"Why you uppity little—" Kingsley began.
Mavis cut her spouse off with a hand. "There is no need to point fingers amongst friends, Mr. Lyon." Her smile could slice diamonds. "And weareold friends, are we not? As I recall, you are acquainted with my father."
The implied threat in Mavis' words brought a chill over the room. Few would dare cross Bartholomew Black. Those who did wound up strung up by the thumbs—with the rest of their body parts scattered in the Thames. Gavin had never met Black in person, and he planned to keep it that way.
"This hasn't a thing to do with your pa, and you know it," Lyon muttered—but he fell silent after that.
Mavis' eyes honed shrewdly upon Gavin's face. "As my husband was saying, have you any idea who is responsible for this heinous crime?"
"I'd wager Hunt has his pick of enemies." Patrick looked up from the mound of food on his plate. "Who knows how many skeletons he's got rattling in his closet?"
'Twas true that a man couldn't get to where Gavin was without treading on a few toes. He'd made his fair share of enemies in the hulks, for instance; of the few convicts who'd survived, none had the sophistication to carry out such a revenge. Moreover, Gavin couldn't think of anyone from his past who had as much to gain as the bastards in this room.
"There are enough live bodies for me to consider," he said, "without digging up corpses."
"A man who pilfers another's good fortune has what's coming to him." Chucking a rib-bone aside, Patrick O'Brien gave a satisfied belch, causing Mavis to shudder. "No crime in that."
Gavin reined in his temper. "The property was not yours to lose, O'Brien. I outbid you, and The Underworld belongs to me. End of story."
"If it wasn't for you, I'd be rolling in the ready." Behind pads of fat, Patrick's small hazel eyes glinted with malice. "Instead, I had to make do with an inferior club at an inferior location. You owe me, Hunt, and don't think I'll forget it."
"I don't owe you a bloody thing. Look to your own ham-handed management if you want something to blame. Only a fool would do business with moneylenders."
Patrick's fist pounded against the table, rattling the dishes. "You insolent pup, I'll rip your head off."
"I'd like to see you try," Stewart growled.
The armed men in O'Brien's corner leaned forward.
Shoving to his feet, Gavin said, "I'll take on any challenge, and I'll do it man to man. You want a pummeling, O'Brien? Come and get it."
The Irishman's face purpled with rage. The buttons on his waistcoat strained as he tried to get to his feet, but fell back, wheezing. "I'll give… you… a basting... any time…"
"Hush, Patrick. Remember what the physician said." Finian gave a sharp nod to one of his guards, who set about loosening Patrick's neck cloth. "As you can see, Mr. Hunt, my brother is in no shape for violence. We came today to make peace, not war."
Muscles bunching, Gavin looked around the table and read hostility in every gaze. "Hear me now: I will not countenance further aggression against my club." Staring down each cutthroat in turn, he vowed, "All actions against me will be returned ten-fold. If it's blood you want, it's blood you'll get."
Lyon was on his feet in an instant. "Who're you to make threats?" he barked, rolling up his sleeves. "I'll take you down a notch, boy, an' see what tune you're singin' then."
Gavin's blood went from a simmer to a boil. He knew well enough the rules of the stews: fight violence with violence. Reasoning had no place in dealing with these buggers, and he'd never in his life backed down from a fight. Stepping back from the table, he made a come-hither motion with his hand.
Lyon charged at him, knife raised. Gavin sidestepped the attack, shoving his elbow into Lyon's back. With a grunt, Lyon fell forward, smashing against the sideboard, raining food everywhere. But the bastard recovered, rising and coming again, this time feigning the attack so that Gavin had to spin at the last second to avoid being gutted. Acting on pure instinct, Gavin jabbed his elbow up, connecting with the other's windpipe; Lyon grunted, his knife clattering to the floor.
Taking the advantage, Gavin drove Lyon into the wall, pinning his opponent by the neck. As his fingers squeezed the other's throat, the dark power of the hulks washed over him.
"I give... " Lyon choked out. "Let me... go..."
The call of violence rippled through Gavin's blood. His grip tightened, and Lyon's eyes bugged out. Behind him, Gavin heard the squeal of chairs, felt Stewart's towering presence at his back.
"Lad?"
His mentor's voice returned him to the present.Nothing to be gained from killing Lyon.With an effort borne of sheer will, he loosened his death-hold. Lyon sank to the ground, gasping like a landed trout.
Pivoting, Gavin faced the audience. This time, he saw fear and grudging respect in their eyes. "Let this be a lesson to all," he said with soft menace. "Cross me, and you'll pay."
Finian reacted first, taking his brother by the arm. "Come, Patrick, let us go. There's nothing to be gained from acting like a bunch of jackals."
With a glare at Gavin, Patrick O'Brien stomped out of the room followed closely by his brother and their men.
