Page 152 of The Trouble with Tigers
Zeke’s gaze followed the direction of Caden’s finger, then shifted slightly to the alley behind the building. The hair on his nape stirred. “That’s it. Let’s go.”
He crossed the street.
Caden and Randall followed, but remained a few feet behind as if they sensed his animalistic need to claim the territory. He would find something here. Something that would lead him to Kitty.
He stepped into the dark, narrow passage and started forward. Immediately, the sounds of the bustling town receded.
Halfway down the alley, he spotted a large, weathered door. Just past the door, someone had deposited what looked like a sack of refuse.
The low, weak groan of a person in distress reached his ears. He broke into a run. On the ground, the lump moved.
“What is it?” Caden demanded from behind him.
“I think the question is who.” Randall put in.
Zeke crouched before the crumpled human—of the male persuasion, thank God. He touched the man’s shoulder. Still warm.
A sneaking suspicion took root in his mind. Dark hair. Just about the right build. He rolled the man onto his back. Bullseye. “It’s Hastings,” he said over his shoulder.
Zeke lowered his head to Hastings’s ashen face, checking for breath. When he felt the hair on his cheek stir, he patted him, chest to midsection. He pulled his hands back on reflex when he touched warm, slick liquid pooling at the man’s low belly.
“Is he…” Caden swallowed hard.
“No. He’s alive.” Zeke glanced up at Caden. “Stabbed, is my best guess.”
Hastings moaned and his eyes fluttered open. “Thurgood?” he whispered. “What’re you doing here?”
Zeke resisted the urge to shake him. “Never mind why I’m here, just thank your stars I’m in time to save your sorry neck—if you tell me where Kitty is.”
Hastings grimaced and closed his eyes.
“Hastings,” Zeke barked. “Where is your sister? Tell me now, damn it, or I’ll let you bleed out.”
The door behind them creaked in protest as it opened wide enough for a dumb looking bit of muscle to peer out at them.
“What’s this?” the man asked in thick cockney. His gaze hitched on Hastings. “Mr Peters,” he yelled over his shoulder. “Someone’s killed Lord Hastings.”
Zeke noted the man didn’t sound overly broken up.
Someone from within the building replied, but Zeke couldn’t make out the words.
The man in the doorway leaned further out to glance up and down the alley. “No sir, the lady don’t appear to be present.”
Zeke was upright, door gripped in his hands and yanked open wide, before the man had time to draw another breath. “What lady? Peters!” Zeke snarled into the building.
“What’s this?” the brawny man yelped again. He looked ready to pounce, but a tall figure materialized behind him, placing a staying hand on his shoulder.
“I’m Peters. Who might you be, my lord?” Peters stood eye level with Zeke.
“Thurgood of Claybourne,” Zeke replied in a steely voice. “Is the lady of whom you speak this man’s sister?” He jerked a thumb toward Hastings, who groaned as if on cue.
Peters stepped one foot into the alley and flicked a glance over Hastings. “So she claimed. She signed her brother’s marker before they left, and was none too pleased about it. I didn’t see her resorting to violence, however.”
“She is not responsible for this.” Zeke articulated each word through gritted teeth. “Who else was with them? Clearly a third party was involved.”
“None that I saw.” Peters glanced over his shoulder at the goings on within the building.
The look of the infamous Mr Peters, combined with the sounds and smells coming from within—the rumble of male voices, a haze of cigar smoke and spirit fumes—told Zeke all he needed to know about this place. A hell. Hastings had led his sister to a gaming hell. If Kitty’s disaster-prone brother survived his wounds, Zeke would give him a thrashing he’d never forget.
