She took a small step back. “Do it quickly. You don’t have much time left.”
Lincoln darted to the stables and came back with a chestnut horse. He hooked it up into the gig’s harness then opened the large double doors. “Now get down here.”
“I’ll go down those stairs.” She pointed. “And out through the stables. I’ll meet you out front. If I hear any gunshot, any shouts from Charles, I run. And there will be nothing to keep my colleagues from hunting you down like the dog you are.”
Lincoln narrowed his eyes, nodded once. “Understood.” He led the horse towards the doors, but paused in the threshold.
They watched each other warily as she climbed down, limped backwards into the gloom of the stables until they were out of sight from each other. She ran as fast as her busted heel would allow to the door and poked her head out.
Lincoln leaned from his doorway.
She blew out a shaky breath. He hadn’t had time to harm Charles. Her plan would work.
He led the horse out and she cautiously approached, ignoring the continued shouts from the barn telling her to run. To save herself. Bile raced up the back of her throat. Lincoln could shoot her now, go back inside and finish off Charles. But he wouldn’t get the protection of her presence.
“Get up.” He jerked his gun at the bench seat.
She circled to the other side, as if that extra couple feet could protect her, before climbing into the gig.
Lincoln hopped up beside her. He dug the gun into her waist as he gripped the reins with one hand. “Hiyah!” He called to the horse, and they started down the street at a brisk pace.
Every foot away from the stables loosened the cinch around her lungs. Every foot away meant Charles was becoming safer and safer.
“I hope your friends value your life as much as you think they do.” He jabbed the gun into her side, bruising her ribs. “Of course, if they approach, it just means an earlier death for you. You’re going to die, either in the streets of London or on the ship taking me to the Continent.”
She dug her fingers into her skirts.
“You didn’t really think I wouldn’t punish you. Not after all the trouble you’ve caused.”
She’d been a fool. She was going to die. Her heart twisted. She was going to die, and she only had one regret. It wasn’t the life she’d failed to take. Revenge seemed so inconsequential at this moment.
It was the life she’d never given herself the chance to have. A life with Charles. She could only hope that now he was safe, he could find a way to forgive her. Forgive her and move on without her.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Blood dripped from his wrists. At gunpoint, Lincoln had forced Charles to tie his own hands, and Charles had done his best to leave some slack. Lincoln had come around after and added some more rope, and the reedy bastard was surprisingly adept at tying a decent knot.
Sweat rolled down his forehead into his eyes. God damn it, every second he fucked around with his bindings was another moment Cassie was getting farther away. Charles scooted under the cart, grabbed a hold of the axle, and kicked at the spokes of the wheel.
The wheel was a sturdy fucker, but eventually he kicked himself free. Sliding his wrists off the axle, he rolled to his feet and glanced around for an axe, a saw, a blade of any kind.
All he found was a nail.
A horse nickered, and Charles cocked his head. The sound had come from outside the door, not from the stables. It was followed by the distinctive click of a gun’s hammer being cocked.
Charles pressed his back against the wall. Had Lincoln doubled back to finish him off? His heart thudded. And where was Cassie?
A shadow of darker black on black hovered in the doorway, a pistol in its hand.
Charles launched himself at the figure. Flesh met flesh, and they tumbled to the ground. A man cursed. A knee came uncomfortably close to Charles’s scrotum. He rolled, pinning the figure to the ground and pressing the pointed edge of the nail into the man’s throat.
Light flared to life behind him, and Hereford’s annoying face was revealed beneath Charles.
“Is he still here?” Cyrus asked. He held the lantern higher and searched the warehouse.
“Get off.” Hereford narrowed his eyes and pushed at Charles’s shoulder. “You weigh a ton.”
Charles grunted and pushed to his feet. He might have used his elbow in the man’s gut for a bit of leverage, but it all happened in a hurry, so who could tell?
