9. Lindsay

Chapter nine

Lindsay

Finding Alex in a compromising position with a naked woman and a knife did not remotely surprise Lindsay. These things were the least of the depravities he was capable of.

The very thought made him shiver.

And though he would be punished severely later for his interference, he also was never one to back down when Alex was behaving badly. And right now, he was definitely behaving badly.

"Don't interfere, Pony." There was a real warning in Alex's voice, but Lindsay wasn't going to be intimidated.

"Interference is the least of what I should do," he said, eyebrows lowering over his eyes.

"That mouth will only continue to get you into more and more trouble, Pony," Alex said. His eyes flashed with annoyance, but also anticipation, and his beautiful lips drew up ever so slightly at the corners.

Lindsay drew the key out of his pocket and slipped it into the lock, clicked it open .

"Come now," he said, now standing in the absent space where the door had just been. He rested his shoulder against the bars. "Give it a rest."

There was a pause, Alex's face blank and impassive.

"Beg me." Alex nodded to the ground. "Go on. Like a good boy."

Suppressing a sigh, Lindsay slowly bent his leg in its cage and folded around it, shuffling awkwardly to get to his knees.

"Look at him, Dolly." Lindsay raised his eyes to see Alex moving gracefully off of the woman and grabbing the hair at the back of her head to haul her up. Evelyn. Seeing her in nothing but the remains of a camisole and a pair of drawers around her thighs, blood running over one lovely breast was enough to steal the breath from him. Shock and desire mingled uncomfortably together. "He cares, that one. Big heart." Alex leaned closer to whisper in her ear, though Lindsay caught his words. "Big cock, too."

She looked visibly shaken, eyes wide, body stiff. Muscles bunching, jaw clenched tightly.

"He's such a good boy." Alex slowly released her from his grasp, relinquishing his quarry. Her rib cage expanded and collapsed with the puff of her relief and she drew her bound arms and her knees toward her chest, closing in on herself. Alex ignored her and walked toward Lindsay. "Put your hand on the floor."

Lindsay did so with only a hint of hesitation, apprehension wrapping itself around his insides. As always, it was chased by anticipation. And then, the trailing ribbon of shame.

Alex wasted no time pressing his beautifully shined leather dress shoe onto Lindsay's hand. A shudder of anticipation and pleasure went through Lindsay that he worked with all his might to suppress.

"Such a good boy," Alex whispered. "Even when he's being bad." He shifted forward so his whole weight came down on Lindsay's hand. Lindsay cried out. There was no sense in suppressing his reactions. Alex consumed them voraciously, no bottom to the pleasure he was capable of receiving. Lindsay gave them, similarly inexhaustible in his supply.

"But you can play the hero if you wish." Alex stroked his hand through Lindsay's hair and then again to take a fist full of it, tilt his head back carefully. His empty blue eyes searched Lindsay's face, gathering what they wanted from Lindsay's expression. "I know it makes you feel important."

A flush burned Lindsay's cheeks but he said nothing. Alex pressed a rough kiss to his temple and then whispered in his ear. "I'll give you your way this time, Pony, but if you interfere with my playtime again I'm going to make you very sorry." Alex released him and a shiver went through his body, anticipation and apprehension colliding.

"Mrs. Colter," Alex said, dipping his head toward the woman, trussed up like a barn animal. "Pleasure seeing you." He picked up his suit jacket from where he'd left it on a crate outside of the cell. A dark laugh trailed him to the door of the room, which he closed behind him.

Lindsay let out a breath and slowly raised his eyes to the woman who sat staring at him with wide eyes. Lindsay got his good foot under him and put one hand on either side of his leg brace, straightening it slowly. He grabbed his cane on the way up and rested it against the metal bars of the cell.

Then he paused and folded his arms at his waist, tucked a hand under his chin, surveying the damage.

"He sure did a number on you." Lindsay shook his head, ran his tongue along his bottom lip. He moved closer, but she started to scoot away from him, fear and anger lighting her beautiful face. Lindsay held up his hands and said, "I won't hurt you. I just want to see what he did. I promise, I'll untie you."

She swallowed audibly, eyeing him with suspicion. "Thank you for your concern," she said, shaking voice dripping with sarcasm.

He held up his hands and moved a little closer. She cringed away from him. "I won't hurt you."

"And why wouldn't you?" she said, body tightening in on itself. "Your other two friends had no trouble with it."

Two friends? Ryan too? The thought made him furious.

"I will not hurt you," he said again, firmly. "I just want to see what he did to you."

They stayed like that for a long moment while he waited patiently for her blessing to approach.

Then finally she said, "Are you really going to untie me? "

"That's all. I promise."

At last, she inclined her head and stayed still but rigid, moving awkwardly to her feet when he took her by the elbows and helped her up, hoping he wouldn't go off balance and knock them both sideways.

