Chapter Five #2
He flexed his jaw, clenching his fists.
Oh, she would pay for this.
Right after one of his blasted brothers came to let him out.
How many blasted hours would that be? Pacing the narrow confines of the cell like a caged bull, Drake muttered every foul curse he knew and invented several new ones.
The candelabra on the other side flickered mockingly.
Well, at least she left him the light. That was something, he supposed.
Darkness didn’t bother him, but in a dungeon, his brothers wouldn’t bother looking for him here if they didn’t spot a flicker of light.
The sweet sound of footfalls once again approached.
Bloody hell, yes.
Earlier, he hadn’t expected Knight to show up. He couldn’t even fathom a reason why he would. Now, however, he was deuced pleased by whatever had brought his brother over.
The footsteps grew louder, and a long shadow stretched across the threshold, and then Knight appeared, filling the doorway.
Sure, like a judgmental monolith, but pleasant to the eye, nonetheless.
His gaze swept the scene—Drake in the cell, the key on the floor—with the bland expression of a brother who had expected nonsense the moment he’d appeared the first time, but perhaps not this level of nonsense.
Knight’s stare returned to Drake, his brow climbing up his forehead.
Drake took back his earlier conjecture. Just kill me and tell the rest it was an accident.
“Not one word,” he growled.
Knight dismissed his warning outright. “I’d ask what I’m looking at, but I think I have a good idea.”
“And what bloody idea is that?” For all his brother knew, the woman pulled a pistol on him.
“You finally lost a fight.”
“I did not lose a bloody fight,” Drake snapped. Damn it. Patience was one thing in the face of the flaming carnivorous flower, but another thing entirely with his brothers.
Knight’s gaze flicked over him again. “Mm.”
Drake’s eye twitched. “What does that mean?”
“It means,” Knight replied evenly, “that from where I’m standing, it looks remarkably like you did.”
“I was not fighting her.”
“Then that makes it worse.”
“Enough prattle and let me out.”
“I don’t think so.”
Hell did the shite say? “What the devil do you mean ‘I don’t think so?’”
Knight crossed his arms. “You were outfoxed by a girl. Should you self-reflect?”
“I can bloody well do that outside.” Damn arse. “Besides, she didn’t outfox me. I knew the keys were in the lock, I just never believed she’d concoct such an act. A minor tactical oversight.”
Disapproval twitched Knight’s face. “Those get you killed.”
“Fine, I made a mistake,” Drake admitted. “Are you going to open the door or not?”
“No.”
“Knight.”
His brother swept up the keys. “Oh, look,” he drawled flatly. “The mighty Drake Fury, undone by his own stupidity. Truly, a day for the family records. Let me not tarry to share the news.”
“Knight,” Drake warned, gripping the bars so hard his knuckles protested. “Open the damned door.”
“Hmm,” Knight mused. “Still no.”
“I swear by all that is unholy—”
“Threats?” Knight cut in, raising a brow. “From your position? Have some pride, brother.”
Drake’s jaw clenched so tightly it might crack. “Fine. You want something?” He couldn’t believe he was about to say this. “Let me out and I’ll take your chores for the rest of the month.”
“What chores?”
Drake hesitated. “You know. Chores. Cooking stew. That stuff. Whatever you want.”
Knight stared at him with dead, unblinking judgement. “I’ve never considered cooking a chore.”
“Fine. Not stew.” Drake dragged a hand through his hair. “Something else, then.”
His brother said nothing for a moment, letting the silence stretch. “What else?”
“I don’t know,” Drake snapped impatiently. Knight knew damn well the longer he stayed locked in this damn cell, the shorter his temper grew. “Name something.”
“How about you tell me something?” Knight said, watching him closely. “Something like why were you in your dungeon with the flower shop girl in the first place?”
Knight recognized Violet?
“I have my reasons.” Reasons he was not about to share with his brother. Or anyone else.
“Do those reasons have anything to do with why you are sneaking around with Reaper?”
“Christ. I’m not sneaking around with Reaper.” What the bloody hell was this? An interrogation?
Knight simply raised a brow.
Ah, hell. So it was. “It’s a personal matter. Nothing to get your laces in a twist.”
Knight’s lip pulled up in a sneer. “What’s the personal matter?”
Drake narrowed his gaze, stepping away from the bars to cross his arms. “Since when are you curious about other people’s business?”
“Since that man has returned.”
Ah. “Our uncle.”
“He is no uncle of ours.”
Right. “The snake, then. My matter has nothing to do with him. You’ll just have to trust me on that.”
Knight merely stared, then turned around and walked out.
“Knight!” Drake roared, leaping forward to grip the bars again.
His brother glanced back at him—a single heartbeat of consideration.
“Do not,” Drake growled, “leave me here. Let me out. Right now.”
Knight made an agreeable humming sound. “You’re right, I can’t leave you here.” Before Drake could feel relief, the arse added, “I’ll send one of the others to fetch you.”
His temper exploded. “Why the hell would you do that? Is this you taking revenge for your precious boots last month? I bloody replaced them.”
“Revenge is for the petty man.”
Drake nearly choked on blood. “You best remember I’m a damn petty man then.”
His brother gave him a lazy little salute. “I know.”
“Damn crazy behemoth,” he called after the man abandoned him, dragging his hands through his hair and letting out a strangled curse. He kicked the bars and jerked back with disgust. When he got out of here . . . He’d vent his pettiness, because he possessed a sliver, on his brother’s stew.
And Violet Sharpe?
Christ.
He didn’t know whether to throttle her or kiss her into a fluster as punishment. Neither would do him any good. And yet he wasn’t in a particularly accommodating mood.
She would pay for what she’d done today.
He simply needed to decide how.