Reckless Desire (Saved By Desire 6)

“I think the Count has struck again,” he replied. He casually placed his hand on his hip mere inches from his gun as they approached the stationery carriage. His eyes scanned their surroundings constantly as they stepped closer, looking for any shadows that might draw closer. “Stay behind me but whatever you do, don’t let go.”

Marguerite clung on to him, grateful for his steady reassurance. She was curious to know what he had done in life to know how to do this while being so completely unaffected by the dangers of such a situation. She was a jabbering wreck and nothing had happened, while he hadn’t even twitched, in spite of the tension.

“Ben?” Joe whispered when he saw the supine form of his colleague lying on the carriage floor. He knew, even before his colleague rolled over, that he had been injured badly.

“Here,” Ben grunted as he tried to sit up but failed, and flopped back down again with a pained wince.

“Get inside,” Joe murmured all but shoving Marguerite into the carriage. He scoured the area around the carriage but didn’t climb on board himself. He was the one who was going to drive them out of the area and, hopefully, on to the doctor’s residence so Ben could get his wounds treated.

“Good Lord,” Marguerite cried when she saw the state of Joe’s colleague. “Who has done this to you? We need to send for the magistrate.”

Joe snorted disparagingly. “There is no point sending for him. He is in cahoots with Sayers. We must go higher, preferably when we are somewhere safer.”

“They have Marcus,” Ben whispered through his pain. “They got one of us, Joe. They carted him off while they beat me.”

“Just stay safe, mate,” Joe murmured. “We’ll get you to the doctor.”

Guilt swept over him. He had abandoned his colleagues to meet with Sayers’ thugs alone while he had remained inside to deal with the delicate sensibilities of a female by indulging in his desire for her. As attractive as she was, the Star Elite was his work, his dedicated commitment to rid the streets of London of crime and make it a better place for everyone to live. He had made a foolish, amateurish, mistake by focusing on the woman who had captured his attention in a way that no other woman had ever done before, and his colleagues had paid a heavy price for it.

Well, never again. As beautiful as she is, I cannot allow my colleagues to fight this alone.

He cursed but made a promise to himself right there and then that he would put it right. He would hunt down the thugs who had done this, rescue his colleague while Marcus still had life left in him, and put the damned Count behind bars-or he would die trying. Then, and only then, he could decide what to do about Marguerite.

“Make sure he is alright and doesn’t get jostled about too much, Marguerite,” Joe ordered. “I am going to get him to a doctor.”

He turned around to climb onto the driver’s seat when a flurry of dark shadowy movement within the fog was accompanied by another, several feet away. He immediately got the distinct impression that evil was circling and unless he and Marguerite wanted to end up like Ben and Marcus, they had to leave.

Before the shadows managed to get any closer, he slammed the door closed, and vaulted into the seat. His bottom had no sooner hit the hard wood than one of the shadows materialised out of the fog and tried to climb aboard with him. He pushed the man away, but he grabbed his shirt and unbalanced him. While he tried to shake them off, Joe watched someone else attempt to climb onto the carriage from the other side. Joe locked his attention on the hooked knife the man carried. Kicking out brutally, he heard the edifying sound of the attacker hitting the floor with a pained cry, and launched himself at the man clambering across the driver’s seat toward him.

“Joe?” Marguerite called when the carriage began to shake and judder. It was alarming to note that they were not moving yet.

“He is being attacked,” Ben ground out. He lifted his gun. “Here, help me sit up.”

Marguerite looked at the gun he carried and wished she had the strength to fire it herself. She suspected that if she tried she would be more likely to shoot herself and so awkwardly helped Ben to his feet. He winced and grunted a bit but eventually lowered the window and leaned out.

The sudden bang of his gun made someone scream outside. Marguerite winced and forced herself not to look. To her horror, the door handle beside her began to rattle.

“Ben!” She cried, pointing to the door when it started to open.

Ben turned around and lifted his gun. “Get down,” he ordered and, assured that Marguerite was out of the way, shot the man trying to climb inside.

Joe heard the second blast of the gun and redoubled his efforts to get the thug off his neck. Swearing viciously, he pulled a knife out of his boot and stabbed hard at the man’s chest. The thug slithered off the carriage with nothing more than a grunt of pain. Before Joe could gather the reins up, another man clambered over the roof of the carriage and threw himself at his head. Joe knew he had to get the carriage rolling before he was killed. Throwing himself forward, he leaned down and gathered up the reins. In doing so, he unbalanced the man leaning over him, and propelled him forcefully over the edge of the carriage, and onto the floor beneath the horses’ hooves. Panicked, the horse began to dance about and in doing so planted one heavy hoof directly in the centre of the man’s chest. Joe didn’t need to flick he reins to get the horse to run, it took off at a fast clip leaving everyone who posed a threat on the street they sped away from.

“Hang on,” Joe cried, aware of the carriage door swinging wildly. It slammed shut suddenly, whether by itself or with help he didn’t care. As long as Marguerite and Ben were now safe, he could focus on getting them all to safety. With that, he turned his attention to the road and the merciless fog that made seeing anything virtually impossible.

“Joe!” Ben called suddenly.

“What?” Joe snapped grimly.

“Stop the carriage. We need to make plans.” Ben winced as he settled back in the carriage.

“You really ought to rest, you know,” Marguerite murmured as she watched him turn even paler when he sat back down.

Thankfully, Joe slowed down. Seconds later he appeared in the doorway.

“What is it?” It was clear from the look on Joe’s face that he was in a bad temper.

“You are hurt,” Marguerite cried.