Taking the Fall

Chapter 1

Chapter 1Elis was ready to fall. It was all arranged. The crowd was roaring for blood. The money was flowing like water. All Elis had to do was fall. With his face swelling nicely and his knees threatening to buckle beneath him, he could have dropped a few rounds ago. But he had to make it look good, had to get the punters betting more; had to keep Webb happy. Not that Elis gave a f**k about Webb or the scheming rat’s happiness. But since he was giving Elis a cut on top of his fee, it was in Elis’s financial interest to listen to the bastard.

The trouble was Elis’s chosen opponent wasn’t holding his own. He was staggering, eyes rolling in his head, legs shaking. His clenched fists had dropped to his stomach. Elis gave him a minute, urging him to get his s**t together. The crowd was turning. The usual cheers and roars had taken on an aggressive edge, interlaced with threats and jeers.

Elis turned away from his opponent, pumped his fist into the air and roared at the crowd. They joined him in his apparent victory, shaking the rafters with their shared voice. It soaked into Elis’s skin, tightened around his bones, fueling him with their collective rage and enthusiasm. He shouted back at them, some primal battle cry men from all walks of life understood. They were back in the game, back to cheering and encouraging the oncoming violence.

Elis turned back to his adversary and a fist cracked him across the temple. His head snapped to the side. His vision blurred and darkened at the edges. Pain sparked in hot pulses from the point of impact. His knees gave out. He tried to fight it, pissed off the bastard had sucker punched him. But it was too difficult. He was too tired.

He relaxed onto the sawdust strewn floor, felt splinters bite into the bare skin of his back, and finally gave in.

The crowds’ outrage and cheers broke through the buzzing in Elis’s skull. A bell chimed somewhere above the din, clear and excruciating. Hands grabbed him under the arms and pulled him from the pit. He managed to get his feet under him as Webb’s men dragged him into the back room. They dumped him in a chair and left him there. Elis winced as they closed the door behind them with a bang.

The noise beyond the door was muted to a rumble and allowed Elis to breathe and process the pain throbbing in his temples. He dropped his head against the wall behind him and closed his eyes, waiting for the dizziness to stop.

A while later, when Elis wasn’t sure if he’d dozed off or blacked out, the door opened again, forcing Elis to open his eyes and peer at whoever had disturbed him.

“Good show, Scott. You had me worried for a minute. Wasn’t sure you were going to drop.”

Then don’t put me against someone so f*****g weak next time, Elis didn’t say. He grunted.

Webb wasn’t looking at him. He was smiling fondly at the wad of crumpled notes in his hands, smoothing the creases and counting his ill-gotten gains with great care.

“One more round and I think Dominic would have passed out before he had chance to take you out. Still, we did good work tonight.” He continued to admire the money. He began to pocket it. Elis held out his hand. Webb flinched and looked down at Elis’s palm as though a stranger was demanding he hand over his firstborn son.

“Ah,” he said, his voice strained. “Of course. Your share. Fifteen percent.”

“Twenty.”

Webb glared.

“If I managed to make it last the full five rounds you said twenty percent.”

“Well, that was more than easy enough for you. You had Dominic almost on his ass after the first two.” He smiled a spindly smile that looked more painful than a rotten tooth.

His attempt at flattery didn’t dissuade Elis. He continued to hold out his hand.

“Yes, yes, of course.” With stiff fingers, Webb pulled out another three notes from his tight fist and handed them over, watching them disappear as Elis folded the money into his trouser pocket.

Elis stood. Webb took a step back. The world swayed, but Elis did his damnedest not to let it show, eyeing Webb with bored indifference. He took his shirt off a hook on the wall where he’d left it hanging earlier. He shrugged into it and fought the wave of nausea threatening to humiliate him in front of this slimy, little man.

“Same night next week?” Webb said, already back to counting his coin, rat-like eyes gleaming in the low light.

Elis knew he should say no, give his body a break, but he said, “Sure.”

“Fifteen percent?”

Elis stopped on his way out. “Twenty.”

“But—”

“Take it or leave it.”

Webb chuckled. “I’ve got a list as long as my arm of blokes who would fight for a lot less. I could take my pick.”

“So pick.” Elis knew he wasn’t the strongest fighter, and he was getting a little long in the tooth for illegal, back street brawls, but he was a crowd favorite and there weren’t many men you could trust to take a fall and keep their mouths shut.

“Fine,” Webb said through gritted teeth as Elis opened the door. “But it better be the f*****g fight of the century.”

Elis grunted and left.

He should have gone back to his flat, washed away the sweat and grime from that place, checked his injuries and tried to get some sleep. Instead, he dragged his sore body to a pub, the Scarlet Sclera, which kept its doors open all night, and ordered whatever he thought he could keep down. He should have been thinking about rent and food for the month, but instead he spent a large chunk of his earnings on a slab of beef. It was surprisingly good, or he was too hungry to care. It came with a tankard of beer, but he didn’t dare drink any. The world was still a little fuzzy and the last thing he needed was alcohol dulling it further.

His head had thankfully started to clear. That fucker. Elis should have known Webb would pay an amateur to throw his fists around instead of putting Elis against a serious opponent. The i***t could have killed him with that punch. Elis had known more than one man dropping dead or being left a drooling vegetable after receiving a wild blow to the head.

