Chapter 2 #2
Charlie was Jonathan’s boy, a young man he’d plucked off the street for pornographic purposes, but with whom he’d quickly fallen in love.
He knelt beside the cushion Jonathan sat on, his head resting in Jonathan’s lap.
Charlie had a hazy smile on his face and his eyes were half closed, as though he’d fallen asleep and only partially woken up when Greer arrived. He was the very picture of bliss.
Jonathan stroked a hand possessively over Charlie’s side, combing his fingers through his boy’s hair. “If Charlie is happy, I’m happy,” he said, smiling at the lad with genuine affection.
Greer grinned at them as he finished shaking Titus’s hand and helped himself to a seat at one of the empty places at the table.
Most ordinary people would be appalled at the goings on of The Zagreus Den.
It was a place of sexual excess and aberration, where men were esteemed as gods in the eyes of the younger men they owned.
The idea of boys being taken off the street or out of the workhouse and made into whores would have made weaker souls faint in horror.
Others would have been horrified by the illusion of pederasty, despite the young men all being older.
But Greer had never known a happier, healthier gang of ruthless criminals in his life.
“Erastos tells me there will be dancing tonight,” Greer said, reaching for a fruit tart from the plate that one of the Den’s angelic minxes offered to him from his knees. “Will you be dancing with them, Valentine?”
The blond vision holding the tray laughed lightly. “I will be dancing, sir,” he said, his cheeks rosy and his blue eyes bright, “but that is all. I am still in mourning.”
Greer’s heart went out to the young man as he peeked quickly at the black armband in the shape of a snake circling his upper arm.
Valentine’s owner had died suddenly during the winter, leaving the poor man without a protector.
As he had come through the Den originally before being sold, Brutus and Titus had welcomed him home with open arms for his time of mourning.
Valentine was a darling. Whoever won the man’s heart enough to convince him to leave his mourning and be owned again was a lucky man indeed.
“There will be dancing,” Brutus said, taking his seat, “but we did not invite you specifically tonight for the entertainment alone.”
“No?” Greer couldn’t decide if he was disappointed or intrigued.
The mischief in Valentine’s eyes, as if he knew exactly why Greer had been summoned, pushed him more toward intrigued.
“You’ve heard the sad story of Lord Fabian’s disappearance,” Titus said as Greer took a bite of his tart.
“Lord Barnstable’s youngest son,” Greer said with a nod. “Rumors are that he succumbed to an opium addiction.”
“Those rumors aren’t true,” Jonathan said with surprising ferocity.
Charlie sat up quickly, his sweet face a mask of sadness. Jonathan pulled the young man into his arms as if shielding him from great harm.
“Hammond has him,” Brutus answered grimly.
They were only three words, but they told a long and painful story.
Charles Hammond was Brutus and Titus’s brother.
The three of them had started a club together over a decade ago as young men, but their aims and designs for that sort of a club had diverged quickly.
Hammond had more nefarious intentions toward his criminal activities whereas Brutus and Titus sought to give those who were often overlooked or abused by so-called polite society a better life.
Years later, Brutus and Titus and Hammond were at each other’s throats more often than not, competing for turf like a group of scrappy street urchins, only with untold wealth and influence at their command. It would be just like Hammond to kidnap the son of an aristocrat to sell him into slavery.
Knowing Brutus and Titus as he did, Greer anticipated what they would say next.
“Lord Fabian was being held prisoner at Lord Frome’s estate in Wiltshire as recently as last month,” Titus said.
“Until a wretched soul failed to act quickly enough to save him,” Jonathan grumbled on Greer’s other side.
Charlie touched his hand to Jonathan’s face with a look of sympathy and grace.
That also told an entire story without the need to elaborate. Jonathan had, perhaps, been sent to rescue the young lordling but had failed.
“We were unable to trace him at first,” Brutus went on, “but recent information has come to light, and we now know where he is.”
“Oh?” Greer’s heart lifted a little, as if Lord Fabian’s story was one he’d been following for ages instead of only just hearing about it. “Where?”
“He’s being held at Trebarral Castle on the Cornwall coast, near Newquay,” Titus said.
“Trebarral Castle,” Greer said with a frown. “Isn’t that owned by Dalhurst these days?”
“It is indeed,” Brutus said.
“Dalhurst is as deeply invested in the Cleveland Street club as Hammond is,” Titus explained. “Together, the two of them have amassed an empire nearly as large as our own, though with none of our good intentions.”
On Greer’s other side, Jonathan snorted.
Greer smirked. “Come now, Jonathan,” he said. “You’ve been here long enough to know you’ve chosen the lesser of two evils.”
“I’ve still chosen evil,” Jonathan said glumly.
Charlie rolled his eyes a bit, which Jonathan might not have seen. Valentine snorted with laughter and exchanged a cheeky look with his friend.
“There’s no telling how long we have to make an attempt to rescue Lord Fabian,” Titus continued with the matter at hand. “Our hope is to send agents to Cornwall to make a stab at it as soon as possible.”
“Is this some Scotland Yard investigation, then?” Greer said, guessing where the discussion was heading.
