Cheryl Holt (39 page)

Had her display of weakness been a ruse? Was she trying to lull him into complacency?

Well, if she was, she’d definitely succeeded.

After her thrashing, he’d removed her shackles, expecting her to be beaten down, but she’d come around swinging, landing several blows that were so painful, he was worried his nose might be broken.

They’d struggled, kicking and wrestling, with Anne a worthy combatant, until he’d stunned her with a punch of his own, then he’d dragged her to the bed. As she’d regained consciousness, she’d been bound, and any hope of escape had been dashed.

“I’m going to kill you,” he vowed.

“You sick bastard.”

He slapped her, relishing how she flinched. “Shut your mouth.”

“Sod off, you freakish—”

He slapped her again, more forcefully, and she was quelled, but she glowered at him with such hatred and malice that he was unsettled.

How did she persist with her impudence? Over the years, he’d disciplined many females, but their courage never lasted beyond the initial castigation. When they were routed physically, they were cowed mentally, grasping that defiance was futile.

But not Anne.

He smiled. Her endurance was thrilling, like a game. The more tenaciously she challenged him, the more he was entertained. How long could she persevere? How sweet would her capitulation be?

As he picked up a knife, her eyes finally widened with terror. He wouldn’t cut her—not yet anyway—but she didn’t know that, and it was amusing to have her supposing he would.

With the blade resting at her throat, he let her feel how sharp it was, how precise, then he drew it down to her waist, parting her gown to her feet, so that she was naked.

Studying her, he dawdled while her frantic imagination concocted various hideous scenarios. Her fear escalated to an alarming apex, and when her dread peaked, when he could smell her horror, he advanced on her, ready to prove who would be her lord and master.

He tugged off his shirt, and pitched it to the floor, then he preened, allowing her to see how brawny he was, how virile.

Resistance was idiotic! He was a man, and she was a woman. She
would
submit.

“Now,” he crooned, sidling over, “we shall discover how tough you actually are.”

“Don’t touch me, you fat pig.”

“Be silent!” He wasn’t obese! How dare she say so! He was a robust, manly fellow, with a sculpted, masculine physique.

“You greasy, foul reprobate!”

He struck her, once more. Would she never learn to obey? How much fortitude did the accursed trollop have? “Desist! You can’t win!”

“You swine, you degenerate, you . . . you—”

He prepared to clout her again, deciding that he should utilize something more terrifying than his fist, when a male voice sounded from behind him.

“Drop your hand, and step away from her.”

He froze. He’d been so involved with Anne that he couldn’t process what was occurring. Straightening, he spun around. The chamber was dark, and sunlight streamed in the open door, making it difficult to discern any particulars. Whoever had arrived was but an outline, a shadow.

“I said: step away from her.”

Exuding bravado, he wasn’t about to have some half-wit stumbling in and interrupting. “Who the hell are you?”

“Who am I?” the idiot hissed. “
Who
am I?” He abandoned the threshold and approached.

“You’re trespassing and interfering, whilst
I
am a deputy magistrate, carrying out an investigation on a dangerous felon.”

“An
investigation
?” He mulled the word. “Is that what they call rape and torture these days?”

“Be gone, you dunce! If you meddle in official business, I shall have to arrest you, as well.”

“I would love for you to try.”

The knave wasn’t intimidated in the slightest, and he kept converging, his silhouette taking shape, the lamp illuminating his features.

“Captain Chamberlin . . .” Willie breathed.

“Yes. ’Tis I.”

Was he hallucinating? He blinked and blinked, striving to clear his vision, but Chamberlin was really and truly there. A hulking, angry menace, he was a lethal assassin, renowned
for his bravery and audacity under fire, a brute so vicious in battle that the enemy was reported to tremble at the mere mention of his name.

From where had Chamberlin come? What did he intend? He’d been in London for weeks. Before beginning, Willie had ensured as much. There was no way he could have been apprised of Anne’s plight. No one knew of the plan except . . .

He fumed. That rich witch, Camilla Warren, must have set him up, but why would she? Save for the occasion she’d visited about Anne, he’d never met her prior.

“What are you doing here?” seemed the only pertinent question.

“Must you ask?”

