“Good eyes. Now, remember the plan?”
“Station larks at the windows and entrances. We fire first if any o’ the bastards make a move,” Molly recited. “Most importantly, we ’ave each other’s backs and fight as a team.”
“Excellent.” Cull checked his pistol, shoved a pair of blades in his boots. Then he placed a hand on Molly’s shoulder. “If anything happens to me, you’re in charge until Long Mikey gets back.”
Worry flickered in Molly’s amber eyes. “Nothing’s goin’ to ’appen to you, is it?”
“No,” he said firmly. “Now assemble the larks.”
Fair Molly dashed off to organize the troops. Cull returned to the front of the glasshouse; from his bird’s-eye view, Squibb was the size of a gnat, and it was time to get rid of the annoyance. After that, the larks would be safe…and Cull could see Pippa again.
Christ, he missed her. After the intimacy of their trip, three days apart felt like an eternity. He still couldn’t believe that she had accepted his duties as prince. She hadn’t made a fuss or given him an ultimatum; instead, she’d offered him an incentive.
“After you’re done with Squibb, let’s celebrate with a quiet supper at my house,”she’d said.“I want you to stay the night. And I want to wake up in your arms.”
She exceeded his wildest fantasies with her strength and passion. Her willingness to accept him as he was. Even though he would never be a toff, he would work to be a partner worthy of Pippa. Someone who she would consider a real future with. Who she might even…marry.
First things first, however. Time to dispense with Squibb.
Cull descended the stairs. In the great hall, the larks were armed and ready. They gave him brave nods, and he nodded back. As their leader, he didn’t believe in hiding the threats against them. They had to know what they were up against in the world. They also had to know that, no matter what, mudlarks stood together. Faced their enemies and shared their triumphs as one.
At the threshold, he turned and looked at them all. “We don’t go looking for trouble, but we don’t run away from it either. What is our motto?”
“A wrong against me you’ll regret, but a favor to me I’ll ne’er forget,”the larks chanted.
“We fight together and fight strong,” Cull declared. “Let’s show our enemies what happens when they challenge the mudlarks.”
Cheering shook the rafters. Cull went to the door, saying to Molly, “Lock this behind me.”
The street was quiet, but Cull felt the eyes on him and Squibb from behind shuttered windows. The Devil’s Acre was watching. Waiting. Wagering on the outcome.
Stocky and bow-legged, Squibb had eyes like cloves pressed into the doughy folds of his face. He wore a tall velvet hat and a wine-colored frock coat that didn’t have a speck of soot on it…no surprise there. The sweep had others do his dirty work. Case in point: the two lumbering brutes behind him. One had hair, the other didn’t, and they had a full set of teeth and a single brain between them. They sneered, cracking their knuckles.
“What do you want, Squibb?” Cull said.
“You know why I’m ’ere,” Squibb spat. “Because o’ you, my merchandise ain’t good anywhere. All the pawnshops are refusing my goods!”
“What makes you think I am behind this?” Cull asked mildly.
“Because it’s your bloody way o’ retaliating—” Squibb cut himself off. While the sweep had bacon for brains, even he must have realized that admitting to hiring a cutthroat to kill Cull wouldn’t support his stance as the injured party.
“Go on,” Cull said. “What am I retaliating for?”
“I ain’t got time to argue wif you like a bleeding barrister,” Squibb snarled. “You destroyed the livelihood o’ me and my gang, and I demand payment.”
“You’ll get nothing from me but what you deserve,” Cull said with lethal precision. “If you’re wise, you will take your motley crew and leave—and never set foot on mudlark territory again.”
“I tried to reason wif you, everyone ’eard me.” Vicious intent glinted in the sweep’s beady eyes. “You left me no choice. Get ’im, boys!”
The brutes came at him, but Cull was quicker. He evaded the bald one and plowed his fist into the other’s gut. The man groaned, doubling over. Baldy came at Cull again, swinging his ham-sized fists. Ducking, Cull went on the offensive, tackling the other to the ground. He gained the upper hand, pounding his opponent’s face into the dirt.
He heard a shot go off, then another. Cries of pain erupted from the alleyways. His larks had taken care of the hidden assailants—had come through as he’d known they would.
Cull’s nape tingled, and he rolled off his unconscious opponent in the nick of time. The other brute’s blade cut through the air where he’d been a moment earlier. Cull unsheathed his own blades, he and his foe circling one another. He had an eye on Squibb too, knowing the blighter was weighing the wisdom of trying to shoot Cull while dozens of guns were aimed at him from the Nest.
The brute charged, his knife flashing high. Cull went low, the other’s blade whispering by him while he swept his own steel in a sideways arc. He felt his blade sink into flesh, felt the spurting warmth as his enemy let out an agonized cry. The man fell to his knees, clutching the wound on his side.
Knife dripping, Cull stood over him. The man looked up, fear and pain carved on his features.
