Page 43 of Freeing Hook

I fist my hands at my sides and sneak to the corner. If I can’t be strong, at least I’ll be unexpected. As the henchman approaches, chanting, “Come out, little girl. We know you can’t have gone far,” I prepare myself.

When he reaches the corner, he makes the mistake of looking the wrong way, and I lunge. I go for his neck, wrapping my arms around it as tightly as I can manage, using my bodyweight against him as I hang on his back, cutting off his airway. The man flails, thankfully already winded. When he backs up and slams both of us against the wall, stars sparkle across my vision. I let out a cry, partly from the blunt force to my skull, partly because the man digs his long, dirty fingernails into my forearms, drawing blood.

Still, I hold tight, running on the adrenaline of terror and the desperation not to be hauled back to that awful brothel. With each time he slams me backward up against the wall, I count. One. Two. Three, four, five. I’ve no idea how long it takes a man to lose consciousness from strangulation, but as he pounds my already sore body against the wall, my grip around him loosens. With every blow, I have to remind myself that the more he exerts himself, the quicker he’ll pass out.

Down the alley, the driver calls out, “Aye? Found her yet?”

The henchman rasps in reply, and I have no idea if the driver can hear our struggle. It ends up not mattering, because the henchman slams me again, and this time my skull cracks against brick. Pain lances through me, and my hands slip. The harsh exterior of the brick building scrapes my back as I fall, trapped between the henchman and the wall. When he turns to face me, his eyes are storming with vengeance.

“I oughta kill you right here and now,” he says, heaving in panicked breaths as he glares down at me. When he props himself on his knees, he examines me like a hawk, cocking his head as he presses his hand to my throat and squeezes.

The muscles in my chest lurch, grasping for air, but they’re met with the stricture of this man’s hand at my throat. I can’t breathe, and my body realizes it quickly. I flail, just like the man was doing only moments ago, overexerting himself. I find I can’t help the useless reflex.

“You’re not worth your trouble,” he says. “You know what I’ll do? I’ll tell them you died in the carriage crash. I’ll tell themVulcan slit your throat once he realized what had happened so you couldn’t get away. Didn’t want anyone else to have what was his.”

Tears bloom at the corners of my eyes, trickling down my cheeks. I don’t want to die like this, discarded in a dank alley for the rats to get me. An unknown corpse no one will report to John and Michael, leaving them to always wonder what happened to me.

Still, it’s better than the brothel.

“Don’t. Touch. Her.”

The voice rings out from the alley, rage brimming inside a steel furnace. When Astor steps from the shadows, his figure is as sharp as ever. Not for the first time, I consider how it almost hurts to look at him, his green eyes blazing with menace.

The henchman doesn’t move, but there’s enough command in Astor’s voice that he at least releases his grip enough for me to breathe. I gasp, gulping down air as soon as I can get some.

“You’re still touching her,” says Astor, tapping his foot.

“This one doesn’t belong to you,” says the henchman, his voice more assured than his face, which is breaking out in sweat at his brow.

Astor doesn’t miss a beat. “I’m aware of that.”

His eyes flick toward mine, just for a moment. Just long enough to make me wonder if I imagined it. When he clucks his tongue, Charlie and Maddox step from the shadows, flanking Astor on either side.

Slowly, the man, eyes trained on Maddox’s bulging arms, extracts his hand from my throat, though when he stands, it’s between me and Astor.

“I can’t return to my master empty-handed, you understand.”

Astor’s smile is oily. “I’ll ensure you don’t. But you won’t be returning to your master with her.”

The henchman’s eyes flick over to Charlie. “That one, then. In exchange?”

If Charlie is fazed, she doesn’t show it. Her face remains as still as a doe in the wood.

“Who do you work for?” asks Astor.

The henchman laughs. “As if I would tell the likes of you. He’d have me killed.”

Astor flashes him a razored grin. “You’re a town away. Good thing you have a head start.”

The henchman blanches as next to Astor, Maddox starts playing with his blade. He really does look more menacing than I realized, all brawn and wicked amusement. The henchman must think so too, because he spouts out, “Give me your word you’ll let me go if I give you the girl.”

Astor laughs. “You’re not in the position to bargain, I’m afraid. If I were you, I’d tell us who you’re working for and take my chances.”

The henchman chews on the inside of his cheek. He must recognize that the best he can do in this situation is to try to please Astor, so he says, “Zane. Owns the Marble House.”

“That’s all? There’s no one else?”

The henchman shakes his head.

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