They were toe-to-toe, and before Willie could react, Chamberlin lashed out, quick as lightning, and clutched him by the throat, yanking him off his feet so that his boots dangled above the floor. Willie was stunned by Chamberlin’s power, his lithe, lean body. By all accounts, he was still recuperating. When had he grown so strong?

“Stop!” Willie was gasping, prying at the fingers that were shutting off his air.

“Tell me who put you up to this, and I won’t kill you right away.”

Chamberlin was contemplating murder? No, no. He had to be jesting! He had to be!

“Lady Camilla,” he insisted without hesitation. Whether the shrew had betrayed him or not, it was too late to haggle over the details. He had no loyalty to the noblewoman, could care less what Chamberlin might ultimately do to her. His current goal was to mitigate the damage so that Chamberlin didn’t fly into one of the frenzies for which he was famous.

“Excellent!” As though they were bosom buddies, Chamberlin nodded cordially. Without glancing away, he growled, “Anne, can you hear me?”

“Yes, yes. Stephen, is it you?” The bitch started to cry.
“I can’t believe you came! I didn’t want to hope!”

“How badly are you hurt?”

“He’s whipped me, and hit me over and over, but he’s had no time to do anything worse.”

“Such a foolish, foolish man,” Chamberlin murmured, and the hair on Willie’s neck stood up.

Behind Chamberlin, someone else entered, and though the sunshine was intense, Willie could distinguish that it was the lesbian Amazon. She had a rifle propped over her arm.

“Is that you, Miss Kate?” Chamberlin queried without turning.

“Yes. I figured you could use some help.”

“Untie Anne, cover her, and get her out of here.”

“Will do.”

As Kate set about her task, Chamberlin remained rooted to his spot, his grip not loosening. Anne was freed and escorted out, Chamberlin not observing any of it. His attention was glued to Willie, and despite how Willie shifted about, he couldn’t lessen the tight hold.

The instant the two women exited, Chamberlin moved, lugging Willie backward, so rapidly that the motion made him dizzy. With a few deft gestures, Willie was shackled to the wall, imprisoned by his own instruments of torture. Splayed wide, his extremities were pinned, his bare flesh cutting into the rough brick.

How had Chamberlin accomplished the feat? Though his height surpassed Willie’s, Willie had more girth, more muscle, and he was no stranger to brawling or fisticuffs. How had Chamberlin bested him? Was this smooth, graceful domination the root of his infamy? No wonder he’d conquered his foes with such ease!

Willie grappled against the restraints, as Chamberlin watched dispassionately.

“How does it feel to be on the other side?” Chamberlin goaded.

“Let me go!”

Chamberlin pretended to consider, then chuckled. “I don’t think I will.”

He riffled through Willie’s straps and manacles, touching, gauging, deliberating, until he selected the cat-of-nine-tails Willie had used on Anne. Lifting the vicious weapon, he cracked it across Willie’s face, slicing a deep gash.

“Bastard,” Willie grumbled, as Chamberlin struck him repeatedly. The blows were precise, accurate, the lash scourging him with bruising force.

“I often had to flog disorderly soldiers in the army,” Chamberlin explained. “I became quite adept. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“Don’t! Please!” There was a whine in his voice, but he couldn’t keep it from slipping out.

“You’re not nearly vulnerable enough to suit me.” Peering around, Chamberlin saw the large knife with which Willie had taunted Anne. He picked it up, and in a thrice, rent Willie’s trousers, shearing them to the ankles and tugging them away so that he was naked. The dagger just missed his genitals, the tip sliding past with a terrifying indolence that had his insides reeling.

Surely, Chamberlin wouldn’t . . .

God, the concept was too horrid to ponder!

“Aah!” Willie shrieked as the blade glided by.

“Much better.”

Chamberlin surveyed Willie’s nude torso, then retrieved the whip and flailed him across groin and thigh, and his cock shriveled to a tiny nub. He writhed, pleading for mercy.

Kate returned, chortling when she witnessed Willie’s predicament, and he flushed with shame, wishing he could jerk the chains out of the wall. If he could, he would rush across the room and beat her to a pulp! The perverted cow!

“You’re a widow, aren’t you, Miss Kate?”

“Yes, Captain.”

“Look at this little worm.” With the knife, he fondled Willie’s withered rod. “It’s not very dangerous, now, is it?”

