Rothchild slid his coat off, folded it. “Is that why I’m here? You should have given me some notice. I would have brought my ropes.”
Mrs. Bonner furrowed her brow. “We have plenty of rope in the club. But why? He’s already restrained.”
Rothchild sent her a wolf’s grin. “Rope can do so much more than restrain.” He turned back to Pinkerton but spoke to Max. “This man works for Zed?”
“So we think. Unless he is the man himself.” Max cocked his head and looked at the sot drooping from his chains. “But that would be a disappointment. I have his name and the fact that he has a wife and son. The rest is up to you.”
Locking his fingers together, Rothchild straightened his arms, palms out. His knuckles cracked, a startling sound in the still room.
Mrs. Bonner inched closer to Max, and he kept one eye on the widow and one eye on his friend. Zed’s organization had nearly killed Rothchild’s wife. It was before the couple had married, but still, not something a man forgot. Or forgave. Max needed to make sure his friend wasn’t overzealous with his interrogation.
And Colleen … well, she was an unknown. How she’d react in this situation was anyone’s guess.
Rothchild stepped close to the American, dragged his nose along the curve of the man’s neck and up to his ear. Rothchild’s lips moved, but Max couldn’t hear what he said.
The American shook his head, setting his jaw.
Max huffed. Why did people insist on making life hard for themselves? With the application of enough pain, everyone talked. He focused on Mrs. Bonner. Saw her eyes widen with shock, her fists clench tight when the first scream tore from the American’s throat. She stepped forward, and Max grabbed her about the waist, pulling her back to his front.
“If you’re here, you have to let us work,” he whispered in her ear.
“But …” Twisting her neck, she stared up at him. “All your friend did was touch him. I don’t understand.”
Rothchild loosened Pinkerton’s cravat, slid it from his neck, revealing the man’s throat. “The human body is made of a series of meridian lines. Certain points on those lines are especially sensitive. If I apply the right amount of pressure”—he notched his thumb at a spot in the side of Pinkerton’s neck and pressed, earning a strangled gurgle—“the individual will experience an alarming amount of pain.”
“It’s effective, with no lasting damage.” Max ran his thumb along her arm. “Also, less clean up than doing it my way.”
She planted an elbow into his midsection. “This isn’t a time for jokes.”
“No, ma’am.”
Pinkerton screamed again. Rothchild dug a knuckle into the man’s shoulder, holding him steady with his other hand so the American couldn’t writhe away from the pain. It seemed to go on forever but was probably no more than twenty seconds. Twenty seconds of bone-chilling screams that reverberated through Max’s head and turned his stomach.
Colleen clapped her hands over her ears and squeezed her eyes tight. Her body jerked, as though the screams were a tangible force striking her frame.
Max gripped her shoulders and turned her away from the wall. She held herself tight, even after the screams had ended. She had gone a bit green, and Max could feel the pounding of her heart against his torso. Turning her body, he gathered her close and rubbed soothing circles into her back. “Mrs. Bonner? Colleen. It’s over now. You can open your eyes.”
She cracked first one eyelid, saw his face, and opened her other. The gesture would have been endearing if the circumstances weren’t so terrible. “He’s really loud,” she whispered.
“Yes.” He drew his hand up to the back of her neck, frustrated by her high collar. Her skin had been so soft on the inside of her wrist. Kneading the base of her skull, he waited until the tension left her face. “This is necessary if we’re to discover the man responsible for many deaths. The man who’s threatening you. Perhaps it’s time you waited outside.”
She shook her head, an auburn lock escaping from her tight knot. “I’m partly responsible for the man being here. I can’t turn my back now and pretend I have clean hands. It seems the least I should do is watch what I’m accountable for.”
Warmth spread through Max’s body. She truly was a commendable woman. Stalwart and courageous. Her husband had been a fortunate man.
Max’s throat went thick. And he’d taken her husband from her. It now fell upon his shoulders to be her protector. Even if she didn’t want one.
“That’s an admirable sentiment but unwarranted.” He needed an argument for her to leave the room that she’d accept.
His friend saved him the necessity of coming up with one. “There’ll be no more screaming, so you and Mrs. Bonner don’t have to worry. I believe he’s ready to talk. Isn’t that right, Mr. Pinkerton?” Rothchild gripped the man’s shoulder.
Pinkerton heaved and vomited on the wood floor, the splash catching Rothchild’s boots.
Max shook his head. “I didn’t want there to be any clean-up.”
“What the hell are you complaining about?” Rothchild shook his foot. “I’m the one who got it on me.”
“Men.” Colleen pressed her lips into a flat line. “You’re all such babies when it comes to life’s dirty bits. I’ll clean it up, and I’ll even clean your boots, too, Lord Rothchild. Just, find out what we need to know.”
