The Girl in the Clockwork Collar
Page 31
“Obviously today was a great success,” Dalton said with exaggerated bravado, a drink in his hand. “The device has been recovered and proven to be a great success, thanks to our old friend Jasper Renn.”
Finley frowned. There was a strange light in Dalton’s eyes when he looked at Jasper—a sardonic twist to his mouth. Where was he going with this? That wasn’t praise in his tone.
Suddenly, there was a pistol in Dalton’s other hand. “And now that he’s outlived his usefulness, it’s time for our old friend to pay for screwing with me in the first place!” Dalton’s voice had grown louder with every word until he shouted the last.
No one but Finley seemed the least bit surprised by this turn of events, not even Jasper. That meant that Jasper must have expected this would happen—and that Dalton had planned it with his cronies all along.
“But first,” Dalton continued in a much calmer but still flamboyant tone, “there’s something I want Jas to see. Mei, come here.”
Finley held her breath. Was it wrong to hope that maybe Dalton would do them all a favor and shoot Mei, too? She frowned as every instinct she had screamed for her to run. The tiny little girl moved to stand before Dalton, who handed her his drink, which she then placed on a nearby table. His hand free, he reached down and cupped the back of her head, pulling her close to plant a very passionate kiss on her lips.
There were moments in a person’s life that they would carry with them until their dying day, and Finley knew the moment Jasper’s heart broke would be one of those for her. The color drained from his handsome face, and his eyes— usually full of charm and laughter—flared bright with pain before suddenly going flat and dead.
At that moment, he looked as though Dalton shooting him would be a kindness.
But the two sadistic creatures weren’t done with him yet. Mei wore a slightly smug expression as she reached up, around her neck and removed the clockwork collar, which had supposedly held her life in its cogs. She tossed it to the floor at Jasper’s feet.
“She isn’t yours,” Dalton bragged. “She hasn’t been yours in a very long time. Not since she killed Venton for me. Thank you, by the way, for being such a hero and trying to take the blame.”
“Right,” said Finley. She was not going to listen to any more of this, and neither was Jasper. “We’re done.” Jasper was not going to die today, not if she could help it.
Dalton’s attention snapped to her—as did his pistol. “Yes, you are. You had me fooled, you slag. Did you really expect me to believe the duke was only interested in Jasper? Do you really think I’m that stupid?”
“I had hoped,” she replied lightly. Then she stopped thinking and simply struck—like a snake—and seized the wrist of the hand holding the pistol.
She snapped it like a twig.
Dalton screamed—not surprisingly, like a girl—and crumpled to his knees. Jasper snatched up the dropped pistol, which was his to begin with, and brandished it as Dalton’s gang stared at him and Finley in shock.
Mei was the first to move—and Finley was too late seeing it, but she felt it when the smaller girl landed a stunning roundhouse kick to her temple. It would have knocked a normal human out, but Finley, Mei was about to learn, was not normal. She did, however, stagger a few feet backward under the force of the attack.
Shaking her head, Finley shook off the pain, and when Mei came at her again, she was ready. It took a fist to the throat to make her realize that Mei was indeed the one who had taught Jasper to fight. She was not an opponent to underestimate.
Finley squared off. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Jasper—or a streak she thought was Jasper—take out two of Dalton’s henchmen with lightning-quick ease. It was about time the cowboy showed his stuff. When Mei launched herself at her once again, Finley was prepared and punched the girl in the face before she had a chance to take another swing. Mei recovered quickly and flew up into the air as though she had wings, her leg whipping out to deliver a powerful kick.
But Finley caught her by the ankle and whipped her around hard, releasing her so that she flew back against the wall before sliding down, into a stunned heap.
“Finley!” Jasper shouted.
She ducked and whirled around just in time to see Little Hank level a gun in her direction. Before she could react, she was caught in a rush of wind that sent her soaring backward. There was the crash of glass, a stinging in her back, and then she hit the ground hard, sending stabs of pain from her waist to her shoulders. Jasper sprawled on top of her.
“Sorry,” he said, breathless. “I meant to be on the bottom when we fell.”
Finley grinned at him. “Worse places to be, my friend. Think those fast feet of yours can get us out of here before they open fire?” Above them, she could see Little Hank rushing toward the window they’d smashed through.
