Chapter 16
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Silas and Giovanni pulled up outside of White’s.
Giovanni had received word from the owner of the club that an individual associated with Willie Dugby had information for them.
It was an opportunity they couldn’t pass up, even though they discussed at length on the carriage ride all the different ways the meeting could be dangerous.
Silas decided it would be best for him and Giovanni to go in alone, leaving a couple of men outside the property in case things went south.
“Let’s do this quickly,” Silas said, his pistol stowed at his belt. “I want to get home to my wife.”
“We’ll make all haste,” Giovanni smirked at him despite the seriousness of the evening.
“You seemed to be getting along splendidly earlier.” Giovanni waggled his eyebrows suggestively and Silas dug him in the side with his elbow, trying not to smile back.
They climbed the steps to White’s and knocked on the door.
The owner pushed it open. He was a paltry fellow with a weak chin called Mortimer, and his eyes darted up and down the street.
“You came alone?” Mortimer asked, licking the sweat off his upper lip.
Silas and Giovanni exchanged a sideways glance. Something seemed off.
“Of course,” Silas lied easily. “Just me and my bodyguard here.”
Mortimer let them in. As soon as they stepped past him into the hallway of the club, Silas could tell that something was wrong.
The gaming parlor was virtually empty and the paid women sat subdued in corners.
There was no sound of raucous rendezvous or drinking echoing down the stairs. Silas turned to Mortimer.
“Where is he?”
“In the back.” Mortimer jerked his head. “He’s asked to see you alone, Mr Klane.”
Silas looked at Giovanni, who nodded, glancing imperceptibly at Silas’ gun. Even if he was going in alone, he wasn’t unarmed.
“Very well. Lead the way, Mortimer.”
Silas followed a nervous Mortimer to a room behind the gaming parlor and steeled himself as the door was pushed open for him.
He stepped inside. The room was clearly used for storage and wooden crates and boxes were piled high.
Silas frowned. This was not good. Anyone could be hiding in here.
A man stood in the center of the room, a long greatcoat over his shoulders and a dark hat pulled low over his face.
“Mr Klane?” he asked, his voice tinged with a heavy cockney accent.
“Yes.”
The cockney nodded to Mortimer, who turned to lock the door. Silas raised his eyebrows at him.
“I’m sorry, Mr Klane,” Mortimer quailed under his glare. “They were going to break my legs.”
“At the end of this, you may wish they had,” Silas muttered, returning his attention to the cockney.
“Mortimer here implies you have company.” He let his hand drift slowly towards his gun. “Might you like to introduce your friends?”
The cockney tilted his head to assess Silas. He saw a long scar running down the man’s cheek, passing through his left eye, which was white from damage. The man did not look like a common criminal.
“I suppose I might know one of them.” Silas tried to keep his voice level, but also loud enough that Giovanni who would certainly be listening and trying to find a way to get past the locked door. “Willy Dugby?”
“Aye,” the cockney smiled, slowly pulling out a long knife. “He ‘as a message for yer.”
“I expected he might.” Silas kept his eyes on the knife. “What is it?”
Silas had been right to worry about the boxes and crates.
He didn’t see the second man move from out of the darkness behind him but felt the sudden pressure of rope at his neck.
He immediately strained against him, overwhelmed with the awful scent of an unwashed body close to him and a hard knee in his back.
He gasped, watching as the cockney approached, smiling a toothless grin.
“Willy Dugby wants yer to know…” The cockney pressed the knife against Silas’ chest. Silas squeezed his eyes shut, trying to hold onto his vision. He just needed to hang on for a moment longer for them to let their guard down.
“Ye-es?” Silas croaked.
“Dugby says he’s gonna take yer sister, and yer new bint, that Lady Anna. They say she’s right pretty. He can’t wait ter meet her.”
Silas lifted his knee and slammed it upwards into the cockney’s groin, ignoring the slashing pain as the knife he held scraped through his shirt.
He stamped his booted foot into the instep of the man behind him, feeling his rough hands around the rope loosen a crucial few inches, enough for Silas to throw his elbow back into the man’s stomach and twist himself free.
He grabbed his gun but the foul-smelling assassin behind him was grasping at him, struggling to keep his grip and they were too close for Silas to twist his wrist and fire.
Instead, he slammed the iron butt of the pistol into the man’s skull, watching him fall.
“I’ll have yer liver, Lucifer!”
Too late, Silas saw the silver gleam of the knife the cockney had thrown.
He felt the searing pain of its tip enter his shoulder and buckled over, grunting.
He could hear Giovanni throwing the weight of his boot against the door, he was nearly through, but he wouldn’t be quick enough.
Gritting his teeth and grunting at the pain in his arm, Silas whipped his body up straight and pointed his gun at the cockney.
He saw the man’s eyes widen in surprise and pressed the trigger.
The explosion of the gunpowder was a ripping force down his already injured arm that made Silas yell out in pain, falling to his knees.
The cockney fell back, splayed out in blood with a bullet through his forehead.
Silas heard the rough shuffling of the man behind him as he regained consciousness and struggled to his feet.
Silas risked a glance at his shoulder. The knife wobbled comically from the flesh, and Silas felt as if his whole arm was on fire with every little movement.
He must turn around and face his attacker, but he couldn’t lift his gun anymore, and he had no time to reload. He had only one option.
Roaring with the pain, he gripped the cockney’s knife, wrenched it from his shoulder and rolled on his back to face his attacker, feeling the hot, wet flow of fresh blood pumping down his shirt sleeve.
His left arm wavered as he stared into the ugly face of the criminal, made more hideous by the bloody wound Silas had left on his left temple.
Before the man could take a step forward, the door crashed open on its hinges and Giovanni threw himself bodily onto the man, sliding a slick knife into his left kidney and letting him fall where he stood.
“What took you so long?” Silas slurred, dropping the knife and falling back, feeling the sharp crack of his skull against the stone floor but not feeling any pain.
“Silas!” Giovanni shouted above him, his face swimming into view. “Silas! Stay with me! I’m going to apply a tourniquet and get you to a surgeon.”
Silas couldn’t help the groan of pain that escaped his lips as he felt Giovanni tighten something hard above the wound in his arm. It felt like a vice of fire, squeezing the life out of him.
“No surgeon!” he panted. “Merkel! Only, Merkel!”
Silas could feel himself slipping away, a coldness creeping up from his fingertips and a red whirl of dizziness behind his eyes.
“All right, we’ll find Merkel. Then we’ll get you home safe, all right? Home to Fallenbrook.”
Fallenbrook. Home. Anna. God, how he wanted to see her, even if it was just one last time.
“Take me home,” he murmured, slipping into unconsciousness. “Take me home to Anna.”