The Bride of Devil's Acre (5 page)

Jacqueline pulled to a halt as the hand left her arm, leaving her helpless. She reached for the hood.

“Leave it,” Finn ordered, grabbing her wrists and drawing her to the side of the room. Quickly, his movements efficient, he tied her wrists to a ring screwed into the wall. Used to secure barrels of smuggled brandy to the wall, it would serve a different purpose tonight.

“There’s a blanket at your feet,” Finn told her, “and water, should you need it. Someone will be by to check on you later.”

“What’s going to happen to me?” Jacqueline asked, her voice loud under the hood. Her breath moistened the rough burlap, scenting the air until she could taste it on her tongue.

“Nothing,” Finn assured her, “as long as your father does what he’s told.”

Jacqueline felt the man move away, and the air around her suddenly turned cold. She followed the sounds of his feet crossing the room. He didn’t go far, and she had the impression the room was small. She heard more shuffled footsteps and the low murmur of voices. Then, silence.

A moment later, Jacqueline flinched at the unmistakable sound of a door in the distance slamming shut.

Slowly, Jacqueline slid to the ground. The movement drew her wrists up over her head, the rope growing taut. Resting her forehead against the inside of her arm, the trembling finally gave way to tears. Great, gasping sobs racked her body, and panic broke over her in waves.
 

She had no idea where she was, though she was relatively safe and unhurt, for now. She would be thankful for small favors and hold on to the small hope that the man had been telling the truth. Her father would do whatever these men wanted; she had to trust that. Eventually, she would return home, and this whole nightmare would be forgotten.

Hours passed, feeling like days under the dark hood. Jacqueline drifted in and out of sleep as her arms went numb and her legs grew stiff against the dirt floor.
 

Something tugged at her dress. Jacqueline lifted her head and waited. Another tug, this one accompanied by the unmistakable squeak of a rat.

Jacqueline shrieked, kicking out with her feet and shuffling backward.

A low chuckle of amusement filled the small room.

Jacqueline came up against the wall, heart pounding.

“Scared of a little rat?” Carver stepped out from a corner. He’d been watching the rat’s progress as it made its way across the room to investigate.
 

Jacqueline froze. She’d forgotten about the man with the dead voice. For some reason, she had assumed it would be one of the others that would come to check on her.

Carver stood over the girl, watching her head turn from side to side as she searched the dark for him. His cock stirred at the sight of her tied up and helpless. The bitch had broken his nose, and his face throbbed in time to his heartbeat. It would be his pleasure to make her pay for the injury.

Carver squatted down on his haunches next to her. Leaving her hood in place, he slid his knife from his boot, caressing her cheek with the blade.

Jacqueline jerked and tried to press herself more firmly against the wall. There was nowhere for her to go.
 

Carver laughed. “You and I are going to have a good time.” He paused. “Well, at least I am.”

“You were told not to touch me,” Jacqueline said, her voice quivering.
Please let someone else show up to check on me!

“I don’t take orders from anyone,” Carver sneered. “Not even the devil himself.”

There was a world of pain promised in that voice. Jacqueline pulled on her restraints. The rope dug into her wrists but remained taut. “Please just let me go.”

“Oh no,” Carver said, reaching for the rope. “We’re just getting started.”

Jacqueline felt the rope go slack, her arms dropping to her lap like lead weight. Before she had the chance to do anything, she was yanked across the dirt floor. “NO!”

Carver retied the rope, grabbing her as she rolled over onto her hands and knees and tried crawling away. Flipping her onto her back, he pulled her beneath him, eyeing the long legs that were bared as her skirts bunched up around her thighs.
 

“You’re going to pay for what you did to me,” Carver hissed.
 

Straddling the girl’s hips, his cock hard and throbbing, he took a moment to appreciate his luck. Devil had sent him on his way, never once thinking he might consider circling back around.
 

Earlier, Carver had garnered enough information to know that the girl was to be kept for the night and returned to her family unharmed the next day. He didn’t know what Devil hoped to get out of the deal. He didn’t care, however, that the bitch had humiliated him, the wound to his pride greater than the injury to his face.

