Total pages in book: 179
Estimated words: 165476 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 827(@200wpm)___ 662(@250wpm)___ 552(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 165476 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 827(@200wpm)___ 662(@250wpm)___ 552(@300wpm)
“Fine with me.” Zeb sniggered. “But putting a horse six feet under will be one hell of a chore.”
“Your threats only work on little girls, Zeb. Crawfish, take care of the horses?” Cole asked, perfectly calm despite the threats. Then again, they weren’t directed at him. Or maybe he knew the older outlaw’s intimidating words were empty.
Ned was reluctant to let go of Nugget but he’d already walked into the wolf den, and if he wanted to survive, obeying the rules was essential. Cole might have been a predator like all the others, but he’d taken a liking to Ned and seemed eager to look out for him. If Ned was to avenge his parents and so many others who’d fallen victim to the greed and cruelty of the Gotham Boys, he needed to put his life in the hands of his unlikely ally.
Cole pushed him forward, and as they walked through an area that smelled of food, burning wood, and sweat rather than dirt and grass, he became increasingly aware of whispers and laughter coming from all around him. He’d always thought of the Gotham Boys as a chaotic group of degenerates, but they had women with them, someone to cook, and no one had tried to stab the newcomer thus far.
“Cole… I told you to discuss it with me before you bring in strays,” said a man whose voice made Ned’s stomach clench.
It had been ten years, but the smooth yet boisterous voice sent chills down Ned’s spine and shoved him back in time, back to the cupboard in his parents’ home, to the moments that forever changed the course of his life. This man’s face remained etched on the back of Ned’s eyelids and still visited him in nightmares.
Tom had brown curly hair and a tidy pencil moustache. His nose, sharp and big, reminded Ned of a hawk’s beak, but the tall forehead and dense brows overshadowing his eyes added a sinister edge to his features. His face might have seemed benevolent in one moment, only to turn into the reflection of pure evil within the blink of an eye. Ned had seen it happen. He’d seen the consequences that had followed. And he’d seen the hands that had sprouted an extra finger each, which the wanted posters described as inhuman. To Ned, they would forever be the fingers of a devil that had gripped Ned's mother's dainty wrists as Butcher Tom forced himself on her.
Ignorant to Ned’s feelings, Cole nudged him farther into the darkness, toward Butcher Tom’s deceptively pleasant voice. His jaw clenched, but he willed his shoulders to relax and heeded Cole’s warning about there being a step in the way. His body ran hot, but Ned ignored its warnings and raised his foot high before placing it on a wooden surface. It shifted under his weight but was stable enough, so he took two more strides and halted when the hand on his back twisted his shirt, the top of his head touching fabric even when he tried to make himself small.
The scent of spices, tobacco, and ladies’ perfume hit him when folds of fabric covering the entryway shut behind him, their thud as loud as the clack of a spring door entrapping a rabbit. All of a sudden, Ned found it hard to breathe in the stuffy insides of this lair, but he was here with a predator, and if he revealed the extent of his fear, he’d be done for.
Then, a thin, sharp edge nipped at his throat, right under the Adam’s apple, prompting Ned’s knees to soften under him. But he remained still, realizing that were he to struggle, Tom Teach’s cleaver would tear through his flesh and end his mission prematurely. No one would be left to avenge his family.
“Let me look at you,” Tom whispered in a voice that should have been meant for a lover, but when his fingers touched Ned’s head to remove the blindfold, their warm touch reeked of blood, barely masked by the familiar warmth of smoke and tobacco. Or was it just Ned’s imagination?
Ned’s eyes were free all too soon, and in the dim insides of the large canvas tent, he faced his demon.
He wasn’t as impressive as in Ned’s fragmented childhood memories where Tom had been a giant. Silver threaded through his mid-length curls, and his hairline had raised quite significantly, betraying his age. Ned was shocked to realize that he’d grown to dwarf the man by three inches, and was sturdier than Tom as well. Disappointment seeped into the back of Ned’s mind when he realized that the stark black clothes the villain wore, and even the sharp cleaver he’d made into his trademark weapon were meant to make him more imposing.
This was the outlaw who’d terrorized the West for over a decade now?