Page 53 of Greed: The Savage
Dynevor barely raised an eyebrow. “You’ve got some answering to do,” he said bluntly. “And I want answers fast.”
Thornwick curled his swollen, bloodied knuckles over the edge of his employer’s cluttered desk and leaned in. “Funny. I’m here for the same thing from you.”
The young earl’s brows—one bisected by a pale scar—dipped to sharp points over his nose, fury cutting into his features. “Have a care,” he said with a grotesque smile. “I’ve cut men open for less.”
Thornwick would have been only too happy to slit him from gullet to neck if he’d been guilty of the filth Dunworthy had spewed.
“Is that why you’re sending the girls here with me? Addien?” His voice dropped, lethal. “Because if you did—if that was your intention—”
His blade was out before Dynevor’s jewel-hilted dagger flashed fully into view.
“Oy,” the younger earl snapped. “What the hell are you accusing me of?”
“It’s not what I’m accusing you of,” Thornwick said coldly. “It’s what two patrons accused you of.”
Two men—warriors of different breeds, each savage in his own right—stood locked in place, knives drawn, neither hesitating, neither flinching.
“Do you think I’d do that?” Dynevor asked, still holding his blade.
“Dynevor,” Thornwick said evenly, “if I didn’t believe any man was capable of anything, you’d never have hired me.”
The earl’s brows dipped further before he grunted and lowered his dagger. Thornwick followed suit, each man sheathing his weapon in the same measured beat.
“Fair enough,” Dynevor said. “No—my sister nearly swung for avenging street girls forced by gentry. I won’t honor her life and sacrifice by doing the same evil. Even if Ophelia hadn’t nearly hanged for it, I’d still never put a man, woman, or child at the mercy of some nob and his wiles.”
Thornwick studied him for a long moment, weighing the truth in his words, then gave a single nod.
“I take the beating—and the sight of you—to mean Dunworthy had it coming.” It wasn’t a question.
“Dunworthy had it coming,” Thornwick confirmed.
Rage tightened Dynevor’s lips. “Snap?”
“I sent her to her room so we could speak privately.”
They shared a look. Dynevor paled. “Fuck.”
“She handled herself—and Dunworthy—with distinction,” Thornwick said, his mouth curling in hate around the title. “And I handled him after.”
“Should’ve killed him,” the earl said, the sincerity in his tone leaving no doubt he meant it.
It was a regret Thornwick would carry to his grave.
“Addien’s worried she’s going to hang. And that you’ll sack her,” Thornwick said, because when he spoke to her next, he wanted the assurances ready.
“She’s not going to hang, and she’s not going to be sacked.”
“Yes.” Thornwick nodded. “I was confident of that. She…had her reservations.”
“As all people born to the streets would,” Dynevor acknowledged, rubbing his chin. “Did she believe Darrow and Dunworthy?”
Thornwick countered with a question. “If you’d been in her place, facing those threats without a title to your name, wouldn’t you?”
“Aye.”
“This is only part of what needs discussing.”
Dynevor’s gaze sharpened. “Go on.”
