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He’s on top of me now. His weight so suffocating, I fight for every ounce of air I can squeeze into my lungs, as his own rancid breath blows hot in my ear, and his fat, greasy fingers tear hard at my dress.
I peer an eye open, seeing the rat in the far corner. She’s taken a break from cannibalizing her baby and centered her beady eyes on me as I stretch my arm forward, practically pulling it loose from its socket, but the weapon remains stubbornly out of my reach.
In my ear, the man voices harsh words meant to insult, but I’m way beyond listening and far beyond caring what he has to say.
With a terrible groan, he pulls me up against him, smacks me so hard across the cheek, I can feel the burn of his metal ring branding my skin. And though I continue to struggle, kicking, fighting with everything I’ve got, he’s too heavy, too strong, and with my body caught between the ground and him, my blows bear no effect.
I close my eyes, stifle a tormented cry, when my hair comes loose and one of the many pins and combs that keep the overly complicated updo in place tumbles before me.
I snap my eyes open, my gaze landing on a diamond fan with two sharp prongs.
Are they sharp enough?
Only one way to find out.
The man latches his lips to my ear, tells me to relax and enjoy the inevitable.
Then his fingers grasp at my legs, just as I slam my hand backward and jab the hairpin into his face.
He reels back in shock, and I use the moment to scramble out from under him and race for the weapon.
When I turn, I find him sprawled on the ground, pants twisted around his feet, and a hand clutched to the place just beneath his eye where he yanks the pin free.
A torrent of blood gushes forth. His brow furrows, lips draw tightly together. He’s completely enraged.
I inch toward the door. It’s wide open and it would be so easy to escape—except that the man still has the key, and he’s screaming so loudly now, I’m afraid the guard will hear.
I need to find a way to silence him. Whatever it takes.
He yells at me, calling me a thief, a whore, and a whole lot of other things Finn and Oliver never taught me, but I can assume they’re not exactly flattering.
His one good eye wide and crazed, the man struggles to stand and come at me again, but his knee bends the wrong way, sending him reeling back toward the ground.
I rush toward him, weapon at the ready. “Give me the key,” I say.
The man spits in my face.
I respond by slamming the blade hard into his neck, tearing away at his silk and lace cravat before hitting his flesh.
With blood oozing from the twin wounds I’ve made, I shove a ball of lace into his mouth, then yank my stockings from my pocket and use them to tie the man’s hands behind his back.
I’m just reaching into his jacket, searching for the key, when he manages to shove his good knee into my gut, nearly knocking the air right out of me.
A storm of rage rushes through me, and I plunge the blade deep into his chest.
I’m about to do it again when a shadow looms over me, and a male voice says, “Stop! You’re going to kill him.”
