Page 102 of The Big Bad Duke

He shook it off quickly while the guard appeared disoriented by blood and his broken nose. Taking advantage of the momentary confusion, Gideon searched the bloodied floor. He quickly found what he was looking for, dropped to the ground, and rolled toward his prize. Picking up the knife he had dropped earlier, Gideon approached the guard from behind and slit the man’s throat.

Three down.

But just as the scarred man collapsed and Gideon straightened in victory, relishing a moment of pure freedom, he heard the sounds of heavy footsteps on the stairs leading down from the upper floors.

Someone else was coming.

Damn.

When the figure appeared at the top of the stairs, Gideon’s blood turned to ice water in his veins.

He recognized the man instantly. It was the large, burly guard who had dared to proposition Leila in the most disgusting way.

Now, standing tall at the top of the stairs, Gideon could see that the man was indeed taller and broader than he was. His arms were thick as tree trunks, and his chest was broad enough to serve as a shield wall all by itself.

Unlike Gideon, he wasn’t battered and bruised from a recent beating. He wasn’t bleeding from a dozen small wounds, nor was he fighting through cracked ribs and a swollen eye.

“Well, well,” the man rumbled, his voice like grinding stone. “Look what crawled out of its cage.”

* * *

Despite Gideon’s injuries, Leila quickly realized that he didn’t require her help.

He was magnificent, she thought with a mixture of awe and terror as she watched him move.

The transformation was startling. One moment he had been a broken man barely able to stand; the next, he was a force of nature unleashed. He charged at those men with pure strength and agility that seemed to come from a deep well of determination she hadn’t known existed.

Frozen in horrified fascination, she watched as he snapped the first man’s neck like it was a child’s toy.

Gideon moved like a dancer, if dancers dealt in death instead of beauty.

She still worried about him—how could she not? But she didn’t linger to watch the rest of the outcome. She couldn’t afford to. She had her own role to play in their escape, and hesitation could mean death for both of them.

Move, Leila. He’s counting on you.

She ran outside into the cool night air. She could smell horses nearby—the distinctive scent of leather, hay, and animal sweat.

She found the horses quickly: three of them tethered near a water trough. They were sturdy animals, built for endurance rather than speed, but they would serve. She chose the largest—a dark mare with intelligent eyes that didn’t shy away when Leila approached.

Dark as night. In Osmanlı, she could be Leila’s namesake.

“Easy, girl,” she whispered, running her hand along the horse’s neck. “We’re going to take a little ride.”

She mounted the mare easily, her years of practice as a child finally bearing fruit. The horse shifted beneath her, sensing her urgency, but remained calm. Leila guided her around the corner of the building, positioning herself where she could see the main entrance while remaining hidden in the shadows.

Gideon, where are you?

She waited, every muscle tense with anticipation. Her fingers drummed against her thigh as she counted the seconds, each one stretching into eternity. The night was eerily quiet, broken only by the distant sounds of what might have been fighting inside the building.

Thirty seconds passed. Then a minute. The silence from within became oppressive, punctuated only by the mare’s soft breathing.

Something’s wrong.

When two full minutes had passed with no sign of Gideon, Leila cursed under her breath.

She dismounted swiftly, her feet hitting the ground with barely a sound. The mare whickered softly in protest, and Leila placed a calming hand on her neck.

“Wait here,” she whispered to the horse. “I’ll be right back.”