Page 134 of Disturbing the Dead
Someone grabs me from behind. I kick and start to twist, but I’m already sailing through the air, thrown against the door, knocking it fully open and tumbling through.
I hit the ground, and my brain screams that this is the worst possible outcome. I’ve been practicing fighting in skirts and corset, and one thing I’ve learned—particularly if my opponent is male—is to stay on my damned feet. Once I’m flat on the ground, it takes work to get back up. I can’t just vault to my feet, the way I would in my old body, my old clothing.
When I hit the floor, the first thing I do is yank up my skirts and flip over. That puts my bare knees on the ground, and from there, I can propel myself up. Or I would, if my attacker didn’t use the opportunity to grab the back of my dress. There’s a huge difference between fighting an actual opponent and sparring with Simon, who’ll give me that second to get on my feet.
My attacker hauls me up, clearly ready to throw me again. I kick backward as hard as I can. My foot connects with his stomach, given his oomph of pain. I kick again, harder, and here’s where Victorian clothing is better than modern-day, because a hard-soled boot in the gut is much more effective than a sneaker. One more kick, this one aimed lower, and with a yowl, the man releases me.
I start falling and somehow manage to land on my feet, if awkwardly. I spin to see a huge man, like the one McCreadie arrested. He’s red-faced, doubled over, clutching the front of his trousers and spouting words I’ve never heard, all aimed at me.
I charge and punch him in the side of the head. That takes him down. Behind him, Gray and his equally outsized opponent are inside the storage room and circling each other, both breathing hard, blood flowing from the other man’s nose, Gray’s lip split.
I’m charging in to help when there’s a blur of motion beside me. A third man, smaller than the others. Shit! I forgot about Emmett.
I wheel, but it’s not Emmett. It’s Muir, and he’s at the door. No, he’s going out the door.
I leave Gray to his fight. His opponent might outweigh him, but Gray has it under control. I charge toward Muir and reach the door just as he slams it shut.
There’s no handle on the inside. I push the door. Something clicks outside it. I shove hard, throwing myself against the door as my brain flashes an image of that empty padlock latch.
I’d grabbed the one on the exterior door, but the second one had been empty. Because Muir had it.
The door doesn’t budge. Muir has snapped the padlock into place… leaving us locked in here with his two goons and Emmett King.
I spin toward Gray, who has his opponent in a headlock. Damn. I wish I’d seen how he managed that.
“Rope,” Gray says, jerking his chin as he grits his teeth with the effort of holding the man.
I follow his gaze to see extra rope from when they bound Florence. I’m grabbing it when my former attacker stumbles toward me. Nice try, but he isn’t walking too well, and a hard kick to his kneecap takes him down.
I bind the hands of Gray’s opponent while Gray keeps an eye on mine, who has realized that damn door is shut and decided that’s now his bigger concern. He’s slamming meaty fists against the metal and shouting for Muir.
Once the other man’s hands are bound, Gray says, “Emmett?”
“He must have run with Lord Muir.”
Gray grunts and strides to the man still pounding on the door, so intent on his shouting that Gray has only to grab his hand. Well, grab his hand and throw him down, and then I help him wrestle the man onto his stomach and bind his hands.
When we have the man bound, I exhale. “Okay, so the next step is—”
“Getting me out of here,” a voice says from across the room.
I look toward Florence, but she’s gone and that wasn’t her voice. I take a careful step around a pile of boxes to find Emmett with a rope around his wife’s neck, his foot on her back.
“You are going to find a way out of here,” he says, gaze fixed on Gray. “And you are going to let me leave first. Otherwise, I kill her.”
Didn’t he just argue with Muir to keep Florence alive? Surely he won’t kill her.
But it’s not that simple. He also led Muir to her, and he can claim he thought Muir was only going to talk to her, but how much of that speech was for her sake, so she wouldn’t go to her grave cursing his name? Or for his own ego, telling himself he wasn’t that evil, and if Muir killed her, at least he’d protested.
I don’t think Emmett wants Florence dead. He might even care for her, in his way. You don’t marry someone just to help you through medical school and get you a job. He doesn’t want her dead, but if she has to die to protect him? Well, a man has priorities, right?
Emmett keeps talking to Gray. Variations on a theme. I’ll kill her if you don’t let me leave. Really. I mean it.
He’s paying no attention to me. None at all.
I ease back. Emmett doesn’t look over. Gray says something. I don’t catch what it is, only trust that Gray realizes what I’m doing and continues holding Emmett’s attention. I keep moving until I’m back around that pile of boxes.
As I creep across the room, I pass one of the bound henchmen. He’s not gagged. He could warn Emmett. But he only glares at me and sets his jaw. He’s not getting involved. There’s nothing in it for him.
