A smug smile formed on O’Leary’s face.“Best do as you’re told, Mr.Croft.”
Another punch wiped all traces of humor away.
“That’s enough,” Kendrick snapped, attempting to position himself between Adrian and O’Leary.
“Get out of my way,” Adrian hissed.
“No.I can’t let you do this without interfering.”
“Not even when you know what he’s done?”
Kendrick looked visibly uncomfortable, yet he said, “I’m sorry, but as an officer of the law, it’s my duty to see him safely back to Bow Street.”
Exactly as Adrian had expected.He sent a swift glance over his shoulder when he heard the familiar tread of Murry’s feet on the landing.The tall, broad-shouldered valet entered the room and took quick stock of the situation before allowing himself to share a knowing look with Adrian.
“I entered the house when I heard the gun-shot.I’ve searched the rest of the rooms downstairs.The basement too.”His voice was casual, conversational, as he strode to the window and looked out onto the street below.“All remaining threats have been removed.”
“How many?”Adrian asked.
“Two.”
“Please tell me they’re still alive,” Kendrick said, “so they can be properly charged with the crimes they’ve committed.”
Murry turned from the window and stared at O’Leary, his expression blank.Then, without a word, he walked behind Kendrick.What followed happened so quickly Adrian could only marvel at the swiftness.
One second, Kendrick was still standing upright, his hands gripping O’Leary’s arms to keep him immobile.The next, he was on the floor in a limp pile of limbs.
“What the devil?”O’Leary stared down at Kendrick’s incapacitated body.
It was Adrian’s turn to smile.“Looks like we can finally have the private conversation I’ve been looking forward to.”
When O’Leary met his gaze next, his eyes were wide with terror.
Adrian simply laughed.
30
The room was dark and cold.A dry smell of dirt, aged wood, and cement permeated the air.Metal grated on metal with each move Finn made, shifting the chains that bound his wrists and held him suspended above the floor.
He grunted against the long length of fabric they’d used to gag him.It tasted horrific — like it had been soaked in vinegar.But at least he still lived.
Or perhaps he’d be better off dead?
No.As long as he lived, he still had a chance of avenging his father.
His heart pounded as he twisted against his restraints.Everything he’d done had been in the name of revenge.To get this far only to die before finishing off the man who’d murdered his father was not something he could allow.
The chains dug into his skin, snagging it and pulling against his own bodyweight.Black bruises had probably formed there already.He drew a stale breath through his nose, allowed himself to go limp for a bit while recovering some of his energy.
How stupid and careless he’d been.He still wasn’t exactly sure who had tracked him to Hanson Street, just that someone connected to Croft must have done so while he’d been too busy lauding himself.
To remain in that house had been unwise.The place was too unprotected.He’d bloody well known it, and yet he’d stayed.Because he’d gotten distracted by the information his scouts had returned with.
Only a servant had died in that fire.
None of the Crofts had perished.
So rather than relocate to a different address, he’d spent the entire day working on a new plan, gathering people who could help him set it in motion, and spending whatever blunt was required to get the job done.Because he’d known he had to act fast, before the Crofts recovered and came after him instead.
