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“Don’t go for the kill either, if you can help it. We want these men prosecuted, and we want to find out who hired them,” Ford whispered before coming closer to the door.
“Of course, I shall be sure to remember that when they are killing me,” Jarvis muttered behind Blake.
Ford let out a deep sigh. “May God help us all.”
He raised his hand and gingerly rapped on the door.
A ruckus from the inside followed the knock.
“Who’s there?” said the gravelly voice behind the door, and Blake’s skin crawled.
He didn’t need to see the thug’s face. He recognized his voice. All these months later, it still made his hair stand on end.
“Lost travelers,” Ford shouted.
“Shove off!” the man answered, and Ford raised a brow to Blake.
Blake nodded, raising his musket. Ford stepped back and kicked in the door.
A shot fired, followed by a few more. The pungent smell of gunpowder and smoke filled the air. Blake rushed into the den but got shoved out of the way by Jarvis just as another shot rang out.
Blake dropped to the floor on instinct, covering his head with his hands.
As the smoke cleared out, he saw Ford lying on the floor unconscious. Jarvis, bleeding from his shoulder, was fighting two men on the other side of the room. Blake fought to get to his feet, only to get knocked down by a mighty blow to his face.
His nose hurt, and his eyes watered, but he didn’t lose his concentration. He raised the musket, but before he could fire, it got kicked out of his hand.
Blake jumped to his feet and tackled the huge thug. Managing to disorient him, Blake landed a few blows to the thug’s jaw before the bandit took him by the coat and slammed his ribs into the table.
An unbearable pain shot from his chest. This wasn’t the worst pain he’d suffered in his life, though. So he straightened and looked the thug in the eye, the same man who’d delighted in torturing him for weeks, a year and a half ago, and smirked.
“I was bound when you tortured me before,” he said. “Now we are on equal terms.”
“Not so equal,” the man sneered and took out a dagger.
Blake’s eyes darted to the side in search of his musket. The thug followed his eye movement and shook his head. Before he could make another move, Blake jumped to the ground and skittered toward the gun. He took a shot and watched as his torturer dropped to the ground.
Blake breathed heavily, watching the man, who had delighted in causing him pain, lie on the floor, holding his side.
Blake hadn’t killed him. He deliberately didn’t aim at his heart. He didn’t think he could murder a person. Even after all the pain he had suffered, taking a life was not something he was able to do. Or perhaps especially after everything he’d gone through.
Only one thing would make him murder the thug. If he’d hurt Annalise.
Annalise.
Blake scrambled to his feet. He glanced to the corner where Jarvis had been fighting a moment ago. One of the thugs was lying on the floor in the pool of his blood while Jarvis worked on tying up the other one.
Blake looked to the side where Ford lay. He had a head wound, and there was blood seeping from his leg. Blake felt his pulse and, when he was satisfied that his friend was alive, stood, holding his burning chest.
“Jarvis, can you bandage Ford?”
Jarvis looked up from tying the bandit. “In a moment,” he answered, seemingly unperturbed and barely winded. However, his left arm hung uselessly at his side.
Blake gave him a nod and walked toward the thug.
The man lay on the ground, hugging his wound.
“Where’s Annalise?” Blake asked.
