The Serpent's Curse by Lisa Maxwell (read an ebook week .TXT) 📕

Harte and Esta to his table. “Take these two down to the tunnels and keep an eye on them. And have Mikey bring me the house phone. I have a call to make.”

Harte heard Esta’s gasp and turned to see the bruiser who had her by the arm already dragging her away. She was struggling against the guy, but he seemed to be able to counter every move she made.

“Enough,” the other one said, pulling a dark pistol on Harte. “Tell the hellcat there to stop, or you both get it,” he told Harte.

Esta froze at the bouncer’s threat, and her kohl-rimmed eyes went wide when she saw the gun pointing at Harte.

“It’s fine,” Harte told her, trying to keep it together. But his blood felt hot from seeing the other man’s hands digging into the bare skin of Esta’s arm. He hated knowing that there was no way he could fight these men—not in the shape he was in, weak as he still felt, and definitely not with a gun pointing directly at his gut. “This is nothing but a big misunderstanding. Johnny here is going to make a call, and he’ll see that we don’t know any Lorcan.”

Esta’s jaw had gone tight, and he could see the fury that shimmered in her eyes—and the fear that shadowed them. If Torrio made that call, Nibsy would know exactly where—and when—they were.

“Let’s go.” The bruiser who had Harte shoved him toward the bar. “You too, doll. And don’t try nothing.”

If Harte hadn’t taken the Quellant, maybe they could have escaped. A simple touch, a silent command, and they would have been free. It would have been worth the risk Seshat posed to get Esta away from John Torrio and his men. As it was, though, Harte’s affinity lay far beyond his reach. Still, even with the mess they had fallen into, he couldn’t really bring himself to regret taking it. Not when he still remembered how Esta had softened against him when he’d kissed her a few minutes before.

Maybe she had been right, back on the train. Maybe all they’d ever had was the moment in front of them. Harte had used that moment on the dance floor well, and now he would deal with the one they currently faced. Somehow.

When they reached the bar, the bartender gave them a small nod, and the guys led them around a corner into what looked like a storeroom. There was a heavy metal door in the back wall and, beyond it, a staircase. The guy who had ahold of Esta was already dragging her down the steps, while the one with the gun kept watch on Harte up top.

Harte had barely started descending the steps himself, when a commotion erupted in the room behind them. Men were shouting, and then came a series of loud crashes that sounded like bottles breaking. The bouncer who had Esta glanced back, but he seemed barely concerned as he dragged her.

The one who had Harte nudged him forward with the butt of the gun. “Let’s go, unless you want to deal with the Feds.”

At the bottom of the steps, the hall stretched into a dark tunnel that ran the length of the building. Esta had already been shoved through a narrow door as the other bouncer pushed Harte forward until he could see that they were being placed in a closet-size cell, with a dirt floor and damp brick walls. The door was heavy and looked to be made out of metal rather than wood. With the gun pressed close to his spine, Harte didn’t have any choice but to join Esta inside.

He eyed the lock as he went and was relieved to see it wasn’t anything complicated enough to keep them for long. Still, the sound of the heavy door closing shuddered through him as the two bouncers locked him and Esta into the dark, windowless prison.

Harte felt Esta slide closer, her hand finding his in the pitch-darkness.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

“Fine. You?”

“I’ll be better when we get out of here,” Esta told him. She released his hand, and then he heard her begin to rustle through her beaded evening bag.

“You don’t happen to have a hairpin or something in there, do you?” he asked. “For the lock?”

“I have something better.” A second later the skritch of a match sounded, and Esta held the flame up to show Harte the slim bronze pick they’d used in the bank vault. “Do you want to do the honors, or should I?”

“You’re a wonder, you know that?” he mused, taking the pick from her as the flame of the match reached her fingertips.

Esta cursed and dropped the match to the ground, where it went dark. “I’d be more of a wonder if I had a flashlight,” she grumbled.

He couldn’t see her, but he could hear the frustration—and the nervousness—in her voice. Esta hated dark, tight places, probably the result of being locked in a closet by Nibsy when she was a toddler.

Luckily, it had been a long time since Harte had needed light to pick a lock. Years of practice in boxes and safes and cases of water had made him an expert in breaking any lock blind. This one was no exception. He could sense Esta close by him as he worked the pick into the lock, feeling for the pins inside the mechanism to give way. She wasn’t crowding him, but in the darkness, that didn’t matter. She could have been ten feet away; the lightless space made it feel like she was right there, next to him. The scent of her was a distraction, and the warmth of her both steadied him and made his nerves jangle.

“Esta…” He paused, not exactly knowing what he wanted to say. If he wanted her to be closer or to step back so that he could think.

She went very still.

“On the train…” He paused, feeling more than ridiculous, but it needed to be said. She had to understand. “You