Lord of London Town Page 19

  “If you can even call it a dick,” Betsy snapped back. But her pupils had dilated, and her skin was flushed. Eric growled, then dragged her from the warehouse.

  Just as they reached the door, Betsy shouted back, “Vera, Ronnie, I’ll see you back at the church. Seems like we might be taking the long way home.”

  I didn’t pay any mind to everyone else leaving around me. I was too focused on breathing, on calming my skin, which felt as though it was setting alight as Arthur’s chest rose and fell in the pit and the air clogged with tension. I saw the blood on the ground and on his skin.

  An Adley soldier dragged the final body from the pit and disappeared out of the warehouse. I tried to find sorrow for the men Arthur had so brutally murdered tonight, but all I saw in their places were my attackers. The men who had killed my father and Hugo. The men who had so easily slit Freya’s throat and stabbed Arabella right through her heart.

  “Arthur had protected these men, provided for them, given them a place at our family’s table,” Vera had said as Arthur toyed with the men in the pit like a lion playing with his prey. “The fuckers betrayed him. Fucking Judases, the whole lot of them,” she spat, anger lacing her raspy voice.

  “They knew what they were signing on for,” Ronnie had said as Arthur stabbed a man in the ear. “Their greed and lack of loyalty brought this to them. Stupid fucking tossers. They deserve to die. They knew the contract when they joined the firm. They broke it. They invited their own deaths.”

  This was the world he lived in, a world I thought existed only in nightmares. In truth, it was at all of our doorsteps, just waiting to catch us off guard and drag us down to their fucked-up level. I had lived a “normal” life, and yet I’d found myself at the mercy of traffickers. Evil waited for any opportunity to sink in its claws. At least in Arthur’s cruel kingdom, there was some semblance of code and honour.

  I knew something depraved must have burrowed its way into my soul when I realised I yearned to see the men who had murdered my family on the end of Arthur’s blood-soiled sword. I craved to see them beg at his feet for mercy and be prescribed pain and agony instead.

  I heard a door shut. Casting my eyes around the warehouse, I realised we were all alone. Arthur still hadn’t moved. He still stood with a cigarette balancing on his bottom lip, his muscles ripped and shredded from the fights, his skin smothered in cooling blood.

  And he was still watching me. He was waiting for what I would do.

  This is it, I thought as I got to my feet. The choice. The decision I had to make. Arthur or my old life.

  There was no contest.

  I walked to the stairs that led down to the pit. Arthur scanned me the entire way down. I saw myself in his glasses as I approached, not even flinching when my stiletto heels landed on the pit’s sandy floor and the coppery stench of blood and cigarette smoke permeated the air.

  The pit seemed much bigger when I was standing inside it. The table of weapons was beside me. I ran my hand along the weapons, most of which I had never seen before. It was like something from the Grand Inquisitor’s torture chamber.

  I circled the pit, Arthur tracking my every move.

  Finally, I drew to a stop in front of him. Reaching into my pocket, I pulled out the ivory queen piece from his chessboard. I had taken it last night when he had left the study. After he had provoked me and I had provoked him right back, setting off tonight’s chain of events. The smudge from the cigarette still stained my queen’s chest.

  I took the cigarette hanging from Arthur’s mouth, put it between my lips and took a long, drawn-out drag. The smoke filled my lungs and I tasted Arthur on my tongue. I blew the smoke into his face. Then I placed the queen at the base of Arthur’s throat.

  Fixing my gaze on his, I dragged her down through the thick layer of blood on his skin, sullying her remaining cleanliness. Smearing the evidence of death and torture on her smooth, polished surface.

  I stopped when I reached the waistband of his trousers. They had dropped low on his hips, the V leading to his prominent cock, a perfect gutter for the blood and sweat that dripped down his body.

  Stepping closer, so close that I could feel the blazing heat pulsing from his skin, I tucked the queen into his trouser pocket, his hard cock brushing against my hand as I did. I released the queen, then wrapped my hands around his length through the fine material and gave him a slow, hard stroke before pulling my hand away.