The smell of her suddenly enveloped his senses. Delicate notes of a floral perfume. Sweat. The metallic smell of blood. And underneath all of that, the rich smell of her body that made his mouth go dry with desire.

She stood there mutely while he pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and began to wipe at the blood that was starting to turn tacky on her flesh. The cut was just above her breast. A shameful blemish in the perfection of her skin. He frowned at it.

"I don't think you'll need stitches," he said.

"My hands," she said with restrained urgency and anger.

"Of course," he said. He tucked the handkerchief into his pocket and then made quick work of the belt that was turning her hands a mottled red and purple.

"Wh–" he started to say, but she flew at him.

Well, he should have seen that coming. He almost went over sideways because she caught him off balance on his bad leg, throwing her fists at his face. She clocked him in the jaw, which stunned him for a moment, but he righted himself, grabbed one of her wrists, and flipped her around, capturing her other flailing arm so that both of her arms were crossed across her body. Then he wrapped his arms around her, trapping her neatly against him .

"Bastard!" she said, voice boiling with fury. She stomped her bare feet onto the toes of his leather boots, not doing much damage. Poor thing.

She tried to throw her head back, but he pressed the side of his face against hers to keep her from breaking his nose. It felt strangely intimate. Being this close to her only served to fan the flames of his desire. Gazing down the length of her body quickened his pulse. Her breasts swelled deliciously above her crossed arms.

"Stop," he said firmly, trying to shake himself back into the moment.

"Let me go," she said and drew in a breath that was nearly a sob.

"I can't," he said simply. "And for better or worse, I'm the only person in this place who is actually opposed to killing you, so if you could refrain from trying to kill me, I would greatly appreciate it."

She stilled, likely caught off guard. "What do you want?" she asked at last. Her body slackened a little.

"I want to let go of you and I want you to go sit on the cot while I get you something to eat and drink."

"Fine," she said at last. She still didn't trust him, as she shouldn't.

"And understand, even if you get through me, Alex and Ryan are on the other side of that door. And we both know that you will not get through them."

She said nothing, but he felt her slump a little more like some of the fight went out of her. It almost made him sad .

Slowly, Lindsay released her. And then like a shot, she moved away from him, turning to the side to pull up her drawers. Then, she tugged her camisole closed across her breasts, causing more than a little disappointment to stir in his chest. She faced him, backing away to the other side of the cell until the backs of her legs touched the cot.

"Who are you?" she said, face twisting with contempt. "Pony?"

"Lindsay." He dipped his head in a small bow, unaffected by her effort to mock him with his nickname. Only Alex called him Pony.

"Who are you?" She swayed, but still didn't sit on the cot.

Lindsay cocked his head to the side, studying her face carefully. She was a strange sight to be sure. Beautiful. Looking like a strange nightmarish creature covered in her own blood.

"Lindsay," he said again, which drew a sound of irritation from her.

"But why am I here?" More anger. And underneath it, a current of desperation.

After a moment of hesitation, Lindsay said, "Let's get you something to eat. Then we'll talk."

"Goddammit," she said as he pulled out the key to the cell and unlocked it. He looked over his shoulder at her. And while he could see the wild desire to make a rush for the door rioting through her, her better sense prevailed. Lindsay closed the door behind him and locked it again .

Then, she came toward the bars of the cell as he retreated toward the door. He looked over his shoulder again.

Her beautiful brown eyes glittered with anger, a small line appearing between her eyebrows. "Where is Ryan? I want to talk to him."

Lindsay pulled the door of the room closed behind him, locking it, shaking his head. He moved slowly down the concrete hallway to the main door, insides churning. When Alex and Ryan had told him about their plan, he'd protested vehemently. Where was the sense in involving this woman in their fucking mess? Some tag along of Walter Stanley's. It wouldn't surprise him a bit if Walter Stanley had forced her into the whole thing to begin with.

But Ryan and Alex wouldn't see reason. Nothing could persuade either of them that just because she was present didn't mean that she wasn't directly responsible for Tommy's death. It had cracked something inside of Ryan, losing Tommy, and Lindsay often found himself looking at a man who was more and more of a stranger to him. And of all things, this tragedy had brought Alex and Ryan together in a way that Lindsay had never expected. It wasn't affection. Instead, it was a common bond born of a mutual desire to destroy the thing that had taken their brother from them. And it unsettled him that Alex had shown no more feeling concerning the matter outside of his initial outburst over the fact that Tommy was dead.

Ryan, on the other side of the coin, was steeped in his grief. It consumed him. Boiled off of him like heat. Brightened his eyes with a feverish glow. Drove him to madness. He'd become withdrawn. More quick to anger. Drank more frequently than he ever had.

