Page 95 of The Worst of Them

“Maybe you should go get one of the others,” he said.

Cecily braced her hands on her hips. “It was a bad idea to have me be the one to tie you up. You didn’t teach me how to do it.”

“Well, if we’d been speaking for the last few weeks, tying knots might’ve come up sooner.”

She glared, thankful for the darkness as a furious heat crept up her neck.

“They should be back soon.” He glanced at the door, then frowned. “They should’ve been back by now…”

“What should we do?”

He sucked his teeth. “Punch me in the face.”

She grimaced. “I don’t want to⁠—”

“You agreed to make it believable,” he snapped.

She knotted her fingers together. “But now that I’m here, after all you just said to me⁠—”

“For the heist, Cecily. It’s fine.”

Her open hand connected with his cheek. Jack barely flinched, and there was a moment of silence before he hung his head and sighed. “Go get Killian.”

“Jack,” she whined.

“Go get Killian. I owe him, and he’ll be better at it anyway.” He shook his head. “On any other day I’d be pleased you’re so hesitant, but it’s the heist.”

“I could have done it before,” she grumbled, backing toward the door. “I don’t actually want to hurt you now, which is really your fault.”

“Can we discuss this later? We don’t have time, and it’s either you learn how to tie a knot and wound me decently, or you go get Killian.”

“Fine.” She grabbed the door latch. “But know that you’re eating up just as much time by talking as much as you do.”

Somewhere down the corridor, a window shattered.

Her head whipped toward Jack. There was no part of the plan that included breaking a window, and the others knew better than to be so careless.

Unless there was a reason.

Cecily tore into the hall, her skirt hiked up and secured behind the sheath on her right thigh, exposing the knives strapped down her leg. Jack came to stand beside her, having freed himself from his bonds. His hat was on, shadowing his eyes and leaving only the cut of his mouth and his fake scars.

The corridor was empty, but there came the sound of scuffling and raised voices.

“The others?” she whispered.

Jack shook his head and reached for the gun holstered at his hip.

Farther down, closer to the main house, a door burst open. Two figures tumbled out, one hulking and the other donning a red coat with a hat over long, luscious brunette hair.

Fiero and Morgyn looked in their direction and froze at the sight of a Spanish soldier. Spotting Cecily, Morgyn’s eyes narrowed.

And that coat—that red coat—was Cecily’s.

“Bitch,” Cecily growled, ripping a knife free. She’d cut the woman to pieces, and she was glad the coat was red because Morgyn’s blood wouldn’t show so badly when Cecily was done with her⁠—

Jack grabbed her arm, stopping her before she could barrel forward. Shouts erupted outside, from the direction of the broken window. Fiero grabbed something off his vest, twisted it, and threw it into the office before hauling Morgyn away.

Fire exploded through the doorway in a blast of orange. Jack leaped in front of Cecily, shielding her with his body as bits of furniture and shattered glass ricocheted off the wall. She braced her hands against his chest, keeping him from falling into her as the heat pushed them back.