Kate laughed, a sickening, female titter. “No, sir.”

Chamberlin laughed, too. “Are you squeamish, Miss Kate?”

“Not a bit.”

“Are you in a hurry?”

“It’s frequently mentioned that I have the patience of a saint.”

“Marvelous.” He pointed to the bed, where Anne’s stockings dangled off the mattress. “Bring one to me.”

Kate fetched it. “Here you are, Captain.”

“Thank you.” His glare sent shivers down Willie’s spine. “Will anyone miss you, McGee?”

“What?”

“Is there anybody to whom you’d like to leave a final message? If so, I’ll deliver it.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“I’ll take that as a
no
.” Willie opened his mouth to protest his treatment, and Chamberlin stuffed Anne’s stocking into it. “I find it appropriate that you should choke to death this way.”

Fuck you! You lousy prick! I’ll kill you for this!
The words screamed inside his head, but he couldn’t speak, and he spit and sputtered, trying to emit his outrage, but to no avail.

Chamberlin raised the knife to eye level, guaranteeing that Willie noted the size and shape, and tested its sharpness by flicking his thumb on the edge.

“It will be very slow,” Chamberlin claimed, “and very painful.”

“No more than he deserves,” Kate chimed in.

What?
Willie silently bellowed.
What are you planning?
But he needn’t have inquired, for the intent was clear.

He was about to be murdered! The truth of his imminent demise was written in Chamberlin’s determined, resolved
expression. The ex-warrior would slay him, in cold blood, on his own property! He’d get away with it, too! Who would suspect him? The entire world presumed he was in London. Even if there was a later hint that he’d been in the area, who would accept that the lauded hero would have been involved in something as sordid as a homicide?

No! No! You can’t!
Willie shivered, his bladder letting go, and he wet himself, his piss saturating his legs, the brine seeping into and exacerbating the sting of his welts.

“Say your prayers, McGee”—Chamberlin flashed an eerie, ghoulish smirk—“and take it like a man.”

In a swift move, he stabbed Willie in the genitals. The dagger penetrated to the hilt, then he drew it upward with a twisting motion, ripping apart the middle of Willie’s abdomen and chest.

It took several seconds for the pain to register, and when it did, Willie howled and retched, vomit gurgling from his stomach, but his gag blocked release of the disgorge, so he began suffocating on his own spew.

He peeked down, and he could see his entrails falling onto the floor. The sight was so bizarre, and so peculiar, that it didn’t seem real. It was as if he’d floated out of his body and was viewing the spectacle from up above.

Chamberlin sidled away, not so much as a drop of gore staining his clothes, and he spoke to Kate.

“A Portuguese freedom fighter taught me this technique. Now all we need are some ants.”

Unfazed by the carnage, Kate studied the wound. “It’s a handy procedure—in the right circumstances. How long will he be able to endure it?”

“I’d guess an hour or two.” Chamberlin went to the bed and wiped the blade on a blanket. “Can you stay with him? I’d hate to have him escape or be rescued at the last minute, and I must get Anne home.”

“I’d consider it an honor to watch him.”

“Do you know how to check his pulse to be certain he’s dead?”

Kate pressed two fingers to her neck, indicating her knowledge. Chamberlin nodded and started toward the door.

“Should I bury him?” Kate asked.

“No. Leave him hanging for the maggots.”

“With pleasure.”

In tacit accord, they smiled, then Chamberlin sauntered out.

Kate followed him, and strangely, Willie cried out to her.

I don’t want to be by myself! Come back! Come back!

He detested the idea of being alone, of departing the earth with no one by his side, and there was a specific irony in the fact that Kate would sit with him through his passing, though he couldn’t focus on why it was absurd. A fog surrounded him, the light fading in and out, and he couldn’t pay attention very well, but he was sufficiently cognizant to be relieved when she strolled in.

“It’s just you and me, Willie,” she said. “You and me to the end.”

Bless you! Bless you!
He was so grateful, he had tears in his eyes.

“Don’t worry about Pru. I love her, and I’ll take care of her for you.”

She pulled up a chair and balanced herself on the two hind legs. Her mocking grin was the only object in his vision, and he concentrated on it, unable to see anything else.

 23