Chapter 28
HELL brEAKS LOOSE
Brandon could tell that something was afoot here.
Something bigger than he and the Dark Hand had ever planned for.
Still, he forced himself to remain calm.
His heart was pounding, but his face was still stone.
Whatever games Johnny had in mind, he was not so prone to play.
And even if he were to play, it would only be to win.
“Are we here to make a deal? Because I do not have time to waste,” Brandon said. “You keep dancing around something, and I do not like it. If you didn’t want to cut an agreement, then you just wasted my time, and my time is precious.”
“A deal.” Johnny leaned back in his chair, his cold eyes fixed on Brandon. “If I were completely honest—which I rarely am, but on this occasion, I will make an exception—I would have you know that there is no deal to be made.”
Brandon could feel the men surrounding them move into position like a very well-oiled machine.
Brandon had been watching Johnny’s gang for long enough to know that they were a bunch of lowlives, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t be prepared to form an organized attack.
His trained ears could hear weapons readied.
“I rarely make a deal with those that seek to destroy me,” Johnny said in a tone that seemed final.
Brandon clenched his hands into fists. Somehow, Johnny knew. Either he found out just now, or he knew beforehand that this was just a ruse and that he and Owen were not smugglers. What he didn’t know was if their cover was blown.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he decided to stall too and maybe gain some information. “Word on the street is that you are paranoid, but it’s different to get to see it with your own eyes.”
“Of course, I am paranoid. No one survives long enough out on the streets without being a little bit paranoid.” Johnny chuckled. “Wouldn’t you agree, Your Grace?”
Brandon bit down his own jaw and let out deep breaths through his nostrils. Cold sweat ran down his spine. The cover was blown. Everything was at stake. And yet there was no time and no way to regroup and reassess the situation. It would be full-out war. Frankly, Brandon didn’t mind so much.
He took a more rigid stand, abandoning the slouched pretense of the smuggler and rising to his whole gentlemanly height. He was ready to open his mouth, drag this out a little bit more till it was time, but he didn’t get the chance.
A scream echoed through the warehouse. A chilling, blood-curdling scream. Brandon stood absolutely still, his mind racing to register what he had just heard. Because that was not a man’s scream. It was a woman’s. Terrified, piercing, and cut off too soon.
Brandon looked at the door leading to the back of the warehouse. Then his eyes fell on Johnny, who looked at him with a sly smile on his face. A terrible realization came over him.
Brandon did not stop to think. He did not allow logic to dictate his decisions. He unleashed all of his instincts and simply moved. And the room erupted into chaos. Men shouted, and weapons clashed.
Before anyone had a chance to react, Brandon took down two men. They fell without even drawing their weapons. A third lunged at him, but with ease, Brandon sidestepped, raised his elbow, and smashed it into the other man’s face. Bones crunched, and the man fell unconscious.
Whatever logic Brandon had commanded the same thing again and again. He had to reach that door. That was the goal. There was no mission anymore, no vengeance, no higher calling. It was just this scream and that door.
“I am with you!” Owen’s voice cut through the chaos.
He turned just one moment and glanced at his friend as he was fighting. Owen’s movements were fluid, almost like a dance. And yet every blow, every single strike, was precise and devastating.
“Back room!” Brandon growled and kept cutting through Johnny’s men.
Behind him, he heard the main doors burst open.
He glanced over his shoulder and sneered.
The Dark Hand was here. The first one to enter was Victor.
He had his face covered, but there was no mistaking that behemoth of a man.
In the whole of London, there was not another beast of a man like him.
And like a mythological monster, he fell upon the gangsters.
After him, Duncan made his entrance, two pistols in hand, wrapped and covered, his body straight and calm, every strike surgical.
Brandon was relieved that someone had his back, so he moved.
Victor was soon close to him, and Brandon thanked his luck that this force of nature was on their side.
The Middle of the Dark Hand grabbed one of Johnny’s men by the throat and lifted him off the ground with one hand.
The man’s eyes bulged, and he clawed at Victor’s grip with no effect.
Victor then threw him into two more men, sending all three crashing to the ground.
“Move!” Victor demanded and fell back into battle.
Brandon obeyed as he heard bones crack and bodies falling, but he did not look back.
“More are coming from the back room,” Owen said right next to him.
He had abandoned his pistols and relied on his trusty sword cane. He moved through the men with elegance, and yet each strike was at vital points of a man.
“I was expecting something far harder. These men are slow,” Owen taunted, dodging a blow.
A gangster with a blade in his hand charged at him, but Owen embarrassingly tripped him and then incapacitated him with one single blow.
“See?” Owen said. “Slow.”
“Stop wasting energy,” Duncan’s voice cut through the roar of battle. “Back room. Quickly.”
