Page 102 of The Hunter
“It was me!” A tiny voice cut through the masculine growls with high-pitched clarity. Little feet pounded on the wood floors until Jakub stood in front of him, his spectacles fogged with emotion and his skin patched red with grief and fear. The child collapsed against him, thin arms surrounding his thighs and wails of grief wetting the side of his shirt. “It was me, Mr. Argent, it wasmyfault.” The boy lost his breath to sobs before he could continue. “I—I wanted to help you. I wanted to use what you taught me to keep her safe. I—I took a knife and snuck away to find you.”
Something crumpled inside of Argent, and again he struggled against the men holding him back.
In front of him, Blackwell nodded at Argent’s subduers, and he was released. Sinking to his knees, Argent allowed Jakub’s arms to encircle his neck and bury his little face in his throat, unleashing a tempest of tears against his skin. “He’s going to hurt her and it’s my fault,” the child cried. “Ican’tlose her. She’s my mama. I want her. I want herback. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”
Argent wanted to believe the pressure in his throat was due to the clinging boy. More than anyone, he understood exactly the helplessness causing the violent spasms of grief and horror ripping through the tiny body heaving against his. Suddenly he found his arms around the boy and, as he held the distraught child against him, the decades-gone memory of his own fear and helplessness shuddered through every muscle and left him one raw, open wound.
He’d wanted her back, his mother. Begged her not to leave him. Cried and cried for help. Sobbed his apologies against her cold body. It had beenhisfault. If he’d not fought back, she might have lived. The guilt and rage had drowned the child he once was in a shallow pool of her blood.
“I want Mama,” the boy whimpered. “I want her back.”
“I do, too,” Argent said hoarsely, meaning it with every fiber of his being. Dragging Jakub away from him, he looked the boy right in the eyes, somewhat hidden behind the smeared glass. “I’m going after your mother, but I have to leave now. Do you promise to remain here, upon your honor?”
Jakub wiped his runny nose on his sleeve and nodded, fat tears still streaming down his miserable face. Argent took him by the shoulders and shook him gently. “Listen to me, Jakub. No matter what happens, thisisn’tyour fault. The blame lies solely on the shoulders of the man who took her. Do you understand me?”
Jakub swallowed, biting hard on his lower lip.
“You were being brave. You wanted to protect your mother. There’s nothing in the world more honorable than that. But until you’re a man, you have to leave that to me.”
“I promise, I’ll do anything.” Jakub surged against him. “I’ll do anything if you bring her home.”
Argent stood, the boy locked in his arms, and met Blackwell’s suspiciously bright eye. The Blackheart of Ben More’s jaw was clenched, his chin may have been unsteady, and the man whom he’d met only the year after the tragedy of his mother’s death nodded to him. A silent vow. He’d also lost his mother violently, and Argent knew the memory still haunted the man.
Turning to the room of wide-eyed and moist-eyed spectators, he deposited Jakub into Farah’s reaching arms. “We’ll look after him, Argent,” she reassured him. “No matter what.”
Argent nodded and turned to leave. He was going to tear this city apart, stone by fucking stone, if he had to. He was going to bring Millie home.
“He’ll take his time with her,” Blackwell said in a low voice, falling into step behind him as he left the parlor. “We have a good chance of tracking them.”
“We?” Argent clipped through clenched teeth, every heartbeat that passed a moment Millie could be hurting, or worse. Wrenching open the door to Blackwell’s study and pulling the statue lever that uncovered the panel of weapons behind the wall, Argent claimed an arsenal.
“You didn’t mean to find her alone, did you?” Blackwell handed him a pistol, which he stowed beneath his jacket before selecting a few scabbards and throwing knives. “I wouldn’t have found Farah without your help.”
“I wouldn’t have lost Millie without yours,” Argent bandied back, shouldering past Dorian to stalk toward the entrance.
“I didn’t know Dorshaw had escaped police custody.” Blackwell trailed him with long, powerful strides. “And I was fair certain you’d taken care of Thurston by then.”
Argent jogged down the front stairs of the Blackwell mansion, his mind on one thing.
Millie.
“I couldn’t very well keep her from searching for her son,” Dorian continued.
“You could have tied her to something.”
“Fair enough,” Dorian ceded, reaching out to block him from flinging the gate open. “Regardless of that, I’m coming with you, and bringing my men along. We’ll find her faster if we’re all looking.”
Argent whirled on Dorian, but was stunned to see all who surrounded him. Blackwell, Tallow, and even Walters, along with a few others he knew from Newgate. Wei Ping, Wu’s nephew, held a nasty-looking curved metal pipe with blades thrust through the edges. Murdoch, of course, had his pale face pressed to the parlor glass.
He knew these men. Knew their weaknesses, knew their strengths. Had worked, fought, killed, and bled beside them. Dorian and he had done the impossible, organized these cutthroats and criminals into a well-oiled machine.
Argent had always thought he’d been alone, that he was on one side, and the entire world on another. There were faces of men whom he still wouldn’t turn his back to in a dark alley, but they were here, ready to do his bidding.
Free of charge.
Whether out of loyalty, fear, advancement, or true sentiment, it didn’t matter. To Argent, it still meant something.
“I think he’s taken her to the tunnels.” He addressed them all, referring to the ever-growing intricate network of underground waterways, trade routes, and smuggling networks that had wound beneath the city since the time of the Romans. “Rumor’s always had it that Dorshaw lurks down there like a sewer rat. It’s why they never find the bodies, not even the police will venture in certain places beneath ground.”