“Get off me!” Jacqueline struggled. Digging her heels into the ground, she twisted, trying to dislodge the weight pinning her down. “Do you know who my father is?”

“Don’t know,” Carver laughed as the bitch bucked beneath him. “Don’t care.”

“You’ll pay for this!” Jacqueline cried, yanking again on her restraints. Pain sliced down her arms as the rope cut deeper into her wrists. “My father will hunt you down and kill you himself!”

Carver bent down, planting his hands on either side of the girl’s head. “I invite him to try,” he said, his cock throbbing at the idea. “I look forward to gutting him, but not before I tell him just how much I enjoyed getting to know his little girl.”

Jacqueline could feel the man’s breath, hot and rank through the hood. He was close, too close. The first time had been an accident, a lucky strike in a moment of panic. This time, when she lifted her head, Jacqueline aimed for his face, driving her forehead into the man’s nose.
 

Carver roared as she connected with his already broken nose. Rearing back, he backhanded her across the face, knocking her head sideways and momentarily stilling her struggles.

Light burst behind Jacqueline’s closed eyes, and she tasted blood from her split lip as her head rocked against the ground.

“You should know,” Carver said, picking up his blade and slicing open the front of her dress, “that I consider this foreplay.”

Jacqueline blinked, the sound of ripping fabric and the rush of cold air across her bare breasts quickly clearing the fog brought on by the blow. “Get your hands off me! Don’t touch me, you filthy—”

“It seems such a shame to gag you,” Carver panted, tearing a piece of lace from her dress and shoving it into her mouth. “I’d love to make use of that pretty little mouth of yours.”

Jacqueline gagged as the cloth was shoved toward the back of her throat.

“Not that I would trust you not to use your teeth.” Carver reached up and tightened the rope on the girl’s wrists before sitting back on his heels.
 

“Aren’t you a pretty one,” he said, cupping her breasts and caressing the tips with his thumbs.

Jacqueline shuddered. Her skin crawled, and bile rose in the back of her throat.

Carver hummed, rolling the tender bits of flesh between his fingers and twisting her nipples violently.

Jacqueline cried out behind her gag and pulled harder on the rope.

“I told you,” Carver warned. “Your pain is my pleasure.”

Jacqueline froze as something cold and sharp was pressed between her breasts.

“I suggest you hold very, very still.”

Carver dragged the blade down between the girl’s breasts, parting the delicate skin and leaving a thin trail of blood. It was a shallow cut, just a scratch, really. He had, and would, cut deeper.

Jacqueline sobbed at the sharp bite of pain. Muscles clenched tight, she strained against the instinct to flee, afraid the knife might slip and do more damage.
 

Carver slid back until he straddled her thighs. Grasping the torn halves of her dress, he ripped it down the center, exposing the flat of her belly. Bending his head, he reverently placed a kiss beside her navel.

Jacqueline gagged at the press of cold lips to her skin.

“So tender,” Carver whispered, and licked her stomach. “My favorite bit of flesh.”

Then he sat back and started to cut.

Jacqueline shrieked, her body arching up off the ground as white-hot pain pierced her abdomen. A hand between her breasts pinned her to the ground as the knife repeatedly bit into her flesh. The moment went on, pain blazing a haze of red behind her eyes.
 

When it was over, the coppery scent of blood permeated the air, the tang flavoring Jacqueline’s lips and filling her mouth and nose.
 

Carver licked the blood from his blade and eyed his work. The girl lay panting, her chest heaving. Her body was covered in a fine sheen of sweat, and her stomach was smeared with blood.
 

The three symbols were perfect.
 

“Now you belong to me,” Carver whispered. On hands and knees, he crawled back up her body, her blood warm and sticky between them. Shoving her limp legs apart with his knee, Carver settled himself between her thighs. His cock hadn’t lost any of its stiffness. If anything, he’d grown harder, thicker, during the cutting.

Reaching between them, Carver pushed the girl’s skirts out of the way, releasing himself from his pants and positioning himself at her entrance.

Jacqueline stirred, the haze of pain clearing as her mind registered a new danger. Her skin was on fire, a sharp sting that reared to life as the rough fabric of his shirt brushed the flayed flesh of her stomach.

