One Night Is Never Enough Part 33

The muscles beneath her fingers tightened suddenly, immeasurably, and the next thing she knew her nose was pressed against his back.

And the whistle of something whirred past her ear.

Chapter 20.

S he didn't know how he moved so quickly, moving both of them together in one sharp, seamless movement. She had no idea how he had spun her behind him like that, nor how they moved from the bed to the wall so swiftly, but she found herself flattened against the smooth surface, his back pressed against her, his body completely blocking her. Long and wicked-looking knives glinted in his hands.

She had just watched him put that s.h.i.+rt on. How had he hidden knives in his sleeves without her noticing?

And h.e.l.l's minions, indeed. It sounded like the entire neighborhood was outside, trying to break down the walls.

Roman's entire body stiffened, and she had the feeling he would be doing something far different if she weren't pressed behind him. It was as if he were expecting, almost resigned, to being shot or- A second whistle ended in a ping, shattering a decanter near her head. A spray of gla.s.s erupted to the floor, thankfully away from them.

Thankfully? She saw the flat knife that had fallen amidst the gla.s.s. Dear G.o.d, someone had thrown a knife at them. Suddenly, the whirring sound that had accompanied their movement to the wall connected with the evidence before her. A second knife.

But Roman still didn't move. And the noise of the crowd far below grew louder.

"Merrick." A voice called, and she could see black boots step forward out of the door's shadows. She couldn't see anything else, blocked as she was. "Merely a warning, as you've obviously guessed since we aren't currently trading blood." Something hit the ground, near their feet-a black card with a picture of a man hanging upon it. "I was hired. I have missed. Our debt is satisfied."

"Who?" Roman's voice was deadly flat.

"A surprise, to be sure. I hadn't realized the a.s.s was so well connected." The voice was equally flat, almost bored, with just the slightest hint of irritation. "And if it'd been he as my target . . ."

It didn't seem possible, but Roman's body stiffened further.

"Ah, family betrayal. A lovely thing. Though I don't believe anyone else has pieced it together," the voice said, musing. A sudden increase in the rage of the crowd below nearly drowned his words. "But fair warning. The stirrings are enough to cause comment-everyone waits to see what will happen."

Something fairly vibrated about Roman's body. He wanted to be somewhere else now. But he tilted his head, waiting, and a second later the dark boots disappeared soundlessly into the shadows.

As soon as the man disappeared, Roman was in motion. "Andreas." There was something of anguish to it.

Wait, what? Andreas had attacked them? Or had them attacked? And was the entire building under siege?

Roman's hand whipped, and the knife in his right hand disappeared. He knelt and in two smooth motions pulled a pistol from under a pile of clothing and pulled a cord under the bed with his other hand. He c.o.c.ked the pistol, pressing it into her hands, eyes locked with hers. "Shoot anything that moves. Reinforcements will be here in one minute."

Then he was darting through the partially opened door.

Charlotte frantically looked around, but there was no evidence of whoever had been throwing knives at them. And she had the very certain notion that Roman wouldn't have left if he had thought otherwise.

She held the pistol gingerly in her numb fingers before curling her fingers tightly around the handle, jerkily aiming it at everything in the room that caught her attention. She might have never held one before, but that didn't mean that with the choice between pulling the trigger and having one pulled on her, she wasn't going to choose the first option.

She listened to the roar below and clenched tight fingers around metal. She couldn't even comprehend what was happening.

Andreas had betrayed Roman? Had hired someone to kill him? And what . . . people were rioting below to make sure no one escaped alive?

But . . . but Roman had gone after Andreas. What would Andreas do to Roman? Especially with Roman in emotional pain over his betrayal? Andreas could kill him.

Her mouth opened, her throat worked, but no sound emerged. Killed while she stood here stupidly waiting-while a crowd tried to break down the building at its foundations and destroy everything within.

Her feet moved through the bedroom door and toward the outer door without mental consent. She attempted to open the outer door, but it was locked tight. It took a precious thirty seconds to unlock the three locks. How . . . ? She shook her head at the unimportance of the question. The hall was empty, but the only other door in the hall was ajar-Andreas's room, sharing the other half of the building's upper floor with Roman.

Her breath came in pants, but she crept to Andreas's door, pistol waving all over the hallway toward any noise.

Then everything went suddenly silent. So silent. Nary a shout from the streets below.

She slowly peered around the edge of Andreas's door.

Her first impression consisted solely of bodies and blood. Then her gaze snapped to Roman, who was crouched, hovering, over someone half-propped against the wall. She took a step forward. Roman spun around and for a split second she saw her life end. His knife hit the wall half a pace from her, as, at the last moment, he threw off his aim. The blade vibrated outside of the tip of its sheath.

