Notorious (Rebels of the Ton #1) - Minerva Spencer Page 0,127

is a duke.”

“Safe? For me, or for ’im?” The big man gave an unpleasant laugh. “I don’t care if he’s the bloody King ’imself.” he said, the light behind him casting his face into darkness. “I ain’t goin’ anywhere. I’m keepin’ my ’alf of the money and livin’ like a lord. Right ‘ere.”

“Half?” The word was a hoarse squawk. “But we agreed on—”

The second man spun around, and his arm shot out grabbing Rowland by the neck. “It ’curs to me I don’t need you any longer, neither. You wrote the letter and sennit, the mort should be ’ere any minnit.”

Gabriel could hear choking sounds as the big man reached down, snatched up a piece of twine, and began to truss Rowland’s hands together as efficiently as a butcher trussed a hen. There wasn’t a chair to tie him to, so when he’d finished tying his hands, he pushed the younger man onto a pile of coiled rope and grabbed his ankle. When Rowland kicked him, he swung his arm and Gabriel heard a muffled cry. Rowland’s legs were not moving as the man tied them tightly together.

“There,” he said, brushing his big paws against each other, as if to get rid of dirt. “Now the dosh is all mine.” He turned, and the light slanted across his face, his expression sending ice down Gabriel’s spine. “You’ll both wait in here till Big Paul comes back and I can fix things right and proper. Don’t think o’ yellin’. Nobody ’oo cares can hear ye, and I’ll do you like I did ’im.” He jerked his head in Rowland’s direction and reached for the door.

“Where is my son?”

“The nipper? Oh, ’e’s with my Dolly. She’s right fond o’ ’im already. ’Er own boy died lass winter and she’s too old to ’ave anovver. She’ll take good care of ’im.” He winked. “Don’t you worry none.” He slammed the door and Gabriel waited for his steps to recede.

“Rowland!” he whispered.

The man didn’t move. Gabriel’s feet were bound to the legs of the chair, but if he jerked his body, he found he could inch forward—which sent fierce pain hammering in his skull, but brought him close enough to Rowland that he could nudge him with his boot.

“Rowland! Wake up, you wretched piece of refuse.” He was just about to tip his chair over and land on top of the man when Rowland moaned. “Wake up, before your partner in crime returns and kills us both.”

“Marlington? Wh-why am I here?”

Gabriel ignored his question. “Get up and untie my hands.”

“I can’t move. My head—”

“Your big friend will be returning soon, and you will no longer have a headache or a head to worry about. The man is going to kill us after he gets the money.” An image of Drusilla showing up—disobeying him, of course—with a sack of money invaded his mind. He gritted his teeth against the horrifying thought. Surely Byer was only late? Surely he’d told her everything was fine. Surely she would not—he bit down on the paralyzing fear this line of thinking created and focused on what he could control.

“Get up, Rowland. Your crony is bringing a man named Big Paul. How many of these devils are working with you on this?”

“It—it was only supposed to be one—Jed—but he brought his friend into it and then he took the boy, keeping him with some woman—”

“Do you know where Samir is?”

“No. I never actually saw him—they had a sneak thief steal him.”

Gabriel briefly closed his eyes before continuing. “Get over here and untie my hands.”

“But how?”

“Dammit, roll, crawl, fly for all I care. Just do it—don’t you want to live?”

Rowland moved a little and groaned. Gabriel was ready to howl with frustrated rage, but then the man pushed again and slid off the coils, landing with a soft thump on the floor.

“Oh God,” he wailed.

“Keep your voice down, fool, and hurry.”

Gabriel stared at the narrow slit of light beneath the door, living a hundred years in the next few minutes while Rowland inched his way over like a worm. Their captor had tied Rowland’s hands in front of his body so he was able to roll onto his knees and reach the knots that held Gabriel’s hands tight.

His mind went to what he would do once he was free. He had no pistol, no sword, but if he could get his hand on even a stick or perhaps a—

The bonds that had been cutting off the blood to his hands loosened.