Page 52 of Seducing the Knave

Chapter Fourteen

Max was exhausted. After a frustratingly restless sleep, he’d risen far earlier than usual and had left the house with one firm and focused intention.

Track down Gill Reed.

Though Carver would have put some of their best shadow-snoops on him, Max still preferred to handle certain important tasks personally.

As young lads, Max and Gill had been best mates, bound to each other by their shared determination to escape a hellish orphanage in the heart of Whitechapel. They’d joined the same gang and had partnered up to work the docks and marketplaces until the paltry bit of coin they managed to pickpocket in the destitute East End warrens forced them to seek richer marks in neighborhoods further to the west where they eventually settled. Though St. Giles was as wretched as any East End neighborhood, it happened to be situated in close proximity to higher-class areas that promised fat purses.

It was in St. Giles that Max’s and Gill’s paths started to diverge.

Gill had always been desperate for a big score that was suddenly supposed to change his life forever while Max slowly became disillusioned with thievery. It seemed like a path that would forever feel like clawing up a slippery hill. He wanted something more self-sustaining—something that could support not only himself but others in the neighborhood.

He’d bought his first empty warehouse on an intuitive whim. The building had been long abandoned and more than a bit run-down, but Max saw potential. Potential to build something more. To provide a service and fulfill a need amongst his fellow thieves—a secure location to store their stolen loot until the goods could be safely resold. For a proper fee, of course.

The idea only grew from there. As did the number of properties in Max’s possession and the overall profits from his endeavors. Some of his warehouses even managed to house legal goods on the rare occasion.

Gill never appreciated the enterprise and he never understood Max’s insistence on sharing hard-won earnings with the ragged wretches that lived alongside them. Gill began to resent Max and started looking for jobs on his own.

When Max eventually discovered Gill had been meeting up with a man named Troy Bricken, who made his money selling women and children into forced labor and prostitution, he’d made his position on the issue clear. But he hadn’t realized how deep his old friend had gotten in Bricken’s operation. Deep enough that when Bricken’s business had been brought to an abrupt end seven years ago, Gill had stepped in to fill the void. His activities came into direct opposition to Max’s and ultimately caused a rift that couldn’t be repaired. Soon after, Max’s former partner made a drastic move to take over everything Max had built with the sole purpose of twisting it to meet his own selfish, greedy ends. A move that ultimately failed.

In punishment for his treachery, Max made it known that anyone discovered doing business with the man would never again be considered an associate of the Griffin. Since Max’s influence and purpose had already grown significant roots across town, the punishment and threat had proven effective enough for a time. Still, he’d never expected it to last forever. Gill Rook was far too ambitious and wouldn’t easily give up his personal vendetta against Max.

That was the most disturbing aspect of Gill’s apparent return.

Max suspected his old friend’s continued hatred of him meant he wouldn’t hesitate to strike where Max was most vulnerable.

His family.

From the day Max had discovered he had three brothers and a sister who shared half his blood, he’d feared exactly this. And though he’d done everything he could—and would keep doing whatever necessary—to keep the dangers of the rookery away from his siblings, he’d always known there would eventually be a break in the wall.

Which only meant he would have to be more vigilant than he’d ever been in his life.

And in turn, that meant he had to spend the whole fucking day—and every day until this shite with Gill was over—weaving through dank alleys and warrens thick with thieves and desperate souls. Every minute of it reminded him of why he did what he did and why he had to stop his old friend. For good.

As darkness took over the city, Max was weary and anxious to get home, but he had one last task to complete before his night was done.

From the deepest shadows surrounding a posh London townhouse, he watched patiently for his quarry to appear. Though the interior of the house was lit as if hosting a party, Max knew the sole resident was actually heading out for the evening, as he apparently did every night around this exact time.

Max didn’t have to wait long before he spied a richly dressed gentleman through an open window on the ground floor. The man walked with an obvious limp—from a knife wound, perhaps?—and went immediately to a liquor service along the far wall of the sitting room, giving Max his opportunity.

In two long strides and with a graceful vault through the open casement, he was in. Keeping an eye on the gentleman who still had no idea he was no longer alone, Max leaned back against the window frame and casually crossed his arms over his chest.

He would’ve waited for the mark to turn and find him there, if only for the sake of dramatic effect, but he grew impatient as the fine bloke downed then refilled his glass.

“Jasper Fenning.”

As soon as Max spoke, the gentleman spun around so fast the liquor splashed from his glass. He sputtered and froze, his expression of shock swiftly sliding into one of fury.

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