"s.h.i.+t. G.o.d. Charlotte." He closed his eyes tight, then they shot open. "Stanley," he shouted. "One-eye, Milton, Bertrand, Lefty! Upstairs, now!"

She wasn't sure her body would regain movement, the pistol frozen in her fingers for all eternity. She heard feet furiously stamp up the stairs and down the hall.

"Sorry, Boss, but someone started a riot and-" The young voice abruptly ended as a boy appeared at her side, stopping dead just inside the frame of the door. She could feel at least one other body at her side, but her head stubbornly stayed forward, unable to move or look to see.

"Johnny, whiskey, needle, and thread. Peter, the special knife, two candles." There was nothing soft about Roman's voice, and his accent was so thick she could barely discern the words.

The scene finally snapped into sharp focus as someone next to her pried the pistol from her frozen fingers. Roman was crouched over Andreas, who looked as if he'd partic.i.p.ated in a war, one leg bent at an odd angle. And there were five other bodies and a flood of spilled blood on the floor.

"Dammit, don't touch that." Andreas, fortunately, or unfortunately, still alive, tried to swat Roman's hand away from a bloodied gash in his chest.

"Stop being a f.u.c.king lightskirt." But Roman's voice was steady-too even. "Charlotte, can you sew him up?" Roman didn't meet her eyes for a moment, but when he did, they were carefully blanked of expression.

"No. No b.l.o.o.d.y way," Andreas said.

Roman looked relieved to look away from her and back to his brother. "She's a lady. They have to know how to sew a perfect st.i.tch. It's a requirement."

Charlotte knew quite a few ladies who were abysmal at it, actually, but she thought it best not to add her thoughts. They kept slipping to the dead bodies splayed on the floor anyway. The blood soaking the floor was like too much wine spilled at a Baccha.n.a.lia. She was pretty sure the man nearest her had not died pleasantly. And another one . . . she didn't know you could actually stick a blade through bone like that.

She snapped her eyes away, focusing instead on a lock of hair that was falling into Roman's eye as he argued with his brother.

"It's the best option."

His hair was always quite fetching.

"She's not touching me."

"She'll do you up right."

A much nicer color than hers.

"No."

And his eyes. They were fetching as well. Very fetching all around. She felt fetching too when she was around him. "Fetching," what a strange word. Like fletching, but without the "L" that made one's tongue do extra work.

"Why are you whining? She will- s.h.i.+t !"

Huh. The ceiling wasn't gold here, but the wood was quite dark.

"See?" a voice hissed. "b.l.o.o.d.y useless."

She wondered if they planned it that way-to echo themselves in their decor.

Roman's face appeared in her view. How'd he get up there? "Charlotte? Charlotte, are you hurt? Did Slade hit you without me realizing it?"

He sounded panicked, and she felt his hands moving over her. She tried to rea.s.sure him. He would always be so pretty, unlike her. Her mouth opened, but before she could say anything, his eyes went wide, and she found herself twisted to the side.

A good thing really, as she proceeded to retch all over the floor and what looked like a b.l.o.o.d.y stump. But that didn't make sense. There were no bodies over on this side of her. She retched again, only Roman's soothing hands keeping her from falling into the swirling mess.

"She fainted. " The voice sounded farther away than the wall. "Ladies faint at the sight of blood. And then vomit. Except they call it 'casting up their accounts' because they are too ladylike to use the real word. b.l.o.o.d.y useless. "

Roman uttered a string of words-quick and angry-but she couldn't catch them with his thickened accent and through her fuzzed thoughts.

"I will not, " Andreas sounded furious-not that that was different from usual.

Fifteen minutes later, and with a cold compress pressed to her forehead, she watched from a chair as they bickered over how to st.i.tch up the wound.

"Now, Boss, you know you ain't no good with a needle." Bill rubbed a hand along the back of his neck. "And the only good blood-and-bones can't be found. d.a.m.n riot. Smart b.a.s.t.a.r.ds to start it. Kept everyone busy downstairs. Lucky we didn't lose anyone."

She had been studiously avoiding watching the boys clean up the bodies. It had taken six trips. She closed her eyes and pressed the pad harder against her forehead, trying not to think about why five bodies necessitated six trips.

"Anyway," Bill continued. "Merrick is the best one with a needle. A rotten a.s.s of a doctor, but he gets the job done."

"Exactly." Andreas held out his hand imperiously. "Now bring me a d.a.m.n mirror and give me the d.a.m.n needle, so I can sew it up my d.a.m.n self."

"You'll end up stabbing yourself," Roman said flatly. "Your hands are shaking. You've lost too much blood."