Jasper pointed his pistol at the top of the window and fired, sending a spray of splintered wood into the room and driving the behemoth back. “Let’s see,” he said as they quickly untangled themselves and jumped to their feet. He turned his back to her. “Climb on.”
He didn’t have to tell her twice. “The Waldorf-Astoria,” Finley cried as she leaped onto his back and wrapped arms and legs around him. Then she hung on for dear life as Jasper took off running—faster than any horse or velocycle she’d ever been on. Tears streamed down her face because of the wind, but she didn’t dare lift a hand to wipe them away— didn’t know if she could lift her hand.
Jasper didn’t stop until they reached the hotel lift. The operator’s face turned white when he saw them—probably because both of them had blood on their faces and their hair looked as though they’d been caught in a hurricane.
They went to Griffin’s room first. Never had Finley been so glad to see someone as she was to see the Duke of Greythorne. She threw her arms around his neck and hugged him for all she was worth. He hugged her back.
Then he froze. “Finley?”
She pulled back. His face was white, his eyes wide. “What is it?”
He held up his hand—the one that had, just seconds before, rested on her back. It was covered in blood. “Turn around.”
Finley did as he commanded, a little ball of worry lying hard in her stomach. His expression scared her. “Blast it, Griffin King, what’s the matter?”
“You’ve glass in your back, love.”
“I know. Jasper and I dived through a window, which was unfortunately closed at the time. Can’t you pick them out?” She turned and saw his ashen face.
“No,” he rasped. “I can’t.”
Chapter 15
Emily performed the surgery on the desk in Griffin’s room.
“Griffin King,” she said, hands poised over Finley’s bare and bloody back, “if you don’t stop pacing and fretting … ”
Griffin froze at the threat in her voice. He didn’t doubt that she would banish him from the room, and then he wouldn’t be there for Finley if she needed him. Not that she was aware enough to know if he was there or not—Emily had given her chloroform to put her to sleep so there was no danger of the shards moving and severing her spine.
It didn’t matter that Emily was “fairly” certain that, even if the glass did move and do the worst, she would only have to secure the severed flesh together and Finley would heal. It didn’t matter that Finley was amazingly strong. What mattered was that she was hurt and he couldn’t help her.
They had all been hurt recently, and some of those hurts had been life threatening. Who was he to ask his friends to put themselves at such risk? And what for? A country that would probably be terrified of them if they knew what they could do. It didn’t seem right or fair, but they did it anyway. And he didn’t have to ask why. They did it for him.
All this guilt and responsibility sitting on his shoulders was beginning to feel very heavy.
“What can I do?” he asked. “I need to do something for her.”
Emily poured Listerine on Finley’s back to clean the wounds and wash away the blood. “Come sit beside her. Hold her hand.”
He did. It didn’t even occur to him that seeing her na**d skin, let alone being so close to it, was highly improper. He had thought about seeing her undressed— what bloke wouldn’t? —but this was not how.
He pulled up a chair, sat down by her head and held one of her hands, which dangled over the side of the desk. There was blood on the carpet, and he didn’t care. He could afford to replace it if the hotel charged him. What he couldn’t replace was Finley.
“Stop being so melodramatic,” Emily scolded as she dropped a piece of glass from her forceps into the rubbish bin. “Saints preserve us, lad. You look like you’re at her grave. You need to stop behaving like everything that happens is your fault. We all have our own minds, you know. In fact, I recall Finley went off and set this plan in motion without you being none the wiser. She knew what she was doing.”
“I still feel responsible.”
She pursed her lips as she nipped another sliver of glass. “Yes, well, I think you like feeling responsible. Just so ye know, it’s not a terribly attractive trait in a man, this brooding and moaning.”
“This, coming from the girl who thinks the sun rises and sets on Sam Morgan? Bit hypocritical, don’t you think?”
She blushed, the pink obliterating her freckles. “Sam wasn’t always a brooder. You, on the other hand, have always welcomed the weight of the world. There’s nothing wrong with wanting to be a hero, Griffin. Just see that you don’t end up a martyr in the meanwhile.”
There was nothing he could say to that because she was completely right, and he felt like an arse for it. So he remained silent but not brooding.
An eternity later, Emily finished removing all the glass from Finley’s back and draped a sheet over the sleeping girl. Then she took Griffin by the hand and pulled him over to the bed where the two of them sat side by side.