The alliance was frankly unsettling, and Lindsay was having trouble working out why. Perhaps because he didn't want to admit that a small part of him was jealous. Though they'd always been a unit of sorts, the four musketeers, his relationship with Alex had always been separate from his relationship with Ryan. And never the twain should meet. Yet here they were, at all hours with their heads put together, talking in low tones. Looking over maps, drafting letters. Running errands together, or discussing them with one another.

Yes, perhaps he was jealous. He didn't have the same proclivity for violence as the other two. He'd hurt people who'd deserved it, but he didn't mete out punishment to every person who crossed him. And certainly not to a potentially innocent woman who didn't deserve it. All this had earned him was a backseat while the other two sped down the road to Hell.

It wasn't going to come to a good end for any of them. He was going to have to put his foot down. He wasn't fundamentally opposed to interrogating her and finding out what she knew. He wasn't even opposed to using her as blackmail. But he was opposed to subjecting her to these indignities, to cutting her up.

And he was absolutely opposed to her murder.

Lindsay opened the door and stepped out into the main room of the Crystal. Alex was reclining at the bar top with his jacket off. Ryan was standing near him, mouth pressed into a grim line. Alex looked amused, which was usually never good for anybody.

Lindsay looked between them, a wave of irritation going through him like heat. These two, in cahoots. He didn't like it a bit.

"Do you have to torment the poor woman?" he said.

"Ryan is the one who beat her," Alex said, smiling. God, he was gloating. Lindsay did not miss the way Ryan flinched. "And then he left her tied up. I just stepped in to investigate further possibilities."

"She's asking for you by name."

Lindsay looked at Ryan, eyes narrowing. He didn't miss the way Ryan flinched before he mastered himself.

"Oh yes," Alex said, striking a match to light his cigarette. "The gardener's apprentice."

"So?" Ryan said, holding Lindsay's gaze.

"You really think this isn't going to complicate your little plan?" Lindsay, for one, did. It was hard to know these days because Ryan wasn't himself. But he also knew him, had known him for years, and he didn't know how Ryan would bring himself to kill a woman he'd once been enamored with, no matter how long ago. On the other hand, Alex was starting to rub off on him.

"Yes, Lindsay," Ryan said in a voice so cold that it chilled him. "I really think this isn't going to complicate my little plan."

"He knows where his loyalties lie," Alex said in an equally chilling voice. "Do you? "

Lindsay swallowed. Then he opened his mouth. Closed it again. "Do you know what Alex did to her?"

Alex half laughed. "Tattling, Pony?"

Lindsay looked at Ryan, whose eyes slid away.

"He fucking cut into her," Lindsay said, trying to minimize the outrage in his voice. "She's bleeding all over the place." It would only serve to provoke amusement from Alex. But he didn't miss how Ryan's shoulders tightened, the way he glanced at Alex.

"And I'd bet a whole lot of money that you were only getting started," Lindsay said, looking at Alex with unconcealed anger.

"Then you would be a rich man," Alex said, watching him with dark, amused eyes.

A slight shrug of the shoulders and Ryan turned away to pull a cigarette out of the pack in his breast pocket. But he didn't fool Lindsay. He was ashamed of himself. Well, he should have been.

"I understand that you have an agenda." It was an uncomfortable truth, but there it was. "I understand you want revenge. But do you have to do it like this?"

Ryan struck a match on the side of one of the wooden barstools and held it to the end of his cigarette. He looked at Lindsay with eyes that were unrecognizable. His voice a low rumble of warning. "Don't interfere, Lindsay."

"Or what?" Lindsay raised his eyebrows at him. God, he wished his fucking leg wasn't like a sack of flour he had to drag along with him everywhere he went. Before the war, the bomb, the injury, Lindsay would have happily blackened Ryan's eye for acting like such an asshole. Lord knew they'd come to blows more than once in their lifetime of knowing each other.

"Don't." Ryan's nostrils flared, his cheeks coloring slightly.

"All I am asking is that you don't treat her like a fucking animal." He limped around behind the bar and lowered himself with an annoying adjustment of the fucking leg brace and began to rummage through the cupboards. He found a jar of pickled olives and a couple of oranges.

"He found a pet of his own." Alex laughed his beautiful, dangerous laugh. Lindsay's heart throbbed, but he didn't look at him. He filled a ceramic jug full of water from the tap. "Pony." Reluctantly, Lindsay looked at Alex, who was watching him with eyes like a falcon. "Don't get attached. Or you'll be sad when the chicken goes into the boiler in pieces."