“Hardly,” Brutus laughed. “Scotland Yard has very little authority beyond London. And even if it did, we have reason to believe Lord Barnstable was instrumental in his son’s kidnapping and has directed the Metropolitan Police to ignore the matter.”
“His own father thrust him into this?” Greer’s smile vanished entirely. The idea was abominable. He hadn’t thought it was possible for any man to be worse than his own father, but Barnstable might just prove him wrong.
“Barnstable does not like the idea of his son being a catamite,” Titus growled resentfully.
“How old is the lad?” Greer asked with a frown. He preferred a nubile young man to any woman himself, but not when they were too young to give their consent.
“He’s just had his nineteenth birthday,” Brutus said. “Not that Hammond cares.”
“You want me to rescue the man,” Greer said, eager to get right to the heart of the matter. His heart was big enough that he became invested in situations like the one being presented to him swiftly. Particularly since no one had come to save him in his youth, when he’d needed it the most.
“We would like you to lead an attempt, yes,” Brutus said.
“I’ll do it,” Greer said without hesitation. “If the man is being kept against his will—”
“And drugged,” Charlie blurted, surprising Greer. In all the time he’d known Jonathan, he’d never heard Charlie speak once.
He was certain Charlie would never speak around him again, given the way the delicate young man shrank from him when Greer turned to stare at him.
Jonathan soothed and stroked him, then said in a tense, quiet voice, “Fabian is being drugged to keep him compliant. He was kept naked and chained to the bed in a cottage on the grounds of Fairford House as well. And abused.”
That was all Greer needed. Rage raced through him, along with the memories of a thousand bruises and other injuries he’d received when he was too weak and small to defend himself.
Never again. He would never leave himself open to that sort of abuse ever again, and he would not stand for anyone else being treated so egregiously either.
“When do I leave for Cornwall?” he asked Brutus and Titus, his voice low and trembling with rage.
Brutus held up a hand. “Not so fast,” he said.
“You would hesitate when a young man’s life is at stake?” Greer asked.
Jonathan huffed, as if he agreed with Greer.
“We do not want to hesitate at all,” Titus said, clearly frustrated with the conversation. “If it were up to me, you would depart for Cornwall at first light.”
“Then let me go,” Greer said.
“You cannot go alone,” Brutus said.
Those words dropped like rocks into Greer’s gut. “You know I only work alone,” he countered.
“Not this time,” Brutus said.
“The mission is too delicate, and Trebarral Castle is too difficult for one man to break into,” Titus added.
“I beg your pardon,” Greer said, pretending offence that the brothers did not think he had the skill to carry out the mission himself. Except it wasn’t pretend offence at all, the more he thought about it.
“You need an assistant to carry this off,” Brutus insisted. “The castle is formidable, but more than that, there will be complications in bringing Lord Fabian away from his captivity.”
“You will need an extra set of eyes and ears, and hands as well, to succeed at this,” Titus agreed.
“And did you have someone in mind to become my illustrious assistant?” Greer asked scoffingly.
He was certain they didn’t, and was surprised when Brutus said, “In fact, yes.”
Greer could only stare at him for a moment before asking, “Who?”
Brutus and Titus exchanged a look, then faced him again.
“Who better to assist the greatest housebreaker in all of England than the most talented pickpocket in all of London?” Brutus asked.
Penny. The bastard brothers wanted him to recruit Penny to accompany him on a difficult mission to Cornwall. If their thoughts had ventured along the same paths that his had, they wanted him to recruit Penny to be one of the Den’s boys as well.
“No,” he said, uncomfortable with the reasons he was so quick to reject the idea. “I work alone.”
“You work with Percival Frey now,” Titus informed him.
“I won’t,” Greer said, a strange measure of panic welling up beside his stubbornness. “I do not need an assistant. Penny would only weigh me down. He knows nothing about housebreaking.”
“He has a reputation for cleverness and a natural ability to get what he wants, even in the direst of situations,” Titus said.
That was what Greer was afraid of.
Not to mention that he did not like the idea of putting Penny in danger at all.
He did not want to examine that feeling too closely.
“You can, of course, refuse the mission,” Brutus said with a shrug. “Though there will be consequences if you do so.”
Greer clenched his jaw, letting himself hate Brutus and Titus for a moment.
Consequences. He knew what those were. The Zagreus Den was not a charity and neither was it a gentleman’s club where one paid their annual membership dues in exchange for the enjoyment of all it had to offer.
It was an organized criminal gang as surely as anything that might be found on the Isle of Dogs, and membership was contingent upon remaining useful to the whole.
“So if I don’t do this, I’m out,” Greer said. “And if I don’t agree to pair up with an inexperienced, red-headed scamp, you won’t let me do the job.”
“You see?” Brutus said with a wolfish grin. “We understand each other perfectly.”
Greer glared at him as he snatched up the wine glass Valentine offered him with perfect timing. “Alright,” he muttered into the cup. “I’ll do it.” He took a long draught of the excellent wine.”
“Good,” Brutus said, smiling. “Just one other thing.”
“Oh?” Greer stared at him over the wine glass.
“We have yet to approach Percival about the job,” Brutus went on. “We need you to convince him for us.”