Page 86 of Redemption

“Now then, Rhea, you’ve had your fun at my expense. Give up the gun to old Ruckley,” he wheedled.

“No. I don’t think so,” she said as she took pleasure in seeing the man beginning to sweat.

“Don’t be a fool, woman. Everyone downstairs saw you come up here willingly.” There was a growing note of anxiety in Ruckley’s voice, and it made her smile.

“What you don’t seem to understand, Ruckley, is that I don’t care,” she said with a quiet calm that surprised her. “I came here tonight knowing that I might be hung for killing you, but I decided it didn’t matter.”

“Surely we can come to some arrangement, Rhea. It doesn’t have to be like this between us.” Fear invaded his voice as he pleaded with her.

“No,” she said as she leveled her pistol at him. “It’s too late for—”

Rhea didn’t get to finish as Ruckley flung his blade at her and it sliced into her arm, just above the elbow. She cried out in pain as Ruckley lunged toward her. Acting simply on sheer self-preservation, she supported her injured arm with her free hand and pulled the trigger.

The gunshot ricocheted off the walls of the room as Rhea stared at the man in front of her. Ruckley’s mouth moved but no words came out as blood spurted out of the hole in the side of his neck. The pleasure she’d been experiencing at Ruckley’s fear had vanished. Where was it? Where was the pleasure, the satisfaction, the enjoyment she thought she’d feel right now. It was missing. Helplessly, she watched Ruckley slowly fall to the floor.

Sinking to her knees beside the dead man, the gun slipped from Rhea’s fingers as she stared at the life pouring out of Ruckley. Why didn’t she feel gratified? She’d killed the man who’d tormented her and others she loved. A loud cry roared out of Edgar and she fell backward as the boy threw himself on top of her. Pinned beneath the boy, she jabbed at his face with her fingers trying to make him release her.

“You sorry bitch. You killed him.”

There was a look of madness on Edgar’s face that terrified her. With a twist of her body she tried to knock him off balance and escape his hold. She gained a small amount of leverage only to have it disappear as Edgar pulled string from his coat pocket and wrapped it around her neck. In seconds, her supply of air disappeared. Instinct forced her to claw at the rope, but she knew it wouldn’t help. Somewhere in the back of her brain, she heard Ruckley cackling.

The bastard would have enjoyed this, just as he would have enjoyed carving her up with his switchblade. The knife. Rhea flung out her hand, her fingers scrabbling for the knife Ruckley had thrown at her. Pain stabbed at her throat as Edgar tightened the cord around her neck. Fingertips scraping with desperation across the rough wood floor, she jerked as the blade sliced into one of her fingers. Ignoring the pain, she tried to remain conscious as her fingers fumbled as she blindly searched for the switchblade’s handle.

Lungs on fire from lack of air, she fought to grasp the weapon that would ensure she could breathe again. The cold metal of the blade in her hand, she threw her arm in a wide arc upward and slashed at the boy strangling her. Almost immediately, the pressure on her neck vanished. As she gasped for air, she slashed at the boy again. Edgar made a gurgling sound and he fell forward on top of her. A metallic, coppery smell filled her nostrils as she continued to struggle to fill her burning lungs with air.

Choking from a lack of oxygen, Rhea frantically pulled at the cord wrapped around her neck, and allowed a huge rush of air to fill her body. With a strength born of desperation, she pushed Edgar off her body. Terrified he might throttle her again, she scrambled backward like a spider until she reached the wall. Her hands felt wet, and as she raised them to the light, she shuddered with revulsion at the blood covering her hands.

In blind panic, she looked down at the front of her petticoats and the large, dark stains on her corset. Frantic to rid herself of the blood, she tried to reach the lacing on her back. The cut on her arm made it too painful to undo the lacings. With a sob, she curled up against the wall. Every part of her seemed to ache, as her eyes remained fixed on the bodies of the two men she’d just killed.

Somehow, she was certain they were merely toying with her. They weren’t really dead. They were simply waiting for her guard to slip, and then they would rise up to inflict more pain and suffering on her. Dry, rasping coughs continued to rip through her body as she drank in deep breaths.

A gentle hand touched her arm, causing Rhea to scream and violently strike out at the touch. She scooted away out of fear. Again the touch came, and through the misty blur of blood and mayhem, Rhea saw Percy’s face. She raised her hand toward him then saw the blood on her fingers. Horrified, she jerked away from him.

“Don’t touch me.”

“Christ Jesus, Rhea. It’s me, Percy.”

“Get away from me,” she cried out again.

§ § §

Percy stared down at Rhea in horror. She was covered in blood just as Jamie had described. He could see she was bleeding from a wound on her arm, but the blood on her corset prevented him from seeing whether she bore any other wounds. He reached out to her again, but this time he didn’t touch her, he simply offered his hand.

“Rhea, look at me. It’s over, sweetheart. They can’t hurt you anymore.”

At his words, she looked up at him, and the glazed look of terror in her eyes made him want to scoop her up in his arms. She was clearly in shock, and she had begun to tremble badly. He stretched out his hand to her once more, but she retreated from him. Harry, the boy he’d met the other night, appeared at his side and touched Percy’s arm.

“Let me try sir. Perhaps, she’ll come with me.” At the boy’s suggestion, Percy stepped away from her and watched as Harry squatted down in front of Rhea.

“It’s all right, Miss Rhea. We won. Fanny, Vincent, all the others, and me—we’re all safe, just like you wanted. You saved us.”

Rhea stared at the boy, and her expression was one of confusion. Her eyes shifted to where Ruckley and Edgar lay still on the floor, and she shuddered. Rhea’s gaze swung back to Percy. It was obvious she was trying to discern if Harry was telling her the truth. As if reading her mind, Harry scrambled over to one of the bodies and prodded the corpse.

“See, Miss Rhea. They’re dead. They can’t ‘urt you anymore. You did it. You saved us, just like you always said you would.” Harry scramble back to her side, and stretched out his hand to her. “Come on now, we need to get you home. Mr. Rockwood has a carriage all ready for you.”

Hesitantly, Rhea stretched out her hand to Harry. When he took her hand in his, Harry helped her rise to her feet. “Now then, Miss Rhea. Mr. Rockwood and me, we’re gonna take you to the carriage. Can you walk?”

Rhea nodded at the question. Harry stood on one side of her, as Percy gently wrapped his arm about her waist, his fingers cupping her elbow. She moaned and, he bent his head toward her.

“Will you let me carry you, sweetheart?” At his question, she looked up at him, her eyes glazing over again with pain and sadness.

“I can’t marry you now,” she whispered. “I can’t even be your mistress.”

For the first time in his life, Percy felt utterly helpless. She’d always been so strong, but whatever strength she’d possessed had disappeared until all he could see was her vulnerability. She was exposed completely, and it terrified him that she might never come back to him.

“It’s all right, Rhea. Everything is going to be all right, sweetheart” he murmured as she sagged against him.

She didn’t protest as he gently lifted her up into his arms. When she curled up into his chest, he pressed a kiss on her temple and carried her out of the room that held enough terror to last both of them a lifetime.