“Very well. I shall see that it reaches Mr. Fury.” She’d send Pip over to the beast’s lair. He could drop it at the tavern without so much as a word exchanged. Drake need never know the letter had passed through her hands at all.
Ah, she missed that scarred face. She missed the way one dark brow lifted when he found her amusing and scowled when he found her vexing. She missed the nature of his attention—the way he looked at her, spoke to her, the way hegrippedher. She even missed that saddleless horse.
No. You do not.
Yes, she did.
Then stop missing him.
Violet scoffed at the voice in her head. If it were that simple, she would.
“Much obliged,MissSharpe.”
The emphasis on her form of address made her skin crawl. Ah, by all the gods she’d ever read of, she hoped this would not return to plague her.
*
“He escaped?” Drakegrowled. “How the bloody hell did he escape?” How many hours had it been? He had stepped out for one night. One night, to keep watch on Violet’s shop, and in that span, their enemy had slipped free from a dungeon meant to beinescapable. Did they have another rat in their damn midst? All he wanted to do was return to his post. The greater the distance between them, the more the blood in his veins bristled. How many times had he stopped himself from taking his key and invading her shop?
The only thing that stopped him was the memory of her walking out of his bedchamber the morning he had ruined everything.
“He could have picked the lock and slipped out,” Dagger suggested, brows pinched.
Impossible. “And you believe that? He was chained to the wall.”
Reaper flicked his coin high in the air, catching it on the back of his palm. “There is only one way left.” His gaze met Drake’s. “Someone let him out.”
Curses filled the tap room.
They were all present except for Serpent and Maxen. Knight had taken up his usual position behind the bar. Saint sat in a dark corner to the side. Reaper and Deveraux lounged on the stools across the counter from Knight. Dagger paced before them.
“Then we have another rat,” Saint growled.
Drake shook his head. No mere rat had done this. “It’s worse.”
“How could it be worse?” Dagger asked, scowling.
“Someone let that rotten cockchafer out of his cell.” Drake clenched and unclenched his jaw. “Who has keys, means, access, if not us?”
“You’re saying it’s one of us?” Knight asked.
“I’m saying that someone was confident enough to enter here, stroll over to our prison, let someone out, and then stride back out again.”
“Someone’s watching us,” Saint stated grimly.
His brother was right. It was the only explanation that made sense. However, it still shouldn’t be that simple. This had not been improvised. Someone had known their prisoners were here. Known the layout of the building. Known when the gaps in watch occurred and moved within them without hesitation. And whoever this was wouldn’t be watching from the street. They’d have been spotted that way. The roof, too. They must be installed with the street’s residents or bought loyalty over to their side.
“Would the Bulldog go so far?” Dagger asked him.
Hell if Drake knew. He scarcely remembered the man. “Not sure. He went so far as to order my death. How badly he wantsthat, well, one only needs to look at his attempts.”
“So, badly,” Reaper remarked.
The door swung open and Maxen entered, followed by a haggard-looking Serpent. The man looked as though he had slept in a ditch, possibly literally.
Dagger strode over and clapped their wayward brother on the back. “Where the devil have you been?”
“Digging for information.”