Brandon glanced at their leader. He barely moved, not wasting one ounce of energy. He did not take unnecessary risks, and he didn’t allow any openings to his opponents. He waited for them to make mistakes and punished them for it.
A man came at him from behind, and without flinching Duncan dropped to one knee as the blade flew over his head. And then, without even turning, he delivered a single devastating blow to the man’s stomach.
Brandon met Duncan’s eyes.
“Fire,” Duncan called out.
Brandon turned his attention to the back room. The door was open, but he could not see inside. There was only darkness. He could see something flickering, but the unmistakable smell of something burning made his blood run cold.
Brandon simply pushed through everybody standing in his way, sure that his companions would take care of any threats. He was ready to enter the back room when he heard Johnny’s voice.
“You thought you could come here and take everything from me?”
Brandon turned to the man. He was looking at him triumphantly, as if he had already won. “I will take everything from you first.”
Brandon had to fight to keep focus. This was the man that killed Greta, the man that had threatened his wife, the one that thought he would reduce Marigold to nothingness. He took one step towards him. It was so easy, so close. He could just grab him and snap his neck, once and for all.
“Ah,” Johnny said in triumph. “You’re so close to getting what you want, aren’t you, Your Grace? You have been chasing me for so long, always a shadow I couldn’t see clearly.”
“You will get what you deserve.”
“Such a noble emotion, but you must know, Your Grace, that for every single thing one desires, he must lose another. That is the law of nature. And I am wondering, what are you willing to lose to get to me?”
Brandon’s hands clenched, and his whole body vibrated with rage and adrenaline.
“I am thinking,” Johnny said with a smile as the battle raged around them. “What do you have of value? You are a man who has everything. What would devastate you most to lose?”
Brandon stared at Johnny, his mind racing.
Without a second thought, there was one thing that crossed his mind.
The one thing that would answer Johnny’s question.
It wasn’t a word that came, but images, one after the other.
Marigold laughing, the way she wiped her dirty hands on her apron.
The way she defied him in his own study.
The way she rubbed Duck’s belly. The way she murmured his name in his arms.
Of all the things he had, title, status, and wealth, there was only one thing that gave him a reason to live.
Marigold. The realization hit him harder than any blow this man could ever inflict upon him.
It was not possessiveness. It was not protectiveness.
It wasn’t even a debt repaid or a deal struck.
There was something more, something profound.
Brandon realized, in the midst of battle, bleeding, hurt, and vibrating with rage, that perhaps even that word “love” didn’t even begin to describe how deeply he felt for her. But Marigold was safe, waiting for him in Verdant House, probably ready to scold him when he came back with open wounds.
“There, Your Grace. Now you got your answer?” Johnny snarled. “So let me ask you again, more clearly now. Are you willing to lose her to get to me?”
Brandon froze. The scream. His mind didn’t want to believe it, but he knew it in his soul. This was not just any woman Johnny had in the back. It was Marigold. He looked upon his nemesis as he leered.
“I believe you’re too late, Your Grace.”
Brandon did not think. He did not plan. He did not talk, and he did not question. He simply moved. He turned his back on Johnny, not even caring what would happen to this man, and ran.
Flames were now blocking the entrance to the back room. The heat was unbearable, the smoke was thick. He stood before the door and didn’t even hesitate. He jumped through the flames. He could hear someone behind him screaming, but he did not allow a second thought.
He could feel his lungs burning, and his eyes were stinging and filled with tears. At first, he could not see clearly. Then he looked around and saw barrels and crates, but they were on fire, burning, the flames reaching the ceiling.
He pulled up the clothes he had around his neck to cover his mouth. The smoke was so thick he could barely see shadows in the rest of the room. All he could hear was the crackling noises of everything burning around him. But then he heard it, soft and low as it was, a cough.
He moved as fast as he could to where he heard that noise that still gave him hope.
And then, in the center of it all, he saw her.
Marigold. She was tied to a chair. She was coughing, and her eyes were watering, and she was struggling with her restraints, trying to free herself. Not screaming, not panicking, fighting.
The flames were at her feet. Her gown was beginning to smolder. Brandon felt the rush of panic take over him, but he used that force to catapult him forward.
“Marigold! I’m here!”
She looked up. Through the smoke and the tears, she saw him.
At first, she could not believe her own eyes.
Perhaps she didn’t even recognize him since he had his face covered.
Brandon thought that maybe she mistook him for one of Johnny’s goons.
But then her eyes widened. She breathed as if in relief.
“Brandon.”
He ran towards her. He did not feel the heat. The smoke did not bother him. He felt no fear. There was only one thing in his mind, and that was getting to Marigold in time. He was not going to lose her. He could not lose her. He loved her.