  I finished the cigarette, blowing the smoke over Arthur’s face one last time before flicking the butt to the floor. Arthur’s jaw clenched, then he placed his hand around my throat and pushed me back a few feet until my back slammed against the wall.

  His eyes were wild and his nostrils flared. He was breathing hard, pants ripping between his lips, yet the hold on my throat was not tight, just a placeholder, a way to keep me still and obedient as he exerted his dominance. Arthur raised the sword he still held and placed the tip at my throat, above the hand that held me in place.

  “Are you scared?” he asked, his voice dropping an octave. The low light in the pit glimmered off the few remaining slivers of clean steel on the sword’s blade.

  “No,” I said, nothing but truth in my response. “You won’t hurt me.”

  “Are you sure about that? I could kill you,” he said, pressing the tip harder against my skin. I could feel its sharpness, how easily it could slit my throat, pierce through my flesh.

  “You won’t,” I said, knowing it to be true.

  I know it to be true …

  Here stood the most dangerous man in London, his hand around my throat and a sword precariously pressed against my skin. And I knew. I knew with unwavering faith that he would not harm me. It was a revelation, a clear burst of sunshine on a grey and drizzly day.

  I was one of the only people who could say with true certainty that Arthur Adley, Dark Lord of London Town, would never ever hurt them.

  I swallowed, something shifting inside me at that knowledge, something at a cellular level. Irreversible. An eclipse, his moon casting me in much-needed shadow. It was the acceptance of letting go of my old life and being reborn—my cleansing baptism in hell’s raging fire.

  It was a heady surge of power charging through my veins.

  Arthur’s sword nicked my throat, propelling me back into the moment. A tiny trickle of blood ran down my neck and toward my breasts—my communion, my sanguine pledge to join his side. Arthur’s eyes were stone, stones rolled in lava and ash and solar flares, as he pushed and pushed me.

  “You’re so certain,” he said, head tilted. His eyes were narrowed as though he was searching for my deception, any doubts in my heart.

  There were none. Not a single, solitary one.

  Making sure I had his undivided attention, I said, “I am your queen.” Arthur stopped breathing. Taking advantage of his pause, I lifted my hand and pressed down on the blade until it was back by his side. He let me take away its threat.

  The residue of the recent tragedies faded, and a new feeling was awakened. An opening of a new door in my heart. One that only allowed in Arthur and his family. One that kept me safe, sheltered and in his dangerous embrace. I felt taller, stronger … changed.

  I pressed my palm to his chest, sharing the blood he had just spilled. “I’m your tainted, sullied, and corrupted queen.”

  “You’re not ready for me,” he growled, but I caught the hint of yearning in his voice. He was cracking before me, the way the ground fractured during the early pangs of an earthquake. The warning that its devastation was coming. That once its wrath was released, there was no going back to how things were before.

  Once Arthur let me into his granite heart, I could never leave it.

  “Try me,” I taunted, and cupped his cock with my free hand. He was rock hard under his trousers, and he hissed as I squeezed him. I made sure he was looking right at me when I said, “Try your best to destroy me, Arthur. Try your best to break me apart. But I’ll still be here when you’re exhausted, my claws sunk
deeply into your flesh as you drag us both to hell.”

  “I won’t let you go,” he warned, and shivers ran down my spine at the malevolent honesty of the threat. “You want to rule at my side? Then I’ll never let you leave me. If you walk by my side, you can never ever fucking leave.”

  I was making a binding contract with the devil. An Adley’s word is his bond … that’s what Arthur had said in the pit. He was waiting for the verbal agreement to be signed. Waiting for me to finally hand over my soul.

  “I am your queen. And you are my king. Your dark kingdom is now ours.”

  I removed my bloodied hand from his chest and drew a cross over my heart with my finger. “Forever.”

  And that was when he broke. My world shook as Arthur smashed his mouth to mine. He wasn’t gentle—but I had never expected him to be. He was savage and cursed with a wickedness that was born from loss at a young age and a father who saw violence and death and the suppression of feelings as a form of bonding.

