The Irresistible Rogue (Playful Brides #4)(65)
Oh, not this again. Before Daphne could answer, a knock sounded on the door at the far end of the small room. The barmaid turned to open it.
A huge man stepped into the room. He handed the barmaid a wad of bills and she pointed at Daphne. “There she is, mate.” She smiled, revealing cracked uneven teeth.
She? Before Daphne had a chance to run, the huge man lunged toward her. She turned to flee and was crushed under his enormous weight. She coughed, the breath knocked from her lungs. The giant swung her over his shoulder as if she were a dishcloth. Then the barmaid shoved a filthy rag into her mouth. Her arms pinned, Daphne struggled to breathe, as he moved toward the door he’d come through.
“Ain’t nothing personal, guv, ya hear,” the barmaid said. “I told these blokes ye was a lady and apparently that bit o’ information was worth some money to ’em. I gots young ones ta feed, ye know, and I ain’t never seen a boy as pretty as ye were pretending ta be.” She laughed again and the sound screeched in Daphne’s ears.
The door slammed behind them and Daphne and the giant were in the alley. It was dark and dank. The moon was hidden behind clouds tonight and its light was sparse. The alley smelled of urine and something Daphne desperately hoped she’d never define. The giant pulled her off his shoulder and she fell to the filthy ground in a heap. She only had a moment to look around. By the light of a swinging lantern, she made out a rickety cart sitting on the opposite side around the bend in the alleyway. Then the scene went dark as a scratchy burlap sack was yanked over her head. She tugged the rag from her throat but her scream was muffled by the giant’s hand over her mouth.
“Don’t scream or I’ll stick my knife straight in your heart,” her captor warned. He had a Russian accent, too. The man made quick work of tying her hands and feet while Daphne struggled in vain to get away from him. She desperately tried to remember what Rafe had told her about her wrists. He’d never completed that particular lesson. “Don’t fight me. I can just as easily kill you as take you with me,” the giant warned. Daphne went slack.
Once he finished tying her, the brawny man lifted her in a bear hug. Her ribs ached as if they would crack. Her feet dangled off the ground. She tried to kick but he shook her hard, making her teeth crack and her jaw hit her breastbone. She steeled herself for another fight but instead the man moved with her. Her entire body shook as he tossed her into something made of wood. It had to be the cart she’d seen. She rolled onto a bed of sticky, smelly hay as the cart took off down the alleyway.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Rafe tapped his fingers repeatedly against the mug of ale. His knee was bobbing up and down just as quickly as Viktor’s was. Something was wrong. He could feel it. Anton had been gone less than five minutes and Daphne hadn’t returned. It shouldn’t be taking this long. One more minute and Rafe would whip out his pistol, kill this fool, and go in search of Daphne. His fingers rested on his pistol where it remained hidden in his coat.
“Worried, Lord Captain English?” Viktor asked with a smirk. “Is your boy bad with direction?”
Rafe narrowed his eyes on the other man. He clutched the pistol. “You’ve got me confused with someone else. I’m no lord. I’m merely a working-class lad from the streets of London.”
“Your clothes are finer than mine have ever been.” Viktor expelled a stream of tobacco.
Rafe was so on edge, he actually took a drink of the foul ale. “Perhaps you should work a bit harder.”
Viktor growled at him.
“I should warn you,” Rafe said. “If this is a setup—”
“You’ll what?” Viktor asked through an evil, rotten-toothed grin.
“I’ll see you and your cohort in hell,” Rafe growled through clenched teeth. He banged his fist on the tabletop.
Viktor laughed then. It was loud and long. The sound sent chills through Rafe. When he looked up, Rafe saw the man nod nearly imperceptibly. Rafe turned his head to see a shadowy figure in the doorway.
“Was that Anton?” Rafe asked.
“No, Captain. That was another one of my comrades.”
“Where’s Anton?”
Viktor met Rafe’s stare. “By now he’s with Boris and Grey. Or should I say, your lady friend?”
Rafe jumped up from the table and spun toward the door, but the shadowy figure from the doorway was there directly behind him with a pistol half hidden in his giant meaty paw. “Sit down, Captain,” the man commanded in a Russian accent. “Don’t make a scene. Don’t worry, your cabin boy is being held somewhere safe.”
Rafe did as commanded, his mind spinning through all of the possible scenarios. His team was out there. Men he’d worked with for years. They’d been watching. They’d be following whoever had Daphne. They’d know where she was taken. But could they get to her in time before she was hurt? An icy cold sweat melted down Rafe’s back.
Once Rafe was seated again, the meaty man pulled up the chair in which Daphne had been sitting only minutes before. Rafe braced his hands against his knees. “I’ll tear you vermin limb from limb if she is hurt.”
“Ah, big threats from someone who’s in no position to be making them, Captain,” Viktor said. “Put your hands where we can see them, please.”
Rafe did as he was told, pounding his fists against the tabletop. The mugs of ale bounced. “What do you want?” he demanded through clenched teeth.