A TRUE GENTLEMAN KNOWS WHEN TO DIE QUIETLY #2
He gives me an eager nod, and the guys at the table grin proudly.
They hand Timothy the pile of money that they pooled together, and he hands it over to me.
I count it out loud and find that there is an extra five dollars.
The men hold their hands out as if expecting me to return it, but instead I tuck it in between my breasts and say, “I’ll take this as my finder’s fee.
Appreciate you gentlemen stepping into The Oily Cat this evening, and if you should need any other services, you know where to find me.
” I give them a look that says, Try me, before defeat etches itself across their faces and they turn back in their seats toward one another, drinking what remains in their mugs.
I steer Violet and Timothy toward two empty stools at the bar counter and encourage them to get to know one another before excusing myself to check up on Maeve and Mr. Cromwell.
Gathering my skirt in my hands, I climb the stairs, pausing just outside the second door on the right, just in time to hear it.
Crack!
A sound that doesn’t belong to sex and a whimper that does not come from pleasure. I compose myself, then open the door and step inside.
“Mr. Cromwell! I hope you don’t mind that I let myself .
. .” I don’t even get the full sentence out before I’m paralyzed by the image before me.
Maeve is kneeling off to one side of the bed, trying to bring herself to stand, but her eye is swollen shut and I can’t tell if the blood that is dripping down her face and onto her breasts is from her nose or her mouth—both of which are bleeding steadily.
Her dress is torn, and bruises are already starting to form around her wrists and the bite marks covering her breasts.
“We’re just having a little fun,” Mr. Cromwell explains, looking from Maeve and back toward me. “Aren’t we, sweetheart?” He asks her.
She turns in my direction, but with only one good eye and the other swollen shut, I doubt she sees me clearly. Still, I move to her, burying the fury I feel for Mr. Cromwell. He’ll see it soon enough.
I say nothing as I reach her, drape the bed blanket around her trembling shoulders, and press a kiss to her temple.
“I’ll take care of this,” I whisper.
Then I guide her gently to the door, hand steady on her back, and once she’s through, I close it softly behind her.
“Now, I paid good money,” Mr. Cromwell snaps. “I expect my full night.”
I let out a soft, almost imperceptible huff and turn to face him, schooling my features into something sweet before I offer up a smile. “Of course,” I say gently. “Let me make it up to you.”
I clasp my hands behind my back, tilt my head just enough to seem playful, and meet his gaze with icy-blue eyes peeking through my lashes. He pretends to be annoyed, like this is all beneath him, but I see the shift. The glint that tells me I have piqued his interest. Game on, bitch.
I wait, letting him make the first move, which doesn’t take long.
He steps toward me slowly, that repulsive grin spreading across his face as he strokes himself, already imagining he’s in control.
“How do you want me?” I ask, voice soft and laced with practiced shyness, playing the game that will ultimately end his life.
“On your knees,” he demands, and I drop down slowly, holding his gaze the entire time.
His hand snakes to the back of my head, fingers tangling in my hair before clenching tight.
Then, without warning, he forces himself into my mouth with a brutal thrust that brings tears to my eyes.
I close them instinctively, trying to steady my breath.
My throat tightens, my body tenses, but I push the reaction down.
I will myself not to gag, not to flinch, not to give him the satisfaction of seeing me in pain.
“Open your eyes,” he grunts.
Looking up at him, I see his cold eyes watching me, pinning me in place.
I wrap my left hand around the back of his thigh, fingers digging into the warmth of his skin, while my right grips him firmly at the base, matching the slow rhythm of my mouth as it moves back and forth, steady and controlled.
I want him to feel every inch of my defiance that I’ve disguised as obedience.
Just before I pull away, I drag a firm flick of my tongue over the tip, watching his expression shift between pleasure and restraint. I keep my hand moving over him, slower now, tracking the subtle changes in his breathing.
“Lay down,” I direct, nodding toward the bed. There’s a pause as a subtle flicker of resistance flashes in his eyes before he sighs and finally gives in.
I cross the room and kneel before the dresser, easing the bottom drawer open with a soft scrape.
Inside, a burlap sack waits exactly where I left it, its rough fibers slightly stained.
I keep my silk gloves on, knowing better than to let the poison touch my skin.
Carefully, I reach in and pull out four neatly coiled lengths of rope.
Behind me, his voice rises with disgusting enthusiasm.
“Think you’ll be able to take all of me?”
I force a smile he can’t see. “Oh, I’m sure I can manage,” I say over my shoulder, just before slamming the drawer shut a little harder than I meant to.
“Whatchu got there, sweet pea?” He asks, eyeing the bag in my hand.