“You care about her, don’t you?” Emily asked, nodding at Finley.
“I care about all of you.”
“But you don’t want to be kissing Sam or me.”
“Hell, no.”
Emily laughed. “I didn’t t’ink so. So what’s the problem, lad?”
He glanced at Finley’s prone form. A little blood had soaked through the sheet that covered her. It turned his stomach, despite knowing that her wounds had already begun to mend once more. Her body had even tried to start healing around the glass fragments.
“What if it turns out that her darker nature is her true self? What if she decides she’d rather be bad than good?”
The expression on her face spoke volumes; she thought he was an idiot. “Griff, my friend, if she wanted that, she would have gone that way weeks ago. She wouldn’t be with us now.”
“I just don’t know if I can trust her to do the right thing.” He looked away. “I don’t like it.”
“You think I don’t wonder if Sam’s going to run off and get mixed up with the wrong sort again?” she asked. “You think I don’t wonder if someday he’s going to decide that he can’t forgive me for turning him into a mandroid? Everyone has doubts, lad. What you have to decide is if the risk is worth it. Is she?”
He glanced again at Finley, thought of that sharp pain in his chest when he saw the glass in her back—how he’d actually prayed for her to be all right. If Dalton had hurt her, he would have not only brought the house down on the bounder, he would have ripped him apart—just as Sam had threatened.
“Yes,” he whispered. “She is.”
* * *
Jasper was very much aware of Sam watching him as he cleaned the pistol he’d managed to take back from Dalton. With any luck he’d be able to retrieve the other, as well. If not, he’d have to hire Emily to build a replacement.
“You got a problem, Morgan?” he asked, without looking up.
“Just wondering what happened to seize up that normally flapping tongue of yours.”
“Maybe it’s the company,” he retorted coolly.
“Perhaps.” The bigger fella didn’t seem the least bit offended. “Or maybe something happened that’s got you all holed up in your head.”
“You mean like being kidnapped and forced to work for a criminal against my will?”
“No. I mean like whatever it was that made you leave your girl behind.”
Jasper stilled, but he still didn’t raise his head. Sam was smarter than he suspected. “She’s not my girl.”
“But she was. Wasn’t she?”
“I thought so. Seems I was wrong.”
Finley frowned. There was a strange light in Dalton’s eyes when he looked at Jasper—a sardonic twist to his mouth. Where was he going with this? That wasn’t praise in his tone.
Suddenly, there was a pistol in Dalton’s other hand. “And now that he’s outlived his usefulness, it’s time for our old friend to pay for screwing with me in the first place!” Dalton’s voice had grown louder with every word until he shouted the last.
No one but Finley seemed the least bit surprised by this turn of events, not even Jasper. That meant that Jasper must have expected this would happen—and that Dalton had planned it with his cronies all along.
“But first,” Dalton continued in a much calmer but still flamboyant tone, “there’s something I want Jas to see. Mei, come here.”
Finley held her breath. Was it wrong to hope that maybe Dalton would do them all a favor and shoot Mei, too? She frowned as every instinct she had screamed for her to run. The tiny little girl moved to stand before Dalton, who handed her his drink, which she then placed on a nearby table. His hand free, he reached down and cupped the back of her head, pulling her close to plant a very passionate kiss on her lips.
There were moments in a person’s life that they would carry with them until their dying day, and Finley knew the moment Jasper’s heart broke would be one of those for her. The color drained from his handsome face, and his eyes— usually full of charm and laughter—flared bright with pain before suddenly going flat and dead.
At that moment, he looked as though Dalton shooting him would be a kindness.
But the two sadistic creatures weren’t done with him yet. Mei wore a slightly smug expression as she reached up, around her neck and removed the clockwork collar, which had supposedly held her life in its cogs. She tossed it to the floor at Jasper’s feet.
“She isn’t yours,” Dalton bragged. “She hasn’t been yours in a very long time. Not since she killed Venton for me. Thank you, by the way, for being such a hero and trying to take the blame.”
“Right,” said Finley. She was not going to listen to any more of this, and neither was Jasper. “We’re done.” Jasper was not going to die today, not if she could help it.
Dalton’s attention snapped to her—as did his pistol. “Yes, you are. You had me fooled, you slag. Did you really expect me to believe the duke was only interested in Jasper? Do you really think I’m that stupid?”
