Page 1 of Razors & Ruin

PROLOGUE

Nellie

“I’m here to see Currer Brook. The murderer.”

The guard eyes me dubiously. “The psychopath who slashed a man’s throat in the street. That’s who you want to visit?”

I nod. “Yes, sir. I’m his sister.”

The guard looks me up and down and smiles. “Of course you are.”

He knows damn well I’m not the younger sibling of his most famous charge. I look like what I am; an urchin. A pretty but poor girl, a nobody, from nothing and going nowhere.

“I suppose I can let you in.” The guard stands and stretches. “He’s getting deported tomorrow. What harm can a little fun do now?”

“Would you please remove his shackles?” I ask. “You know. It would be…better.” I tilt my head to read the sign on his desk. “Charlie. You could do that for me, couldn’t you, Charlie?”

“Depends, love.” He smirks. “What you gonna do for me? I get lonely in this shithole. Only me on duty all bloody night.”

He’s fifty if he’s a day, but I could give him what he wants. God knows it would be easy enough—I’ve spent most of the day in my bed, my thoughts churning, knowing what the evening would bring. My pussy is soaked, and my clit is sore from the repeated friction. I’ve come so many times today, biting the pillow as I imagined Currer fucking me.

I know I’m sick in the head. But when he chased that barber into the street, I was there, and I saw the look in his eyes. That burning, searing passion, hotter than Hell.

He cut the man’s throat like it was butter, sending arterial blood spraying over the terrified bystanders, but it wasn’t enough. Again and again, he slashed and yelled, a feral rage driving him until the constables dragged him away.

He’s thirty years old, and I am eighteen today. He is my birthday present, and I will do whatever I must to prove my feelings for him.

I give Charlie the guard my most innocent fluttery glance. Men like him love it when you play the angel.

“I don’t know what you mean, sir.”

He walks around the desk and stands before me. “Yes, you do. Goodness me, you really are a lovely little whore, aren’t you?” He takes my chin in his hand and turns my face into the light. “Still pretty clean, too.”

I’m not a prostitute; I work in a butcher’s, and he pays me a fair wage. I pull my face out of his grip and step back, giving him a little curtsey. “No, sir. I ain’t for that.” I reach into my pocket. “I got a few coins if that’ll do the trick.”

“It’ll do, I suppose,” he says, holding out a hand. “What I want is to put you flat on this desk and fuck your little cunt, but you like your men rougher than me.” He pockets the money and beckons me to follow.

“Much obliged, sweetie,” he says. “Now, come along. Let’s go see if your favorite murderer happens to be in.”

Charlie goes into the cell ahead of me, and I hear the clanking of chains being removed. Currer murmurs a question I don’t quite catch.

“You have a visitor,” Charlie says. “Lovely girl. Give me a shout when you’re done.”

He comes out and takes my wrist. “In you go. If he kills you, that’s your lookout, so don’t be saying you wasn’t warned.”

He shoves me through the door, and then he’s gone, his retreating footsteps echoing.

It’s dark, but a low lamp alleviates the gloom. On the cot in the corner sits the hunched figure of a man I don’t know but cannot stop thinking about.

“Who the fuck are you?” he asks.

“Nellie,” I reply. “We don’t know each other, Mr. Brook. I just?—”

“You can call me Currer.” He looks up and narrows his eyes, his expression quizzical. “Come here so I can get a better look at you.”

I step into the light, and his lips curve into a smile, but the rest of his face doesn’t move. “You’re intrepid. I like that. Isn’t trade rough enough out there without soliciting the condemned?”

“I’m not a whore.” I feel suddenly shy, and I glance at the ground. “I saw you the day you killed the barber.”

---