O’Malley sneered. “You paint such a picture of marital attachment. But I know better. She told me so.” He put his beefy hand over Mark’s and wrenched his collar free, stepping back.
Mark didn’t care the man was four inches taller or two stone heavier. He stalked after him. “I should call for the police.”
O’Malley grinned, shadows casting his face in a dark image. “Good luck finding any in this part of town. We’ll go get her and then you’ll make out a nice, fat cheque in my name.”
This seems…easy.Warily, Mark followed O’Malley as he went through twisting, tiny passages so small Mark’s shoulders touched the stone and wood walls on either side. The rain and the dark night obscured most landmarks, and Mark had a sinking feeling that this was a bad idea.If only I’d brought a knife.
When they stopped at a small shed leaning in the rain and wind, O’Malley gestured to it. “Your lady toff is in there.”
Mark wasn’t a fool, he wasn’t going to turn his back on this violent creature. “Get her.”
O’Malley didn’t move.
Temper fraying, Mark balled his fist and punched O’Malley in the gut, then shot an uppercut against his jaw.
O’Malley groaned, unsteady, but righted himself quickly for a drunk man. He scowled at Mark. “You’ll regret that.” He tilted his head, and his neck popped loudly.
“Come on,” Mark snarled. He threw his hat on the ground for greater visibility.
The heavy man came for him. Fists swinging, he pummeledMark. He was good, better than Mark had expected, with all the muscle and hardness that came from working in the rookeries.
But Mark was better. He’d spent years drilling and training in the Navy, and he gave harder than he got. He slipped his foot between O’Malley’s spread legs and tripped him, sending the heavier man sprawling in the mud. O’Malley let out a groan as he hit the soft earth.
Breathing heavily, Mark knelt down and punched the man—in the gut, the chest, the face. Over and over. He angled back for one more punch, and O’Malley’s hand snagged his knee. Mark shifted to break free, but slid on the wet ground. He sprawled on the ground, half on the semi-conscious bruiser, half in a puddle of soupy mud. Gasping for air, Mark scrambled to find purchase. O’Malley simply rolled over him, squashing him into the thick mud. Mark’s face pressed into the three inches of suffocating sludge. He coughed, fighting to get free, and it oozed into his mouth.Get up, get up, get up, you’ll drown in this mud if you don’t get up!
Then there was a sharp blow to the back of his head, and Mark’s vision dimmed. Sparks went off behind his eyelids, the last desperate pleas of a fading brain.Ellen, I’m sorry.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Ellen jerked out of her doze as the rusty shed door creaked open. She tensed in the darkness, listening for any clue as to what might happen. She didn’t know how long she’d been in this muddy pit. Her backside had gone numb, and vomit stained her dress.I’m likely a hair’s breadth away from catching pneumonia.
Heavy, pained breathing filled the small space. A thud echoed around the small tin box, something dumped onto the wet, dirty floor. Then the rustling of clothes, as if someone was crouching.
She bit her lip to cut back her cries as she twisted her hands. The rough rope tore into her already-bleeding wrists, and she let out a shaky breath. It was too tight. The knots around her ankles were just restricting.
A grunt of pain filled the thick, wet air, then more rustling. Through the open shed door a tiny shaft of light lit the interior just enough for her to make out O’Malley’s silhouette.
“What are you doing?” Her voice cracked.
“Taking care of you,” O’Malley grunted, one heavy boot thudding in the mud toward her.
Ellen’s heart raced. “You’ll have to let me go. My husband will report me to the police. I’m too well known in this neighborhoodfor you to get away with this. Everyone knows how much you hate me.”
“Shut it!” His fists clenched at his side.
“They’ll hang you if you murder me,” Ellen blabbered on, panic clogging her throat along with the acidic aftertaste of vomit. “My husband will track you down.”
He laughed, and the sound sucked all the air out. “Your husband is right here.”
Ellen’s stomach dropped. “Is he dead?” Her numb fingers couldn’t make a fist.
“I suppose we’ll find out if he hasn’t woken in a few hours.”
“If you kill us you’ll certainly hang.” Ellen twisted in the mud, fighting for anything she could use to free herself or throw at him. There was nothing.
“It’s been raining for nigh on a week. Plenty of drowned bodies will float down the Thames over the next few days. I don’t see why you both can’t be among them.”
All the air left Ellen’s lungs. “Please,” she croaked. “Let my husband go. I know you hate me, but you’ve no cause to hurt him.”