Wicked Becomes You(78)

“You’re an ass,” Gwen burst out, and smashed a pot onto Barrington’s head.

Alex sprang. Barrington staggered a pace and backhanded Gwen.

She fell into the desk, and some low, animalistic, unfamiliar noise ripped from Alex’s throat as he collided with Barrington and took them both to the ground. He seized the man’s wrist and pinned it, evading a knee to his balls on the way. Barrington’s limbs thrashed like an eel’s, but he had no practice in sparring. His grip around the pistol was white-knuckled. If Alex slammed his hand into the floor, if the gun fired, guards would come running. He placed his right knee on the man’s testicles, his left knee on the man’s left arm, and his left hand—yes, by God, you son of a bitch—on the man’s throat, squeezing, squeezing, until Barrington’s eyes rolled back in his head and his body went slack.

Take the gun. Relatch the safety. Gwen, by the desk. Face warm. No visible cuts.

Lashes fluttered.

Alex took a long, shuddering breath. Hand shaking, he cupped her cheek. Jesus God he had come here for goddamned Gerry’s sake and she’d ended up crumpled on the floor. He was going to put a gun to his brother’s head. “Gwen,” he repeated, not recognizing his voice; hoarse, fit only for a thread of sound.

Her eyes came fully open. They rolled immediately to the left. Toward Barrington.

“Forget him.” He helped her into a sitting position. “Look toward the ocean,” he said.

“I’m fine,” she whispered.

“The view is lovely,” he said, and whipped free the cords that tied the curtains away from the window pane.

She cleared her throat. “Alex, the documents—”

“Is the moon full?” he asked. Efficiently he tied Barrington’s wrists together. “I think we were due for a full moon tonight.”

She did not reply. He watched his hands looping the rope over Barrington’s ankles. No blood spilled, but it put him in mind of butchery all the same. He would have hog-tied and gutted this man gladly, whatever Gerry had done to invite this. The kosher style—strung from the heels to slowly bleed out.

His hands began to shake again.

“Yes, it’s a full moon. Are you all right?”

It took a moment for these words to penetrate. “Brilliant,” he said.

“Only that it seems an odd time for small talk, you know.”

He fitted the second cord between the man’s teeth, coiling it around Barrington’s skull twice, then round his neck once, before running it behind his back, drawing the loops of wrist and ankles tight. Barrington wasn’t going anywhere until someone came and found him. If he struggled, he would choke himself.

Let him struggle. Alex dragged him behind the screen for added concealment.

He turned back on a deep breath, preparing to pick Gwen up—his arms already focused on the feel of her, the reassurance of having her completely within his purview. Then he would be able to think again. This rage was so visceral that it numbed one. It lifted the hairs on his neck.

But Gwen was already on her feet, industriously stuffing her reticule with documents. Her quick glance upward ascertained that he was through with Barrington. She held up the reticule.

“These are maps,” she said. “This might explain it.”

He stared at her. “I’m going to carry you out of here,” he said.

She tipped her head, and then, as if only now remembering, touched her cheek where Barrington had hit her. “It’s only my face,” she said. “I can walk.”

“I’m going to carry you,” he repeated.

“But these maps, Alex—”

“Fuck the maps,” he said.

Her eyes widened. She studied him a moment, and then stuck the reticule under her arm. “All right,” she said, and stepped toward him. “I suppose I do feel a bit faint.”



They were halfway down the stairs when Gwen felt Alex’s grip tighten. She lifted her head and spied a guard approaching them. Beneath the shadow cast by the brim of his bowler hat, the leer on his lips bespoke his misapprehension of Alex’s embrace.

“Put me down,” she whispered after the guard had passed them. He had turned in the direction of Barrington’s private wing.

“Just lie back,” Alex said, and his tone was so unaccustomedly harsh that she recoiled. And was pinned, by one large and bullying hand, against his chest, where this hand kept her firmly.

“But if he finds Barrington—”

“We’ll go directly to the stables,” he said under his breath. “Tell the lad to take us to Monte Carlo.”

He carried her through the lobby as if she weighed nothing. The butler opened the door with no remark, clearly accustomed to odd goings-on. Down the short flight of stairs. Now gravel crunched beneath Alex’s footsteps as he walked the path around the house. The moon hung overhead in a star-studded sky so black that it looked depthless.