“He truly has gone too far.” Sherlock whispered to her. Glancing down at his pocket watch, he clicked it shut before storming off into the train yard. “We have to hurry.” There was a bit of a manic glint in his eyes.
And that was when Sidney realized that Sherlock…was enjoying this. This was what he lived for. This was his real love in life, wasn’t it? The only thing that mattered to him.
“I’m so going to die,” she murmured.
Sherlock was already off and running along one of the buildings toward the main intersection of tracks. Stepping out, Sidney never got to warn him about the figure that moved to intercept him.
Something heavy struck her in the back of the head. And everything blissfully went dark.
Sasha finished tidyingup her hair curls as Moriarty laced her dress back up for her. He was a gentleman, evil as he was. Someone down below in the train yard lifted a lit torch and waved it. “Ah.” Her stomach twisted in a knot. “It’s time.”
Moriarty checked his pocket watch. “Why always on the fifteens, Holmes?”
“Pardon?”
“The strangest thing.” He clicked it shut and tucked the gold and brass object back into his vest pocket. “Every time this man appears in my life to bother me, it is always at fifteen past the hour. I haven’t the foggiest idea why.” Moriarty rested his arm around her. It felt like the simple, casual embrace of lovers. He honestly sounded curious.
“I’m not going to try to diagnose Sherlock Holmes.” She had a few options for both men to choose from, but she opted to keep them to herself. It wasn’t exactly important, given what was about to happen. She watched as lamps were lit throughout the yard, allowing them to see what was happening.
Two figures were being dragged by others. One smaller than the other. The smaller one seemed unconscious. Doctor Watson—Sidney. The taller one, Sherlock, was kicking weakly at the men on either side of him, but there was no use.
She hoped Sidney lived. That Sherlock chose to kill the innocent people. If only because those people weren’treal,and wouldn’t remember the pain of dying.
But now, she was fairly convinced she had beaten Vile at his own game and was going to go home either way. Watson never died in the stories. And Sherlock Holmes never chose to let innocent people die. Either way? She’d won. On the first try.
She smiled.
“You aresocertain of yourself, it’s adorable.” The voice that laughed close to her ear didn’t belong to Moriarty. “My devious little harlot is quite attractive when she’s being prideful. And what was all this prim and propermoralitynonsense you fed me not onlythreechapters ago? Or are you just hot for evil professors, is that it?”
Sasha jumped away from him, trying to put as much distance as she could between her and Vile.
He had shed the appearance of Moriarty entirely. It was the Vile she’d seen in the library. It seemed he wanted to havethisconversation face-to-face. “I have you beat. Admit it.”
Vile laughed. The sound was like ice water down her spine. “You really think you’ve won? Oh, my dear, sweet, charming little thing. We haven’t reached that point in the story yet.”
“I prefer you as Moriarty.” She turned away from him to face out the window, not wanting to lose sight of what was happening to her sister. Not that she thought it was smart to take her eye off Vile. But she wanted to hide the fact that her cheeks had gone warm. “Go away.”
“I don’t think you do.” He was behind her, just like the professor had been, but this time he was pressing up against her. “I think you simply understand him.”
“I’m not a harlot.”
When he gently stroked aside a few strands of her hair away from her neck to kiss her jawline, he hummed. “You think I mean that as a bad thing? Lover, do you know how manyloose womenlive within me as their villainous selves?”
She shivered despite herself.
He chuckled. Whether at his topic of conversation or at the fact she was breaking out into goosebumps, she didn’t know. She didn’t want to know. “Despite the cliche of the gothic villain dragging away the vestal virgin, Idespiseinexperience. And there is nothing more boring than someone who denies their desires. Well. Denies them for real. I do love the thrill of the hunt.” Teeth scraped her throat. And they didn’t feel human.
She gripped the railing so hard her knuckles went white. “Stop it.”
“You say that, but I can tell you don’t mean it. And that’s precisely what I mean. You want me totake.You want me to hunt you down in the dark of the night, pin you to the dirt, and?—”
“Stop—” She was shaking. “Please.”
“This is what I meant when I said you would need to sign a waiver.” He chuckled and kissed her temple. “But we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.”
“You’re going to lose. Then we’ll go home. We’ll never cross thatbridge.” She wouldn’t even bother denying that what he said sent a thrill through her. Okay. She had a problem. A real problem. But she couldn’t let it get Sidney hurt. And so far, nothing she’d done had been at the expense of her sister.
“We’ll see. But either way,youreally come out on top, don’t you?” He paused. Then laughed once. “Well. Bottom. But you like it there.”