  But I would love him. All of him—the wicked and the warm. I always had. I had never wanted him to change, only to let me in.

  Arthur’s tongue slid along mine and I moaned, grasping his hair. His hands fell to my leathers. He snapped the button, and I heard it drop to the floor. He wrenched the trousers down to my ankles, and I kicked one leg off my feet. Arthur ripped off my knickers and pushed two fingers straight inside me. His lips pulled away from mine and trailed down my neck. He bit down on my skin, and I tossed my head back, my clit pulsing at his roughness.

  I pulled on his hair, so hard that he had no choice but to look up. “I love you,” I said, and Arthur stilled. His jaw clenched and his hands moved to my waist, holding on to me tightly. My eyes blurred. “I love you, Arthur Adley,” I said, softer, and cupped his cheek. His skin was boiling, and my chest caved when he turned his head and kissed my palm. It was the only flicker of tenderness he offered. A fleeting expression of softness before the darkness blanketed us both again.

  A second later, he pulled out his cock and lifted me against the wall of the pit. With blood smothering us both, he pushed inside me, slamming into me with a savage grunt.

  I cried out, clutching his back as he filled me after these many months without him. I had missed him. I realised just how much. Nothing felt like this. No one had ever filled me this way, possessed me this way.

  In this moment, I had never been more sure of anything than that Arthur was made for me. As I felt his hands bruising my thighs as he ploughed into me, his wide, muscled body caging me in, I knew I would never go back on my promise. I would never leave his side. There was no longer a choice. I was soldering myself to him.

  Melding our souls, splicing our hearts.

  I kissed him. As my pussy started to tighten, I kissed him and kissed him as his hips moved faster. His tongue duelled against mine, fucking my mouth just as hard as he was fucking me. “I love you,” I murmured against his mouth, seeing his eyes dilate as the words hit his ears like bullets.

  Arthur fucked me until my legs were numb. Until I was him and he was me and the blood and flesh of his victims that marred his skin were spread on my skin as well. His victories mine, and his sins my sins too.

  Arthur’s grunts and groans were feral, and I felt tension in my lower back, the building of the orgasm he was tearing from me. I raked his back with my long fingernails, his blood joining the crimson cocktail already tattooing his skin. My pussy clenched, and with Arthur’s unrelenting rhythm, I came hard, screaming my release into the empty mouth of the warehouse lair.

  I closed my eyes, dragging my cheek against the stubble on Arthur’s face. His skin was scorching, and I felt burned, on fire, incinerated as he took me harder and harder until he stilled, and I felt him release inside me. He roared, and every muscle in his body tensed as he made me his—fully, wholly, finally.

  I sucked in breath after breath, my body clamouring for oxygen, for the chance to recover. Arthur’s body sagged against me, pinning me so hard against the wall I knew I’d have scratches from the rough brick of the pit. My hands were still in his hair, tangled and knotted in the midnight strands.

  I loved him. I loved Arthur more than life itself. His darkness and his lifestyle meant nothing compared to that. I loved him despite the malice in his soul. I loved him because of it. Not everyone was meant for a life of roses and summer days, all pretty petals and fragrant perfumes. Some were meant for a life of winter and thorns.

  It didn’t mean they couldn’t have love.

  Arthur kissed up my neck, his tongue darting out to taste the sweat that his fucking had induced. He still held my legs around his waist; his dick was still inside me, twitching and sending aftershocks of pleasure shooting up my spine.

  My breathing had calmed by the time his searching lips found my mouth. His glasses were filthy with sweat and blood, and askew, but he still looked perfect to me. Still tasted like heaven as he kissed me until my lips were swollen and sore.

  When he pulled away, his blue eyes were glued to mine. I wished I could read his mind. I wished he would tell me what he felt in his heart as he looked at me, unkempt but now his. But I knew not to push him too hard.