A chill went over Lindsay, but he said nothing. Just glared between the two of them while he awkwardly stuffed napkins, olives, and oranges in his pocket and then gripped the jug of water in one hand. He picked up his cane with the other and limped back to the door, opening it with the last two fingers of the hand holding the cane. "She needs something besides a robe to wear, considering that it seems like you've destroyed all of her clothing. And we'll need actual food for her. You can't tell me you're planning to starve her to death. And unless you want to empty a chamber pot, she's going to need to be let out of that cell to use the water closet. "

"Emptying chamber pots sounds like a well deserved punishment for an interfering Pony," Alex said behind him.

Lindsay looked over at him. "No chance in hell."

Then he closed the door with a snap. He shook his head all the way back down the corridor, pausing to open the door awkwardly.

She was standing at the bars of the cell watching him with a face like an angry cat.

"Let me out of here," she said, slapping her hand on the metal grating.

"I can't do that." Lindsay produced the oranges and the jar of olives and held them out to her. She hesitated before she took the jar of olives. Wanting to refuse, probably, but he didn't miss the growl her stomach made when she saw the food. "It's not much," he said. "But it'll do until I can get something better."

Her efforts to negotiate her release fell to the wayside as she opened the jar of olives awkwardly, holding her elbows against her chest to keep her brassiere from falling open. She unscrewed the ring and popped the flat sealed lid off and began to eat them with her fingers like she hadn't eaten in a week. She moaned softly, a lovely little sound that sent a thrill through Lindsay. He'd been almost exclusively intimate with Alex since he came back from the war. He'd nearly forgotten the soft delicacy that was a woman. The desire for it woke in him like a soft little flame. Hot, hungry, flickering gently .

He offered the oranges again, holding them patiently while she eyed them. Then, she took one of them with a quick dart of her hand. He couldn't blame her, of course, not to trust him. Alex and Ryan had seen to that. He shook his head.

Idiots.

"I'll see to it you get something to wear, too. There's a robe over there on the floor."

"How long are you going to keep me here?" She had stopped eating, eyebrows drawn up in a look of incredulity.

"I don't know." Lindsay slowly lowered himself down onto one of the crates opposite the cell and watched her calmly while she angrily stuffed the rest of the orange in her mouth. He set the water jug close enough that she could reach it through the bars.

After a pause, she knelt and picked up the jug, tipping her head back and chugging so much water that Lindsay worried for a moment she was trying to drown herself. Finally, she set the jug aside, a look of ecstatic relief on her face.

"God," she said, softly. One beautiful wrist drew itself across her mouth while she panted, trying to catch her air. "What are you, the lackey?" She eyed him with disdain. Trying to provoke him.

Well, it wouldn't work.

He smiled at her. "Not at all."

"What is this?" she said, expression imploring. "Why am I here? "

"Walter Stanley."

She froze, immobilized with surprise. Lips slightly parted, eyebrows slightly raised. Fear suffusing her features. "You've got to be kidding me." Slowly, she got to her feet and walked further into her cell, aimless as a sleepwalker.

"I'm not." Lindsay shook his head, watching her move back and forth. Hypnotizing, the graceful rhythm of her body. So out of place in this dingy little cell.

"I knew one way or another he was going to be the end of me." She said it with disbelief, anger. And such utter conviction. Did she love him? She turned to look at Lindsay and put her hands on her hips, a line etched between her brows. "What about Walter Stanley?"

"He killed someone very important to us." Lindsay watched her face closely. For an instant, she looked like he'd struck her. Then her expression sealed itself up, replaced once again by anger. "Ryan and Alex want to pay him back for his… kindness."

There was a pause. "But you don't."

"I don't think being guilty by association is the same thing as being guilty, no," he said.

"But you're still going to let them lock me up." Her anger was beginning to peak, whipping around her like a cloud of angry bees. And underneath it, a riptide of fear.

"Let them?" Lindsay raised his eyebrows. "As if I could stop them."

She made a noise of disgust and turned away. "You could, you know. "

"I won't." He said it simply. As much as it pained him to see the path they'd chosen to take, he wouldn't betray them. Ever.

She looked at him, eyes hard, and opened her mouth as if to say something. Then she closed it and turned away.

"Things could be easier, I think, if you start with giving them what you know about Walter Stanley."

She laughed again, like he'd actually said something funny. "You're out of your fucking mind. He would kill me. And probably my family."

"And what if we killed you instead?" He watched her closely, clasping his hands around his knee.

She narrowed her eyes at him and stepped up to the bars of the cell. "Then you'd better go ahead and do it."

Well, shit.

Lindsay sighed. "I hope you change your mind."

"Go to hell," she said.

"Have it your way." Slowly, he stood and steadied himself. "Nice chatting." Then, he turned away and limped toward the door.

"Wait!" she called after him. "Wait, goddammit! Tell Ryan I want to talk to him!" The tone in her voice was changing. Pleading. Fearful. "Please!"

Lindsay glanced back at her.

"I'll be back," he said. And shut the door behind him.

Faintly, he heard her swear through the door.