Note to the
reader: I wrote this scene in an early draft and it was one of the darlings I
had to kill. Still, I love it, and I love just how badass Esta is here, and in
the rest of the book.
The ginger-haired Mooch gave a sharp nod
of his chin, directing Esta to follow him toward the back of the saloon, where
a dark, scarred wooden door led up a narrow flight of steps. “Ladies first,” he
said with a bow that felt to Esta more like a taunt than actual courtesy.
Esta narrowed her eyes at the boy, but
without a reason to refuse, she started to mount the narrow steps. They were
poorly made, with their risers all slightly different sizes and the treads made
from warped or knotted wood. She hadn’t even reached the first landing when she
felt the boy close behind her. Too close.
But she ignored it, continuing on as though she hadn’t noticed anything
inappropriate in the way his hand brushed against the edges of her skirts.
When they made it to the landing, a narrow
strip of stairway that turned sharply to climb higher into the building, he
made his move, and Esta found herself pinned face-first to the corner, the
boy’s stale breath hot against her neck. His body pressed into her back.
“You’re a pretty one, ain’t you?” he said,
his breath smelling of ale and onions as he laughed at her. “Fine clothes like
yours don’t usually show up at Dolph’s door. Not unless they’ve done something
to deserve it,” he said, his mouth close to her neck.
She stayed still, calm. “I have no idea
what you’re talking about,” she said, not letting her voice waver.
“Of course you don’t.”” He leaned into her
again. “They never do. You’re a good girl, ain’t you? You wouldn’t never do
nothin’ wrong would you? But you had to do something. Good girls don’t end up
begging Dolph Saunders to keep them.”
“I didn’t beg.”
“I s’pose you’re right,” he said, mock
surprise lighting his voice. “But we can change that easy enough.” He pressed
himself into her.
She didn’t move her head even an inch
back. She’d bite the nose off his face before she gave him the satisfaction of
knowing he’d affected her. “Please, Mooch—” she started to say.
“Please, is it?” he leaned more of his
weight against her, his leg pressing between hers so he could get even closer.
“I like the sound of that, I do. Say it again, proper like: Please, Morris…” he taunted her, his breath heavy with too much ale and the
sickly-sweet scent of teeth on the verge of rot. “That’s my name, you know. Only my friends call me Mooch. You want to be my
friend, beautiful?”
Esta cursed inwardly as she felt his hand
pulling her back into his chest, climbing higher up her torso, like he was
trying to find something beneath her corset worth groping.
She really shouldn’t… she was so close.
It would be idiotic to sacrifice the progress she’d made with Dolph Sunders for
some stupid boy who thought anything in a skirt was his for the taking. But
then his hand closed over her breast, and she reacted the way she’d been
trained to. She grabbed him by the wrist, and before he could even laugh again
at her attempt to stop him, she pulled his forearm down and back, twisting it
around, leveraging his own weight against him, until she had him turned, pinned
against the wall. His face contorted in pain as she pressed his arm into an
unnatural angle.
“Let’s be clear, Mooch,” she said, bringing her face close to his cheek. She was
about his height, and he wasn’t as broad as some of the other boys had been. It
was easy enough to use her size to keep him in place once she had him at a
disadvantage. “I’m not an easy mark. I’m not here for you to look at or touch
or even think about.” She twisted his wrist harder, felt the bones beneath her
grip grind and start to pop as he whimpered and cursed her. “I’ll forgive your
lack of manners this once, since you don’t seem smart enough to know any
better. I won’t break your wrist. This time. But if you so much as look
sideways at me again, I can’t promise I’ll be so nice.”
She let him go, and he turned viciously—rubbing at his sore
wrist. “You bloody bitch,” he snarled, cornering her again. “You think you can
get away with putting your claws on me?”
“I think I just did,” she said calmly.
His face hadn’t quite regained its color,
despite his rage. She wasn’t worried, though. His hand wouldn’t be good for
much until the blood started flowing in it again. But Esta understood Mooch and
his like. If she didn’t draw a line in the sand now, under her own terms, he’d
keep wasting her time.
As though to prove she was right about
him, Mooch started to take a step toward her. Before he could, Esta slipped
through time, around and behind him. She tapped him on the shoulder, and when
he turned, his eyes wide with confusion and fury, she smiled sweetly. Then she
grabbed him between the legs, twisted and pulled, hard. Just like Dakari had
taught her.
It worked like a charm. Mooch’s breath
seemed to stop in his lungs as he made a surprised, incoherent gurgling sound
and then dropped to his knees on the floor. He writhed there for a moment,
moaning incoherently as he tried to breathe through the pain of her attack.
Esta watched for a second, not at all impressed at how easy he’d been. Then
stepped closer to him and crouched down to give a couple of sharp slaps on the
cheek.
When he opened his eyes to glare at her,
she made her voice as pleasant as her smile. “I trust we understand each other
now. Tell your friends, would you?” She gave him a less-than-friendly pat on
the cheek.
