Granelli smiled, showing off the two, gold front teeth that he was famous for. “I think tha’ can be arranged.”
As he lunged for Devin, he gave a howl when his first attempt was met with a perfect uppercut to the jaw. As another one of the gang members started toward him, Granelli held up a hand. “No! ’E’s mine!”
With a snarl, Granelli lifted his cane and brought it down in an arc toward Devin’s head. He deftly rolled out of the way and came back with another punch to the man’s kidneys that caused another grunt of pain to escape as he stumbled into the brick wall of the building.
“Are you sure you’re in the right shape to do this?” he cajoled, knowing it would anger Granelli even further. But he’d long learned that men who were in a temper didn’t always think clearly.
His opponent laughed. “Ye really think ye’re gonna walk out o’ this alley, Blackmore? An’ here I thought ye were smarter tha’ that.”
Devin shrugged. “I’ve had worse challenges before. I suppose I have no choice but to take my chances now.” He lifted his fists and offered a smug smirk. “Unless you’re willing to concede defeat?”
Granelli didn’t take the bait as Devin had hoped, but nodded toward one of his cronies, who cracked his knuckles before walking forward. Devin quickly made short work of him with a kick to the groin followed by a throat punch that had him falling to his knees and gasping for air.
The next two that came at Devin were a bit skilled. They got in a couple blows that dazed him for an instant, but since he’d defended himself the past five years against criminals worse than these, he eventually found their weakness and they were down soon enough.
After that, Granelli shouted for the last man standing and observing the spectacle wearing a hooded cloak to rush Devin. But he should have known that the miscreant wouldn’t play fair and when he remained where he was and pulled out a pistol and pointed it directly at Devin’s chest, he lunged for the attacker just moments before the ball ripped through his flesh.
The acidic smell of gunpowder assaulted Devin’s nostrils and for a moment it was as if time itself had stopped. He stumbled to the opposite wall and put a palm to where the metal ball had lodged itself in his ribcage. His hand came back covered with blood. Either way, Devin knew that if the shot had hit just a bit higher, he would no longer have a heart to infect with hatred and angst, as it would have ceased beating entirely.
As it was, he glared at the man, who shoved the spent pistol in the waistband of his trousers and pushed back the hood of his cloak. The face wasn’t familiar to him, but he knew that he was part of Granelli’s gang, and that was enough. When he recovered, they could be assured he would come after them for this night. If he didn’t, then he would ensure his ghost haunted their steps for the rest of their days and beyond.
Granelli calmly walked over, the slight limp growing more pronounced as he paused before Devin. “I suppose this makes us even.”
“No,” Devin corrected, blinking to keep the darkness at bay. “This makes us enemies.”
Granelli tipped his hat to him. “I appreciate your return, Blackmore. I’ve been looking for a way to put an end this ongoing feud between Luke House and I, and I think I’ve just found it. I guess I should thank you for this victory, because when your mentor comes for me to take his vengeance, I’ll be waiting.”
With a dark laugh that proceeded his exit, Devin tried to go after him, but the blood he’d tried to keep at bay began to pour from his wound and the loss was starting to distort his vision. The last thing he remembered before he fell to the ground was that he might die—and never know the lady’s name.
Pain like nothing Devin had ever felt before shot across his entire chest. In a sense, he supposed that was a good thing, because it meant that he wasn’t yet dead, but at the same time, if he’d had the strength to move, he would have given a good right hook to the individual who was causing his suffering.
Even so, he offered a few choice words, but it was as if he’d swallowed a mouthful of cotton, as they only came out a pathetic mumble.
“He’s trying to say something!”
He knew that voice. Luke. Thank God, at least he was alive.
Devin tried to open at least one of his eyes, but they refused to obey even that simple command. At least he could content himself in knowing that Granelli hadn’t yet acted on his threats to see that Luke was six feet underground.
He had to warn him, but damned if he could even get his left arm to function properly. It continued to lay limply at his side where he laid on the ground. At least, he assumed he was still in that dirty alley, because he didn’t remember moving.
Or being moved, for that matter.
“Whot is it, Dev?” Luke’s baritone was urgent, almost demanding when he spoke, but then, he was probably under the impression that this was the last time they were going to speak.
Devin didn’t have to be a fortune teller to realize that he was close to death, if not already on his way. Even the pain that had struck him earlier had dulled to a distant thrum. He tried to speak again, to let Luke know that he didn’t have to stay here until he took his last breaths. It wasn’t a pleasant experience to watch and God knows Luke had dealt with more than his fair share after burying his family back in Olney.
“It’s out.” The harried voice sounded distant, as if from the inside of a tunnel.
Devin thought he heard a sound of relief coming from Luke, but he was already floating back toward unconsciousness.
However, when a particularly uncomfortable sensation brought him back out of the haze, he managed to make another offering of communication, as the same harried voice commanded, “See if you can get some of this down him.”
Devin’s wooden lips opened, or rather, they were pried apart as some sort of liquid touched his tongue. At first, the sensation was strangely foreign, but then as some of it dribbled down his throat, it became more familiar. He tried to move his head to the side to avoid any further contact with the laudanum, but who, or whatever, was keeping him immobile managed to keep him still long enough for some of it to reach his stomach.
He wanted to retch, to bring the drug back up and rid himself of the taste he’d never really forgotten—and vowed that he’d never touch again. The one and only time he’d ever had laudanum had been the night Sir Isaacson had coerced him to steal something for him with the promise of a substantial reward that he’d never received and which had turned out to be a trap to send him to the noose once he’d handed the item over.
It was because of his own foolish pride that he’d sworn never to touch the vile stuff again, as it reminded him of his short stay on Norfolk Island. He would have much preferred death to the torture he’d received there, before he’d been transferred to Van Diemen’s Land, which was harsh and unforgiving, but not the hell he’d previously endured.
