New York City.
This, however, was totally different.
Hundreds of men had followed her south to Broome Street, with more joining on the way. They streamed behind her and Cooper—well-groomed men with brickbats, brass knuckles, clubs and chains. By the time they closed in on Broome Street Hall, some women had taken up with them, as well.
It would have been a fearsome sight if she weren’t already so terrified.
Sunset was upon them, the lamplighters scurrying up their posts to do their duty, and Justine came to a stop outside O’Shaughnessy’s saloon. She prayed Jack hadn’t been hurt. I cannot lose him.
Not now, not when she’d just realized how much he meant to her.
He wasn’t perfect, but neither was she. There had to be common ground for them, some way to straddle both of their worlds and create something new and different. Something together. After all, her sisters had both settled for unconventional men and made it work. Why couldn’t Justine do the same?
Whatever happened, she was not ready to give him up. She’d tried as much and it had only served to make her miserable.
She didn’t know whether he would forgive her or not but she had to try—if they could get him out of O’Shaughnessy’s saloon alive.
Men began trickling out of the saloon, lining up in front of the building like a brick wall. They also held weapons, and didn’t appear all that surprised to find a mob on their doorstep. The air was thick with tension. Despite the show of hostility, she didn’t wish for anyone to get hurt. “Let me try and reason with O’Shaughnessy first,” she murmured to Cooper.
“Absolutely not. There’s no reasoning with him.”
“We have to try. If Jack is still alive, then we may be able to avoid bloodshed today.”
“If they’ve killed Jack, the men and I will burn this place to the ground.”
Justine almost wouldn’t blame them. She would want to hurt Trevor O’Shaughnessy in such a case. “Cool heads must prevail, Cooper, until we know what has happened.”
A man emerged from the saloon and walked directly toward Justine. “Miss Greene,” he said. “O’Shaughnessy would like a word inside.”
“Absolutely not,” Cooper snapped. “She does her talking right here.”
“O’Shaughnessy says he’ll only talk inside. And he said to say that Jack is still alive. But that won’t remain the case if she doesn’t come in.”
Justine’s mouth dried out. O’Shaughnessy isn’t the type to bluff. The policeman’s words had her turning to Cooper. “I’ll be fine. Stay here with the men. If something happens . . .”
Cooper took her elbow. “This is a mistake. Jack wouldn’t want you putting yourself at risk like this.”
“O’Shaughnessy won’t hurt me. My family is very powerful in this city. Trust me, I will return.”
Before Cooper could wage any further arguments, Justine followed the man into the saloon. Lights blazed inside and she needed a few seconds for her eyes to adjust to the bright interior. When she could focus, what she discovered nearly brought her to her knees.
A stocky man with black hair and dead eyes stood across from her, his hand holding a knife to Jack’s throat. Jack’s gaze burned with recriminations and anger, but he said nothing. Merely stared at her intently, as if terrified to take his eyes off her. His arms were tied behind his back, his clothes rumpled and torn. Blood oozed from a cut on the side of his lip.
He’d fought, obviously. That didn’t surprise her. Jack was a survivor, no matter the fancy suits and smooth charm.
Whatever it takes I will get him out of here.
She transferred her attention to the man with the knife. “Mr. O’Shaughnessy.”
“Miss Greene. I see you’ve been busy.”
“There are hundreds of men outside. More are on the way. We are prepared to do whatever is necessary to free Mr. Mulligan.”
“And are you?”
“Am I, what?”
“Prepared to do whatever is necessary. What are you willing to do for Mulligan’s release?”
“Don’t promise him a goddamn thing,” Jack snarled.
O’Shaughnessy pressed the knife deeper into Jack’s throat, and a trickle of blood ran down into Jack’s collar. Gritting her teeth, she watched that trickle and ached for Jack. He must be absolutely furious with himself for falling into O’Shaughnessy’s hands.
“She’ll give me an answer or I’ll spill your guts here on the floor. So, what is it, Miss Greene. How would you save your lover?”
There was no