Page 121 of Bound to the Heartless Duke
They knew his voice. At least two of them shifted uneasily from one foot to the other.
One of the older men, with a scar across his cheek and the tattoos of a naval deserter curling up his neck, tilted his head in disbelief.
“The Duke of Blackmore?” he drawled. “Fancy seein’ you here.”
The boy blinked. “This is him?”
“The hell it is,” another muttered, stepping back slightly.
Magnus looked positively unbothered, which only made him more dangerous. “That’s right. I run the halls where you gamble your stolen shillings and piss away your borrowed time. I’ve seen men crawl to my feet, begging for mercy.” He took a step forward, slow and deliberate. “You’re not the worst I’ve dealt with. But you could be.”
Scar-face hesitated, but the boy wasn’t deterred. He approached Magnus with a swagger in his step, his lips curled into a sneer. “You talk big for a man with a wife and a whelp to protect.”
Magnus moved so fast that no one had time to blink.
One second, the boy was smirking; the next, his wrist was pulled and twisted before he was thrown into a pile of wood with a sickening crunch.
The rest of the men stepped forward instinctively, their hands moving toward their knives, ready for their leader’s command.
“Try me,” Magnus growled, his eyes flashing with barely leashed violence. “I’ll make what I did to him look like a damn handshake.”
The boy groaned from the ground, his leg bent at a bizarre angle. He would not be walking anytime soon.
Nathan stared at the scene before slowly pushing himself to his feet. As for Lily, she didn’t speak. She couldn’t. All she could manage was breathing hard.
Magnus turned his gaze to the rest of the gang and straightened the sleeves of his coat, his voice even once more. “If any of you would like to join him, now’s the time.”
Silence ensued, a tense one.
Scar-face exhaled slowly. “He owes us.” He jerked his head toward Nathan. “That doesn’t disappear just ‘cause you can throw a punch.”
“He owes you,” Magnus agreed, stepping up to Nathan’s side. “But nowIowe you. And unlike him, I pay my debts.”
Scar-face furrowed his brow. “When?”
“Tomorrow,” Magnus said simply. “You’ll hear from me no later than midday.”
“And if we don’t?” Scar-face asked, his voice rough.
“Then by nightfall,” Magnus said with a cold smile, “you’ll find out exactly how many bones I’m willing to break.”
More silence followed, the men seeming to weigh their options.
Finally, Scar-face gave a grunt, tugged at the collar of his coat, and nodded toward the others. “Let’s go. He’s buying time.” He cast a final look at Magnus. “You’ve got one day. No more.”
One of the men came to help the boy up before they turned and disappeared into the fog.
Once they had gone, Nathan sagged against the wall.
Lily’s heart fluttered. She looked at her husband, who had just stared down an entire gang of thugs with the ease of a man discussing a dinner menu.
She had the worst feeling ever—that her family always had a way of dragging him into trouble.
He turned to her, catching her searching gaze with his unreadable one. “Are you all right?”
She nodded stiffly, her voice still somewhere between her ribs and her heart. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“I did,” he said simply, then reached for Nathan’s collar and yanked him up like a sack of flour.