“I had hoped,” she replied lightly. Then she stopped thinking and simply struck—like a snake—and seized the wrist of the hand holding the pistol.
She snapped it like a twig.
Dalton screamed—not surprisingly, like a girl—and crumpled to his knees. Jasper snatched up the dropped pistol, which was his to begin with, and brandished it as Dalton’s gang stared at him and Finley in shock.
Mei was the first to move—and Finley was too late seeing it, but she felt it when the smaller girl landed a stunning roundhouse kick to her temple. It would have knocked a normal human out, but Finley, Mei was about to learn, was not normal. She did, however, stagger a few feet backward under the force of the attack.
Shaking her head, Finley shook off the pain, and when Mei came at her again, she was ready. It took a fist to the throat to make her realize that Mei was indeed the one who had taught Jasper to fight. She was not an opponent to underestimate.
Finley squared off. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Jasper—or a streak she thought was Jasper—take out two of Dalton’s henchmen with lightning-quick ease. It was about time the cowboy showed his stuff. When Mei launched herself at her once again, Finley was prepared and punched the girl in the face before she had a chance to take another swing. Mei recovered quickly and flew up into the air as though she had wings, her leg whipping out to deliver a powerful kick.
But Finley caught her by the ankle and whipped her around hard, releasing her so that she flew back against the wall before sliding down, into a stunned heap.
“Finley!” Jasper shouted.
She ducked and whirled around just in time to see Little Hank level a gun in her direction. Before she could react, she was caught in a rush of wind that sent her soaring backward. There was the crash of glass, a stinging in her back, and then she hit the ground hard, sending stabs of pain from her waist to her shoulders. Jasper sprawled on top of her.
“Sorry,” he said, breathless. “I meant to be on the bottom when we fell.”
Finley grinned at him. “Worse places to be, my friend. Think those fast feet of yours can get us out of here before they open fire?” Above them, she could see Little Hank rushing toward the window they’d smashed through.
Jasper pointed his pistol at the top of the window and fired, sending a spray of splintered wood into the room and driving the behemoth back. “Let’s see,” he said as they quickly untangled themselves and jumped to their feet. He turned his back to her. “Climb on.”
He didn’t have to tell her twice. “The Waldorf-Astoria,” Finley cried as she leaped onto his back and wrapped arms and legs around him. Then she hung on for dear life as Jasper took off running—faster than any horse or velocycle she’d ever been on. Tears streamed down her face because of the wind, but she didn’t dare lift a hand to wipe them away— didn’t know if she could lift her hand.
Jasper didn’t stop until they reached the hotel lift. The operator’s face turned white when he saw them—probably because both of them had blood on their faces and their hair looked as though they’d been caught in a hurricane.
They went to Griffin’s room first. Never had Finley been so glad to see someone as she was to see the Duke of Greythorne. She threw her arms around his neck and hugged him for all she was worth. He hugged her back.
Then he froze. “Finley?”
She pulled back. His face was white, his eyes wide. “What is it?”
He held up his hand—the one that had, just seconds before, rested on her back. It was covered in blood. “Turn around.”
Finley did as he commanded, a little ball of worry lying hard in her stomach. His expression scared her. “Blast it, Griffin King, what’s the matter?”
“You’ve glass in your back, love.”
“I know. Jasper and I dived through a window, which was unfortunately closed at the time. Can’t you pick them out?” She turned and saw his ashen face.
“No,” he rasped. “I can’t.”
Chapter 15
Emily performed the surgery on the desk in Griffin’s room.
“Griffin King,” she said, hands poised over Finley’s bare and bloody back, “if you don’t stop pacing and fretting … ”
Griffin froze at the threat in her voice. He didn’t doubt that she would banish him from the room, and then he wouldn’t be there for Finley if she needed him. Not that she was aware enough to know if he was there or not—Emily had given her chloroform to put her to sleep so there was no danger of the shards moving and severing her spine.
It didn’t matter that Emily was “fairly” certain that, even if the glass did move and do the worst, she would only have to secure the severed flesh together and Finley would heal. It didn’t matter that Finley was amazingly strong. What mattered was that she was hurt and he couldn’t help her.
