Chapter 18
“Putain,” Toussaint muttered, glaring at the body. “Should have drowned you in the river like a sack of kittens, instead of wasting powder and shot.” He finally noticed the crowd in the hallway. “She was a thief! No one steals from me and gets away with it. She—”
Alistair smashed his fist into Toussaint’s nose.
The Frenchman staggered, blood spurting, staining the walls and Alistair’s cravat, but did not go down.
He wouldn’t give the whoreson a chance to fire again. Putting all of his weight behind it, all of his fury and pain, Alistair hit him again, an uppercut to the jaw that whipped Toussaint’s head back. He slammed into the door frame and crumpled to the floor. Unconscious or dead, Alistair didn’t much care.
In the hush that fell over the assembled crowd, he dropped to
