Page 4 of Greed: The Savage
“Anyone else would be thankful.” Dynevor sounded more amused than anything.
“I ain’t thankful. I am annoyed,” she bit out with all the force and power behind the monicker he’d given her.
Dynevor took another pull from his cheroot, and then, leaning over, he set it on the edge of that plate. “You don’t like change, Snap. I understand that. I know about it.”
The words he was speaking were all the right ones, meant to give an unsettled person the assurances and reassurances they needed in a charged moment. Coming from Dynevor, however, they emerged more as a cataloged list Cook might take with her to the market.
“This is good for you, Snap.” He’d decided and there was no swaying him. “And you’re doing it. Lady Wakefield had no place being here. She was sent here by her brother.” Dynevor scowled.
“Cut to the bone, Dynevor,” she said bluntly. “What is it you would want me to do in this new role?”
“Not ‘would do,’ Snap. Rather, what youwilldo. What I’m laying out for you isn’t a proposal, it’s a demand.” The proprietor’s hard mouth formed something between a smile and a sneer that set off a warning. “Am I clear?”
Addien had to bite the inside of her cheek to get her tongue under control. She’d nearly pushed the hard-as-coffin-nails earl too far. He’d been patient, but even he could be pushed too far.
“In your new role, Snap,” he continued, “you’ll enter homes belonging to London’s finest, mostrespectablelords and ladies, who have a fancy for the most Bacchanalian revels.” The cynical twist of his lips said clearer than the slight emphasis exactly what he thought of London’s finest, most respectable citizens.
She’d be forced into the company of quality vermin.
Addien gritted her teeth.
Bleedin’ hell.It didn’t get any worse than—
“You’ll be joining Thornwick.”
Addien strangled on her spit and broke into a paroxysm of coughing. As in theMarquessof Thornwick and second-in-command of security at the Devil’s Den.
The last person she’d work with wasThornwick. That smug, self-righteous, pompous swell looked down at all those in the club. That was, all those patrons at the Devil’s Den who werenotfellow toffs.
“Fuckno.” She used every last bit of air in her lungs to make her point clear.
Any other one of the Quality would’ve taken offense. Dynevor erupted into a guffaw, grainy as a rasp. Some said those coal-scuffed tones were a product of all the cheroots he’d consumed. An even manymorewhispered his voice burnished like smoke over stone came from all the years he’d spent burning down successful businesses, fine townhouses, and vacant and occupied warehouses and buildings for the late gang leader, Mac Diggory.
She agreed with the “many more.”
In a twinkling, Lord Dynevor’s office iced over.
An invasive, marrow-deep shiver wracked Addien’s frame, from nothing more than a thought of her dark master from long ago.
Hisname didn’t even need to hit the air. The Under-King lived in the heads, memories, and nightmares of all who’d sold their souls for his protection. The fact he’d sat at the head of the same organization now occupied by the earl himself meant Addien, and everyone else who’d been part of Diggory’s gang, were visited daily by the memory of his evil and cruelty.
Dynevor’s humor faded to a quiet chuckle.
Why should he feel the same frost of The Under-King? When he’d been a lad, Stephen Warwick, né Killoran, the Earl of Dynevor, had been selected by Mac Diggory, kidnapped, and chosen as the heir apparent of the Devil Diggory’s kingdom of the cobblestones.
Dynevor grabbed a sheet from the table and passed it over.
“All right, Snap, to review your current role here at the Den.”
In quick order, Lord Dynevor ran through a list of her responsibilities, expectations, and every other last detail in between.
Be not just prompt, but early to appointments. Easy.
Dress and conduct herself as a lady. She’d rather die.
Gauge whether women were being coerced or truly wished to partake in the debauchery.Easy enough.
Accompany Thornwick. Horrific.