"My hands are not shaking." Andreas's voice was deadly.

Charlotte threw the cloth down on the table. "Just give me the d.a.m.n thing."

" No. "

She stood up and strode around the- wine -on the floor. "Give it here." She held out her hand, and Roman gamely handed the needle to her.

The wound had been cleansed, so she could see the blade line.

"Have you ever even seen this done?" Andreas snarled.

"No," she said bluntly. "But you are sorrier-looking than my first embroidery attempt, so shut your gob."

Surprisingly, he did. She thought it might be because he was too tired to do anything else, though. He glared but closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the wall. He had other injuries too, but the chest wound was by far the worst. Somehow his leg looked completely normal again. Obviously a trick of her mind before she'd fainted.

She threaded the needle. A simple series of straight st.i.tches. She had been able to sew a perfect line since she was eight. That's all she needed to do. She put her finger on top of the needle and placed the tip against his skin. Of course, sewing through cloth and sewing through skin were hardly equal tasks. She hesitated, point pressed.

"Just push it through," he said viciously, eyes still closed. "What difference does it make at this point? You'll probably faint halfway through the first st.i.tch anyway, then I can just do it myself."

She set her jaw and p.r.i.c.ked the skin, pus.h.i.+ng through to the other side of the gash. "You know exactly how to motivate me, Mr. Merrick. Congratulations."

She finished the half st.i.tch, pulling the thread through as carefully as she could. She peered up to see his eyes still closed but with something looser in his expression.

"Are you going to faint, Mr. Merrick?"

He peeked one eye open to look at her, death promised in his glare.

She looked down, satisfied, and started the next st.i.tch, settling the scene into a rhythm as she worked.

Andreas took a swig from the bottle in his hand a few minutes later, far calmer. "I don't know whether to be insulted or pleased that they sent five men after me and Slade after you," he said to Roman.

But now that things were being taken care of, Roman was unresponsive, rolling a pair of dice under his palm, across the table, over and over, staring at them as if doing otherwise would produce dire results. Charlotte spared him a quick look as she threaded the needle with a new line. She was nearly done st.i.tching. Apprehension slid through her, but she couldn't identify why.

Bill looked pensive. "Maybe luck of the draw. Slade's expensive. So they sent one pot one way and the other"-he shrugged-"to the other. But they didn't make the proper inquiries, or else they would have sent Slade after you instead, Merrick. There's only one person in this world who Slade would show himself to, and they submitted his name to the fold." Bill shook his head and shot a glance at Roman. Charlotte's apprehension grew at the concerned look in Bill's eye as he too watched the steady crackle of dice.

Andreas smiled, eyes closed once more. "Does my heart good to think that the b.a.s.t.a.r.d's reputation took a hit tonight."

"He'll probably hold it against you, " Bill pointed out.

Andreas smiled thinly. "I hope so. It will give me opportunity when they send round two."

"Only thing in our favor is that they might think Slade can't do the job properly and not hire him again. How did people without an a.r.s.eload of inquiry figure out how to contact him anyhow? S'not easy. It has to be multiple factions working together, Boss, you were right. Bad communication is to our advantage."

"Who's Slade?" Charlotte asked, p.r.i.c.king Andreas's skin again with a far steadier hand than she had any reason to claim.

She could see Andreas study her from beneath cracked lids. "He's an a.s.sa.s.sin," he said finally.

"I put that together, actually," she said calmly, pulling the thread through. "But who is he, and why didn't he kill us?"

"What difference does it make who he is?" But Andreas moved his fingers slightly around the neck of the bottle, belying his words. "Wouldn't have killed you anyway unless you saw his face, or he was paid to put you in a grave. Roman was the target."

"Slade's the best," Bill piped in, then held out his hands. "No offense, Merrick." Bill addressed Charlotte again quickly. "Boss saved his a.r.s.e years ago when Slade was still wet behind the ears." His brow furrowed, and he turned to Roman. "You know, Slade might have chosen his target. Taken you instead, Boss. To protect you like."

Roman shrugged. He looked bored. "Perhaps. Though why now?" And now his voice sounded anything but bored. Vicious, angry, savage. "This happens all the time after all." He swept the dice, flinging them harshly against the wall. He threw back his chair and went to the sideboard.

Andreas's eyes narrowed on him. Charlotte's unease turned into a raging tumult.

"What's crawled up your breeches?" Andreas demanded.

Roman fished through gla.s.s containers, ignoring him, clinking bottles together.

"Stop abusing my liquor."

"Walk over here and stop me." Roman's voice retained the vicious thread as he grabbed a bottle, nearly breaking it along with another as he yanked the gla.s.s container from its pocket.