Page 3 of Their Golden Bride (Bridgewater Brides 4)

“Name is Garret, Garret Finley,” he reminded her in a gentle voice. “You take care of yourself out there. And remember, if you ever need some work, come find me in Bridgewater.”

“I will, sir, thank you!”

The money felt like it should be glowing in her pocket as she quickly packed up her kit and pulled her heavy pack onto her back. Her breath came out slightly wheezy as she walked down the smooth, clean planks of the nice part of town, her head down and her shoulders hunched. Hopefully, no one else had seen the five-dollar bill Garret had given her, and she had to keep her hand from reaching down to pat her pocket and make sure it was still there. A thick, harsh cough rattled around in her chest as she took a moment to catch her breath and clear her lungs.

While her first urge was to run off to the nicest hotel she could afford, she had to make the money last. More than anything, she wished for a bath to wash off the dirt and the stink of the streets, but all the bathing houses were communal, and she couldn’t exactly sneak into the woman’s side while dressed as a boy. But she had to clean up a little, somehow, or the decent hotels that would keep riffraff like Mr. Charles out would never allow her through the door.

Looking back over her shoulder to the nicer part of town, she thought she saw Garret in the crowd for a moment, but when she glanced back again

, he wasn’t there.

A city lamp lighter came by, and she realized she’d spent more time than she’d wanted standing there catching her breath.

Quickly glancing around, she remembered the stables on the outskirts of town not too far away. There were horse watering troughs there, and if she was quick and careful, she might be able to get off enough of the dirt and dust that encrusted in her skin so they’d allow her in the hotel. With five dollars, she could get one of the nicest beds in the city, but she had to be careful to make the money last. For a moment, she regretted saying no to Garret. If she’d accepted his offer, she’d have some kind of job security rather than trying to hustle every day for pennies.

Hefting her pack, and trying to ignore the wheezing in her lungs, she made her way through the dwindling crowd, then down packed dirt streets until the smell of the stables hung heavy in the air.

Putting her pack and shoeshine kit down, she peeked around the corner of one of the buildings, trying to see if anyone was out tending the horses.

She didn’t see anyone, so surely—

Her thought was cut off as a big, rough male hand wrapped around her mouth, large enough to cover her nose as well, and cut off her oxygen. Another wrapped around her throat, squeezing tight enough that tears came to her eyes as she choked. Her scream strangled in her throat as she clawed at the hand holding her, terror filling her as she was dragged into another alley.

One where Mr. Charles waited.

The tip of his cigarette glowed as he took in a deep inhalation, then he removed it from his mouth with a gloved hand. The light coming from the street illuminated half his face, and the smile he gave her made her stomach feel weak. It was the smile of pure evil, of a man who enjoyed hurting people and causing pain. He strolled closer to them, his long pale gray duster free from the dirt and grime that clung to her.

“Roger,” he clucked his tongue in mock disappointment, pausing to take another puff of his cigarette before blowing it in her face. “You disappoint me.”

Lack of air was becoming a serious issue, and Rowan started to go limp in the arms of the man who held her before he finally let her breathe.

Sucking in a massive gasp of air, she was soon bent over double, trying to brace herself with her hands on her knees as she coughed.

Mr. Charles stared down at her with a bored, dispassionate look. “If you stop all this churlish behavior and come work for me, we can get you medicine that will help you. You’ll have a nice, warm place to live, good food, and enough money to live a good life.”

Gasping for breath, she still managed to say, “No. Never. Leave me alone.”

Mr. Charles gave a sigh of mock disappointment. “And here I thought you were a smart young lad. Larry, why don’t you show Roger the error of his ways? But do watch his face. We don’t want to damage the merchandise.”

Blinding pain tore through her belly as Larry kicked her hunched over form. She let out a cry of sheer despair, not sure if she’d survive another beating.

Mr. Charles leaned against the brick side of the building, watching with narrowed eyes and a serpentine smile as Larry gave her a hard kick to her thigh. Even stronger pain screamed through her body, and she wrapped her hands over her head and fragile neck, knowing one good kick there could kill her.

This is it. This was how she was going to die.

Alone, in the dirt, in extreme pain.

“Hey, you, leave that boy alone!” A man’s voice, as deep as a church bell, rang down the alley.

Mr. Charles yelled back, “This is none of your concern. Just having a conversation with my son.”

A new man’s voice growled, “That boy is not your son. Now, get the hell out of here before I call the law.”

Mr. Charles’ voice came from nearby as he said, “I wouldn’t do that if I were you. Do you know who I am?”

“A bastard who likes to beat on children,” came the deep voice, nearly vibrating with menace.

A gunshot rang out, so loud it cut through even the pounding of her heart and her strangled screams. More gunfire sounded, until the alley boomed like a warzone.

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