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It gleamed in the sputtering lights from the sconces in the room, hanging long and deadly from his dark blue coat. The black abyss of the night in the window behind him made him look like he’d just clawed out of the most evil bowel in hell.
Evil wrapped in the pomp of nobility.
Gatlong’s top lip lifted in a sneer. “Give me the box, boy.”
Rune held steady, his mouth clamped closed as his gaze flipped back and forth among the brutes, noting the threat of each one. Two more ruffians than Hoppler had reported—the bastard had double-crossed him.
Gatlong taunted a chuckle. “You don’t like the looks of my men?”
“I’m one man, Gatlong.” He centered his stare on Gatlong, his voice even. “Why would Hoppler tell you to fill the room with guards?”
“Hoppler didn’t tell me a damn thing—I trust that cur as far as I can kick him. I had my own eyes on you—on him—ever since you arrived in London. I wasn’t about to trust something as important as this to that cheat.”
Gatlong’s right arm lifted, the tip of his steel pick poking at the air between them. “You young—you think you have everything figured out. You have nothing. Nothing. That’s why the box should never have landed in my daughter’s hands—in your hands.”
Rune glanced at the side door to his left. So Hoppler hadn’t sent him in here as a sacrifice. Gatlong was just a step ahead of Hoppler, sneaking his ruffians in.
When had he become so callous that he couldn’t even trust Hoppler? He should have had more faith in his old friend, but when one’s life was built on lies, faith could be hard to come by.
Hoppler had promised him Gatlong and he’d delivered.
Gatlong took a step forward, stopping just shy of passing by the two guards standing closer to Rune. Telling.
His eerie ice blue eyes pierced Rune. “Where is the Box of Draupnir?”
The line of his mouth setting hard, Rune shook his head. “You’re never going to get near that box, old man.”
“No?”
“No.”
Gatlong nodded, the sneer not leaving his face. If anything, it turned more vicious. “You willing to die for that?”
Rune let his hands fall to his sides. “If my death is what it takes, then yes. Anything as long as you never see the box again. Then I win. Revenge is mine.”
The sneer on Gatlong’s face faltered and his head cocked slightly to the side. “Revenge?”
Rune nodded, his glare squarely on Gatlong’s devil eyes. “I don’t look familiar to you, Lord Gatlong?”
He squinted at Rune. “Should you?”
“I don’t look like someone you once knew?”
Gatlong swung his pick hand in the air. “Enough with the drama, boy.”
“Miles Draper.” Rune spat the name out, making sure it was loud, that it sank into the devil’s ears.
Gatlong’s head jerked back, the jowls about his neck wagging. “Draper?”
“He was my father.”
“You?” Gatlong laughed, high pitched and manic. “Your father? You were the boy he talked about?”
Rune nodded. “And your daughter wasn’t the only one to witness you kill him.”
Red started to flush Gatlong’s face, mottled splotches appearing about his pasty skin. “Give me the damn box, boy. That was the deal. That was the deal with Hoppler, that slimy rat.”
“Never.” His voice ice cold, Rune stretched his fingers, ready to pounce on whoever decided to attack him first. “I’m only in here because I wanted to see your face when you learned you’d never get your hands on it.”
