Visions (The Daevas #2)

14 | Whiplash

We search through the neatly pressed clothes, grabbing two pairs of men's clothing. Molly leads me to another room, a kitchen, and we get plenty of food to keep us full for days. She puts it in a large burlap sack and slings it over her shoulder. Holding the clothes and the other pair on our forearms, we go to a smelly old chamber room where we get ourselves dressed quickly. We tuck the remaining wisps of our hair inside the cap that belongs to the male guests here, and we ascend a creaking staircase, leading up to Molly's uncle's room.

As she opens the door, I clench my teeth as I see her uncle lying on the bed, snoring, his grimy hand outstretched over a serving wench's little body. I stare at him in disgust, as Molly goes to her uncle's small wooden chest where the silvers are. Without looking at my new partner, I quietly walk toward the damn proprietor, my eyes narrowing hard cold stares at the old bastard. 'Tis not a habit of mine to curse, but he just disgusts me to the extreme in so many ways that makes me feel such ire.

"'Tis Jan , my lady," Molly whispers behind me, her head inclining to the right, staring at the whore and her uncle. She touches my arm, adjusting the sack a bit on her shoulder. "We ought to leave now before the other serfs come to. My uncle will never let me leave. I will be imprisoned her till I die."

"How old is this girl?" I ask coldly. I didn't exactly hear her words for I am too busy throwing icy glares at this loathsome molester.

I glance at Molly, and her lips press into a grim line. "Thirteen."

"Has she not a husband to care for her? She is of age."

She shakes her head. "With that profession of hers and her plain features, no one will probably marry her, though she's angelic as a saint. Naught will happen to her. All of us know it here. And now ye, too. Oh!" Molly breathes, turning to me. "Uncle Roger has a golden chain he always keeps under his pillow every night. He calls it his 'lucky charm.' It costs a bloody fortune if we sell it to some local jeweler here in Sussex."

"It think we ought to-"

But before I finish my whispered words, Molly is already standing in front of me, her hands slyly splaying under the head of Roger's pillow. Then she gasps and scowls in pain.

"What the devil are you doing, Molly?" Roger hisses, his bird-like eyes peering into her large blue ones. I do not flinch. I stand straight, my chin jutting up in haughtiness, feeling like someone else I do not know or maybe I do know-someone like Anne. "Ye steal away me money in me chest and now yer stealin' me lucky chain?" he explodes. Jane, the thirteen-year-old whore, stirs in the bed, and she slowly blinks up, her tiny round breasts exposed to the three adults in the room.

"Answer me, damn ye!" Roger demands.

Molly wriggles free from his grasp while saying, "I am getting away from you! Damn you, Uncle, let me go!"

"Molly!" Jane gasps, her eyes large.

Roger stands up, pulling her on his lap, getting ready to whip my companion's arse with his meaty hand. Molly squirms, while Jane stands up, trying to get away. Instinctively, not removing my eyes from Roger, I grab Jane's elbow in a firm grip, her eyes closing at the pressure. "Stay," I order regally.

"Why are ye dressed as a lad, lass?" Roger demands, his hand whipping Molly's buttocks loudly. "Yer escapin' me, eh? And who is she?" he asks, looking at me pointedly, his hands rising up for another slap again.

"Your death."

With a flash, I stare hard at him, my head jerking to the side in a swift move, making his body clash to the wall on his right. Molly staggers up, hastily picking up the sack that we will be needing, and we both see that there is blood on the wall where his head was slammed. Now Roger is lying limply on the bed, his eyes wide open, and the side of his head is bleeding. My eyes grow round. I cannot believe I did that. I cannot-but I did.