“You’ll never forget me, girl,” he said, inching forward. She was dry, her body clamped down hard against him.

Jacqueline felt him then and started to thrash. Behind her gag, she screamed, hot tears scalding her cheeks.

“You’ll carry me with you forever,” Carver taunted as he thrust forward, shuddering as he ripped through the girl’s maidenhead and coated his cock in her blood. “Even in death.”

Devil passed under the faded Hammer & Anvil sign, Finn silent beside him. Day was giving way to night, and the merchants and shopkeepers were closing their doors as Devil’s Acre was turned over to those who dined in the darkness and ruled the night.
 

Devil had spent the day in the shadow of the Palace of Westminster, watching the House of Lords and tallying votes. Taken in alphabetical order, Lord Edwards was one of the first to cast his vote. After a moment of hesitation, his lordship’s “nay” was heard loud and clear. If there were a few raised eyebrows in the room, Devil didn’t care. He was too busy checking the rest of the votes and making sure he got what he’d paid for.
 

There was no time to celebrate, and their work was far from finished. Devil knew better than to think the Queen would let a single vote stop her from getting what she wanted, but the failure of the bill’s passage would buy Devil some time.

Back in Devil’s Acre, it was time to check on Lord Edwards’ daughter and prepare her to go home. Devil trotted down the stairs. Turning the corner, he felt Finn stiffen beside him.

“Blood,” Devil said. There was no mistaking that smell. Anyone living in Devil’s Acre was familiar with the scent of death.

Finn cursed.

Devil ran.

Devil knew he would never forget the macabre scene playing out before him. Lord Edwards’ daughter lay sprawled on her back, Carver kneeling over her. Her arms were tied to a support pole used to hold up the ceiling, and blood trickled from her wrists.

But that wasn’t the only blood in the room. The girl’s thighs were smeared bright red with virgin blood, and thick rivulets of the sanguine liquid dripped down her exposed sides to congeal on the ground.
 

Muffled sobs grew louder as Devil crossed the room. Without breaking stride, he reached into his boot and pulled out his knife. Fisting his hand in Carver’s hair, he yanked the man’s head back.
 

“We’re not in the business of raping women,” Devil growled, exposing Carver’s neck and drawing the blade across the man’s throat.

Carver grabbed his throat.
Too late.
He realized he was no longer alone with the girl. He opened his mouth as hot, thick liquid seeped through his fingers, dripping onto his chest and quickly saturating his shirt.
 

NO!!
Carver’s mouth gaped open and closed, his lips forming the words his throat could no longer utter as he slowly collapsed sideways, his body crumbling to the floor.

Jacqueline jerked as hot, thick liquid spattered across her breasts, scalding her skin and plastering the hood to her face. Something heavy hit the ground beside her, accompanied by a rattling sigh that stirred the loose fabric of her hood.
 

It took a moment for her to realize that the crushing weight of her attacker was gone. A whimper of pain escaped as she tried for her feet. But the ground was slick and her legs trembled. Stumbling to her knees, she scurried forward blindly. Her hand sank into flaccid flesh, warm and wet with blood.
 

Her blood?

Jacqueline shrieked, scrambling backward as far as the rope would allow.

“Help her,” Devil said to Finn.
 

Someone grabbed her from behind. Jacqueline screamed, her body flailing as she pitched herself forward and out of the arms struggling to hold her.

“Easy,” Finn said. “You’re going to hurt yourself.”

Jacqueline sobbed. She recognized the Irish accent from earlier, the soft lilt calming her panicked flight.
 

“Hand me that blanket,” Finn said, taking the blanket from Devil and settling it about the girl’s shoulders.
 

Jacqueline jerked, her body colliding with the wall.

“Shhhh,” Finn murmured. “It’s over; you’re safe now.”
 

Finn focused all of his attention on the girl, speaking to her softly in Gaelic. He recited the words to a lullaby his mum used to sing to him, or what he could remember of it, until her sobs grew quiet.
 

“I’m going to cut the rope,” Finn told her. “But I need you to leave the hood on. We have a mess to clean up,” he added, glaring up at his boss. “Taking that off now will only make matters worse.”