Olivia Twist(66)

Monks stalked forward, his face contorting as he grabbed a handful of Jack’s shirt and yanked him forward. “What do you bloody know about my inheritance, street rat?”

It was what Leeford had always called him, but Jack refused to let the name take him back to those helpless days when he’d been forced to work for this bludger. He glanced down at Monks’s hand on his shirt and pressed the umbrella handle into his sternum. When the half-wit realized he wouldn’t get an answer by force, he let go and took a step back.

“I’ve learned enough to know your father squandered it into nonexistence,” Jack bluffed as he jerked his shirt back into place. His patience at an end, he stepped forward. “If you agree to my terms, let’s do this.”

With a deadly glare and a nod to one of his mates, Monks lifted his fists in front of him.

Jack set the brolly near his feet, and moved into a fighting stance, bouncing on his toes and rolling his shoulders. The rage he’d held in check since learning of Olivia’s engagement zipped through him like white lightning. He threw a right jab, connecting with his opponent’s eye. Monks’s head snapped back, but he quickly righted himself with a growl and circled, looking for an opening.

Feigning left, Monks punched with his right. Jack blocked with his forearm and threw an uppercut to the chin. His challenger staggered back. Unbidden, images flashed in Jack’s head: Olivia smiling up at Max, his diamond on her finger. Olivia warm and waiting in his bed. Olivia and Max at the altar. With a rush of pain, he rammed a fist into Monks’s gut. When he bent over, Jack followed with a slam to his left kidney. But the hurt came flooding back as quickly as he’d released it.

Monks straightened and smashed his fist into Jack’s cheekbone. Stars exploded behind Jack’s eye. Monks jabbed again, catching Jack on the chin in the precise spot where Topher had hit him the day before. Jack stumbled back a step, his vision darkening. He had to force Olivia from his mind and focus or risk losing everything.

Monks landed a jab to Jack’s ribs. Clarifying pain bloomed. And as Monks crouched to deliver another hit, Jack grabbed the man’s head and brought it up to meet his knee, crushing Monks’s hawkish nose.

He cried out and clutched his face, blood pouring through his fingers.

The goons began closing in, but Monks waved them off. That’s when Jack saw him slip a hand into his pocket, a blade catching a glint of the moon.

Jack stepped back, his eyes darting around for his umbrella as he said, “No weapons, Monks. Street challenge rules.”

Then he found it. One of Leeford’s goons clutched it in his fist and waved it back and forth with an admonishing grin. “When have I ever played by the rules?” Monks roared as he charged.

Without a weapon, Jack was dead. He knew from experience, Leeford wouldn’t hesitate to gut him if he got the chance. A phantom pain bloomed between his ribs, near paralyzing in its intensity.

His eyes darting from the razor-sharp blade to Monk’s face, Jack calculated and ducked at the last second. He pushed Leeford’s knife hand away as he drove his shoulder into his opponent’s sternum, flipping him over his back. Fists at the ready, Jack spun and found Monks dazed on the ground. Jack kicked the knife out of his hand and watched it spin across the bridge. “Concede, Monks. It’s over.”

“Not quite,” a voice growled from behind him.

Then a meaty arm looped around Jack’s neck, crushing his windpipe as the rest of Monks’s gang moved in, murder in their eyes.



Olivia’s heart galloped in time with the horses’ hooves as the carriage sped toward Blackfriars Bridge. Working hard to stay in her seat, she gripped the velvet cushion with one hand and the leather strap with the other as they bumped over the uneven streets. Topher March had stipulated that in order for her to use his carriage, he had to accompany her, muttering something about “insuring his future legacy.” But Olivia insisted that Violet stay behind, not only for her own safety but to cover for her with Aunt Becky.

“What time is it?” Olivia asked, glancing out the window at the arches of Waterloo Bridge as they flew past. They were getting close, but not fast enough. Images of Jack, covered in blood and near death, flooded her with mind-numbing panic.

“Twelve thirty-two. Exactly two minutes after the last time you asked,” Topher grumbled. “What on earth has Jack done that we have to speed to his bloomin’ rescue?”

Olivia tried to shoot him a glare, but couldn’t make it stick as they both jostled back and forth like eggs in a chicken cart. “Do you have a pistol hidden somewhere in this death trap?”

“What could you possibly do with it if I did?”

It was a good question. In theory, Olivia knew how to use a gun, but didn’t know if she could actually shoot anyone. “As I explained—” The carriage hit a bump and knocked Olivia’s head against the paneled wall. With a blink to refocus her vision, she continued, “The man Jack is meeting is corrupt and dangerous, and he won’t be alone. Unless you have boxing skills of which I am unaware, we’ll need more than your good looks to help him.”

“What, fisticuffs?” Topher asked, incredulous, his voice raising a full octave.

Olivia couldn’t tell if he was being facetious or serious. In any case, they were doomed.

They rounded a corner at breakneck speed, and the shadowy spires of Blackfriars Bridge came into view, its scarlet and gold paint a garish dark red in the muted moonlight. Olivia’s mouth went dry. If anything were to happen to Jack, she would not survive it. Even if she couldn’t be with him, she had to know he was out there somewhere plotting his next scheme, so charming that his victims thanked him for taking their most valuable treasures.