Page 65 of Surrender

With a shake of her head, Genevieve tugged her hand free of Vincent’s.

“We both know that if…if he’s missing…it means Freddie found him first,” she signed in halting gestures as she stared at her brother in horror. “Even if he’s still alive, Freddie will still kill him, and the bastard will make it a long, drawn-out process. He’ll also make certain we never find him.”

“And I know Theo well enough to know he’ll move mountains to keep you safe and come back to you. Dying at Simpson’s hands, isn’t part of that plan,” Vincent said firmly.

Genevieve shook her head in a silent rejection of her brother’s assurances. If Freddie had found Theo, he was already dead or would be soon. Grief paralyzed Genevieve as it crashed down over her like a giant wave intent on dragging her below the surface. In a lethargic move, she pressed her hand to her forehead then brought it down the side of her cheek.

She wanted—needed to be alone. Genevieve didn’t want anyone to see the desolation churning through her. Everyone would try to console her, which would only deepen the anguish sliding through her veins as if it were ice pulled from the pond at Callander Abbey. She didn’t want anyone’s sympathy. She didn’t want to be touched, held, or have anyone offer her a shoulder to cry on. All Genevieve wanted was to be alone with her grief.

Numb to everything but the pain assaulting her body, Genevieve rose to her feet. She ignored her father’s and brother’s soft protests as she swayed on her feet. Regaining her balance, Genevieve steeled herself to walk out of the parlor and upstairs without stumbling. Vincent took a step toward her, and she held up her hand in a silent signal for him not to come closer..

Ever since Theo had said he intended to go back into the East End to face Freddie, she’d sobbed in private, unwilling to let anyone see the true depth of her fear and torment. For someone to see the dark, bottomless agony she struggled with now would only aroused the family’s need to comfort her. Genevieve didn’t want comfort. She didn’t want anything except to be alone.

Pushing her way past her father, who said her name with a compassion she had always found comforting in the past, she ignored him and walked toward the parlor’s open doorway.

“Percy, what on earth is—” Rhea Rockwood’s question ended abruptly as she entered the parlor and uttered a shocked gasp. “Genevieve, darling, whatever is the matter?”

Genevieve didn’t answer her mother. Instead she eluded her mother’s outstretched hand and walked across the small foyer, then up the narrow stairs to her room. Solitude was what she needed now. A place where no one would see the brutal, unending heartbreak that made her want to die. Behind her, Genevieve heard her mother call her name in a gentle plea, but she simply continued up the stairs to her room.

As she closed her bedroom door, she pressed her back into the solid wood. The depth of her pain debilitating, her legs gave way, and she slid to the floor as grief plunged a dagger into her heart.

She had always cried in private, allowing her tears to fall freely. But for the first time in her life, she had no tears. Instead, she released deep, painful gasps of anguish and sorrow, as she tried to breathe.

Somewhere below, Genevieve heard voices arguing, but disregarded them. Nothing anyone could say would erase the fact that Theo was gone. She would let others cling to the hope they would find him, but Genevieve knew hope was a pointless emotion. It never came to fruition. It only made the pain darker. Genevieve curled up on the floor to sob with a fist to her mouth to soften her screams of agonizing grief.

Chapter 19

Theo fought to suppress the groan rising in his chest as a fist slammed into his jaw once more. Blood filled his mouth, and he didn’t even have the ability to spit it out. His head dipped toward his chest, and he started to slide into the void.

In the next breath, a bucket of cold water was thrown into his face to keep him from passing out. Damn, that water had to have been pulled out of the Thames from between the patches of ice lining the shore.

“No, you don’t, Saltkill, which isn’t your real name, is it?” Freddie Simpson snarled in the dim light of a nearby lantern. “You’re gonna stay awake until you draw your last breath.”

Every nerve in Theo’s body screamed with unbelievable pain. God almighty, this bastard knew how to beat a man. Thanks to his breaking the man’s wrist three weeks ago, Simpson wasn’t the one doing the actual damage. That honor belonged to a thug Freddie called Bigsby.. The burly man had a fist the size of a very large potato, and sweet mother, the whoreson was inflicting a level of pain Theo had never experienced in his life. Thank God, the bastard wasn’t using brass knuckles. His jaw would have been shattered by now. As it was, he felt as though he’d been involved in a brutal boxing match with a much more skilled opponent.

As much as he wanted to escape, he knew that wasn’t going to happen easily, if at all. Simpson wasn’t a fool, and it was obvious Theo wasn’t the first person Freddie had beaten. Although torture was a more appropriate word. The man had been beating him off and on for hours, while interrogating him about Genevieve and how he knew her.

Freddie had also been asking questions about why he was in the Fox and Hound so much, and who Teasdale was. The questions didn’t sound like ones Simpson would have come up with on his own, which only strengthened his suspicions that Freddie was working with the Prussians.

Another fist slammed into the side of his head, and this time his already swollen eye closed completely. Christ Jesus, he was beginning to realize he might not get out of this alive. The bastard had tied Theo up well, and with his hands tied behind a ladder-back chair, and even tied his ankles. It was becoming clear that his only reprieve would come when Simpson decided to take a nap.

Even the switchblade inserted into a special leather sheath a couple inches above his wrist, where it was more likely to go unnoticed, might be so difficult to reach it would be useless. At least Simpson hadn’t removed his jacket when tying him up. Even though the chances of sliding the blade out of the sheath and letting it slide down into his hand were doubtful, it still gave him hope.

It was a hope he could crawl out of this place to see Genevieve again when Freddie and his man left him alone for a time to either eat or sleep. Theo’s only fear was that by that time he’d be out cold and any thought of escape would be moot. Even now, he wasn’t sure he’d have the strength to work the ropes off his hands and ankles, let alone stagger his way out of this warehouse.

“Who is she, Saltkill, why is she so important to you?”

“Told you…paid year’s …savings …to bed the whore.”

Theo almost spilled the bile rising in his throat the moment he said whore. Genevieve wasn’t a whore, she’d been a child when Ruckley had forced her into being a sex slave. Closing his good eye, he pretended to be in pain, which wasn’t too hard to do, as a tear threatened to seep out of his eye.

The fact he’d even spoken the word whore in connection to Genevieve, when she’d never been one, was even more excruciating than the beating he was taking. But he wasn’t about to shed a tear for this bastard, even if it was for calling the woman he loved a name that was so far removed from who she was.

An image of Genevieve filled his head, and the moment her face became a crystal-clear impression in his mind, some of his torment eased. She was everything to him. If enduring Simpson’s brutal interrogation meant she’d be safe, it was worth every blow Bigby slammed into his face and gut.

“I don’t believe you, Saltkill. Ginny might act the whore, but I’m beginning to think she’s something else entirely.”

“She’s…whore…spread her legs…for me…when paid…for…privilege,” Theo mumbled out of the side of his mouth that was still working. “You…just…can’t…pay.”