  We were here. Together. He had let me breach his high, impenetrable walls. I knew it would take time to hammer through the rest. But I wasn’t fazed by the task. I was inspired. To know all of this man. To have him love me and let me see his soul.

  It was worth it all.

  “You wrecked me long ago,” I said, my voice echoing off the cavernous walls. I pulled Arthur’s glasses from his face. He looked so young without them. The thick black frames were almost his shield, and without them he was bared and vulnerable. I laid a kiss on either side of his eyes as he breathed heavily. Moving my mouth to his ear, I whispered, “It’s my turn to wreck you.”

  He tensed. But when his hands flexed on my thighs, I knew he liked what I had said. And it was true. His family members had told me that he loved me, that I had been the only person to hold any claim on his iron heart. But I didn’t just want a claim. I wanted to consume it. I wanted to own it like he owned mine.

  I needed his ruination. It was only fair—he already had mine.

  Arthur kissed me again, and I could only imagine how we looked, blood and sweat smothered, reeking of sex and sin. I cleaned his glasses on my top, then pushed them back on his face, my lord holding me in his arms.

  Without words, he pulled out of me. I gasped at the loss. He placed me on the floor, and my legs shook from exertion. Arthur crouched down and pulled my trousers back up my legs.

  I was stunned. He was caring for me. Sweetly. Gently. As if I might break apart at any minute.

  When my clothes were in place, he tucked himself back inside his trousers, then turned for the stairs that led out of the pit. Not a single word was spoken. He hadn’t told me he loved me. I didn’t expect him to. I knew this was just the first step for Arthur. New territory that he had never seen or felt before.

  He began to walk out of the pit but suddenly stopped dead. His shoulders hunched, then released. I wondered what was wrong. But then he turned, lit a cigarette and inhaled. His head tipped back and he closed his eyes.

  He was perfection. Raw, savage, tattooed and scarred perfection. He released the smoke into a cloud of white, then dropped his head and met my eyes. Leaving the cigarette balancing on his bottom lip—a move that I was increasingly finding irresistible—he slowly lifted his hand. It took me a moment to realise he was offering it to me.

  He wanted to hold my hand.

  Pulse thundering in my neck, I reached out and let his hand engulf mine. His fingers intertwined with mine, gripping them so tightly it bordered on painful. I didn’t care if he broke every finger. He was holding my hand. The simple gesture, for Arthur, was as difficult as moving a mountain. But he was doing it. He was trying.

  This was how he was showing me he cared. The one-man island, inviting me to breach his black-sanded shore.

  I moved beside him, and together, s
ide by side, we left the warehouse.

  His car waited for us outside the now-abandoned building, his driver patiently waiting for his boss. We slipped into the back seats. My arse had barely touched the leather before Arthur yanked me to his side, his arm slinging over my neck, possessively pinning me against him. He lit up another cigarette and wordlessly passed it to me.

  I took the cigarette and sank against him, then passed it back. He was still shirtless, his suit jacket and shirt tucked beside him on the back seat. I reached up to where his hand lay over my shoulder and threaded my hand through his. Smoke filled the air as we travelled from Mile End back to Bethnal Green.

  He clutched my hand again as we entered the church. We passed some of his family in the living room, and knowing smirks spread over their lips. Pride in my step, I followed him into his bedroom and straight into the shower.

  He fucked me against the tiled wall, then again in his bed. Our bed. Because I knew I would never be leaving it.

  In the aftermath of it all, we still hadn’t spoken a word. But conversation wasn’t needed. We had an oath, a contract signed in blood and sweat and sex. He had come for me in his chariot and whisked me to his home, to hell.

  To be by his side.

  Never to leave.

  The lady to his lord.

  A dark queen to his perpetually and unrepentantly dark king.

  Chapter Twelve

  CHESKA

  Three weeks later

  I stepped into the living room, only to find it empty but for Freddie. In the weeks since the night in the pits, I had barely left Arthur’s side. Only when he went on business did I stay at the church. Unless he was going to the Sparrow Room; then he took me with him.