They had all been hurt recently, and some of those hurts had been life threatening. Who was he to ask his friends to put themselves at such risk? And what for? A country that would probably be terrified of them if they knew what they could do. It didn’t seem right or fair, but they did it anyway. And he didn’t have to ask why. They did it for him.
All this guilt and responsibility sitting on his shoulders was beginning to feel very heavy.
“What can I do?” he asked. “I need to do something for her.”
Emily poured Listerine on Finley’s back to clean the wounds and wash away the blood. “Come sit beside her. Hold her hand.”
He did. It didn’t even occur to him that seeing her na**d skin, let alone being so close to it, was highly improper. He had thought about seeing her undressed— what bloke wouldn’t? —but this was not how.
He pulled up a chair, sat down by her head and held one of her hands, which dangled over the side of the desk. There was blood on the carpet, and he didn’t care. He could afford to replace it if the hotel charged him. What he couldn’t replace was Finley.
“Stop being so melodramatic,” Emily scolded as she dropped a piece of glass from her forceps into the rubbish bin. “Saints preserve us, lad. You look like you’re at her grave. You need to stop behaving like everything that happens is your fault. We all have our own minds, you know. In fact, I recall Finley went off and set this plan in motion without you being none the wiser. She knew what she was doing.”
“I still feel responsible.”
She pursed her lips as she nipped another sliver of glass. “Yes, well, I think you like feeling responsible. Just so ye know, it’s not a terribly attractive trait in a man, this brooding and moaning.”
“This, coming from the girl who thinks the sun rises and sets on Sam Morgan? Bit hypocritical, don’t you think?”
She blushed, the pink obliterating her freckles. “Sam wasn’t always a brooder. You, on the other hand, have always welcomed the weight of the world. There’s nothing wrong with wanting to be a hero, Griffin. Just see that you don’t end up a martyr in the meanwhile.”
There was nothing he could say to that because she was completely right, and he felt like an arse for it. So he remained silent but not brooding.
An eternity later, Emily finished removing all the glass from Finley’s back and draped a sheet over the sleeping girl. Then she took Griffin by the hand and pulled him over to the bed where the two of them sat side by side.
“You care about her, don’t you?” Emily asked, nodding at Finley.
“I care about all of you.”
“But you don’t want to be kissing Sam or me.”
“Hell, no.”
Emily laughed. “I didn’t t’ink so. So what’s the problem, lad?”
He glanced at Finley’s prone form. A little blood had soaked through the sheet that covered her. It turned his stomach, despite knowing that her wounds had already begun to mend once more. Her body had even tried to start healing around the glass fragments.
“What if it turns out that her darker nature is her true self? What if she decides she’d rather be bad than good?”
The expression on her face spoke volumes; she thought he was an idiot. “Griff, my friend, if she wanted that, she would have gone that way weeks ago. She wouldn’t be with us now.”
“I just don’t know if I can trust her to do the right thing.” He looked away. “I don’t like it.”
“You think I don’t wonder if Sam’s going to run off and get mixed up with the wrong sort again?” she asked. “You think I don’t wonder if someday he’s going to decide that he can’t forgive me for turning him into a mandroid? Everyone has doubts, lad. What you have to decide is if the risk is worth it. Is she?”
He glanced again at Finley, thought of that sharp pain in his chest when he saw the glass in her back—how he’d actually prayed for her to be all right. If Dalton had hurt her, he would have not only brought the house down on the bounder, he would have ripped him apart—just as Sam had threatened.
“Yes,” he whispered. “She is.”
* * *
Jasper was very much aware of Sam watching him as he cleaned the pistol he’d managed to take back from Dalton. With any luck he’d be able to retrieve the other, as well. If not, he’d have to hire Emily to build a replacement.
“You got a problem, Morgan?” he asked, without looking up.
“Just wondering what happened to seize up that normally flapping tongue of yours.”
“Maybe it’s the company,” he retorted coolly.
“Perhaps.” The bigger fella didn’t seem the least bit offended. “Or maybe something happened that’s got you all holed up in your head.”
“You mean like being kidnapped and forced to work for a criminal against my will?”
“No. I mean like whatever it was that made you leave your girl behind.”
Jasper stilled, but he still didn’t raise his head. Sam was smarter than he suspected. “She’s not my girl.”
“But she was. Wasn’t she?”
“I thought so. Seems I was wrong.”