He fingered the lump swelling nicely on his face. He’d be an interesting patchwork of blue and purple bruises by morning.

He needed to see Mullen, ask if there were any new cases for him. He couldn’t do this forever. The pay wasn’t bad for one night’s work, but how long before he fell for real and didn’t get back up? It was only a matter of time before a bigger, younger opponent took him out easily or he lost favor with the crowd. At over thirty years old he was beyond seasoned for a fighter, especially for the likes of Webb and his brutal crowd.

Tomorrow. He’d go to Mullen tomorrow. Never mind that he’d made the same promise every day for the past week and every time failed to summon the courage to enter Mullen’s office. The thought of crawling back to Mullen had a dark and twisting feeling churning in his guts and had him scurrying back to Webb and his pitiful offerings.

At least he’d be able to sleep tonight. The physical exertion of the fight tired his body and forced his rebellious brain to rest.

He wasn’t hungry anymore. About to get up, he stopped when a woman took the seat opposite him. Elis was about to tell her he didn’t require her no doubt exceptional services for the night, when he stopped, taken aback by her appearance. She would have once been called beautiful, but the hard edge of rough living marked her face, her skin a little too thin, her color unnaturally pale, her eyes cold and withdrawn. Her movements were jerky, her eyes shifting about the small late-night crowd gathered inside the pub. She was wary, expecting attack.

It wasn’t her sickly, frightened manner which had Elis remaining silent, it was the fact he recognized her, and, despite her appearance, she looked better than when Elis had seen her last. There were no longer any bruises marring her face and her hair was twisted into a simple braid which shone with a reddish luster now it was free of grease and dirt.

She schooled her expression into a firm determination and cleared her throat before saying, “Mr. Scott?” A flicker of panic lightened her eyes. “It is you, isn’t it? I am right?”

“Lizzy?” Elis said.

Lizzy’s colorless mouth twitched, eyes flickering with relief.

“Are you all right?”

She didn’t look it. Even with the small, relieved smile, which withered away so quickly it might have never been, she resembled a frightened bird. Elis’s exhaustion was gone. He sat up straighter, ready for a fight. She flinched at the sudden movement.

Elis froze and said, “What’s wrong?”

He didn’t know the girl, not really. Their brief meeting had consisted of whispered words passed between her and Latham, until all hell had broken loose, resulting in a bloody fist fight. Elis didn’t even know the full extent of what she’d been through, though he could guess and even his vaguest ideas had bile rising in his throat and rage heating his blood. Lizzy seemed to sense this change in him, like a tortured dog sensing the violence building in its owner before the first strike fell, her eyes growing fearful again. With effort, Elis pushed down his anger.

“I need your help.” It came out in a rushed breath.

“What do you mean?” he said, instantly on edge.

“When I say me, I mean…” She struggled then took another breath. “You’re a friend of Lord Victor Latham?”

The sharp stab of pain those words conjured had Elis’s breath catching, but he kept his expression neutral. “I was hired to guard him for a short time a few months ago. That’s all.” If he said it with enough conviction, maybe he could convince himself those few life-shattering weeks with Latham had meant nothing to him, that he could eventually forget the heat of Latham’s touch and the firm husk of his voice, the sensation of him possessing Elis completely.

“Oh, I thought…”

“What’s this about?” Sharpness entered his voice and Lizzy flinched again, though not as severely.

“Lord Latham is in danger.”

Elis’s jaw clenched. He swallowed back his instantaneous urge to jump to Latham’s defense and said calmly, “What’s he done this time?”

Lizzy frowned. “Excuse me?”

“He has a knack for making enemies.” Elis’s flippancy was undercut with churning concern. What the f**k was Latham up to now? Why the hell couldn’t he just live a quiet life, so Elis didn’t have to keep thinking about him, worrying about whoever else he’d antagonized with his antics in the Lower?

He cleared his throat as Lizzy glared at him. He was letting his hurt feelings infect his voice and Lizzy didn’t deserve it.

Latham was a good man, which made it all the more difficult for Elis to forget him, to look back and feel only bitter regret for how it had ended. He swallowed hard and met Lizzy’s glare.

He sighed. “Tell me.”

Lizzy dropped her gaze to the table and said in a brittle voice, “It’s my fault.” Her lower lip trembled. She cleared her throat before continuing. “If he hadn’t come for me, if I hadn’t asked for his help…now Freddy is after him.”

“Freddy? Fredrick Mason?” At her nod, Elis unclenched his fist and exhaled, some of the tension loosening around his spine. “Latham’s more capable than you think. He can deal with Mason on his own.” Latham had told Elis as much, to leave Mason alone, and Elis had no desire to go against his wishes, even if he didn’t agree with them.

“But—”

“I’m sorry. You’ve come to the wrong person.” Elis braced to leave.

“Mr. Scott, please!” Lizzy shot out a hand and gripped Elis’s wrist. Panic widened her eyes and she flinched back, her hands momentarily going to her face, as though Elis would strike her for laying a hand on him. She swallowed and hurriedly hid her hands under the table, clearly embarrassed by her instinctive reaction. The slightest blush of red colored her wan cheeks. Despite this, she rushed on. “There is no one else I can go to, no one who understands. Victor is stubborn. He doesn’t understand the dangerous game he’s playing with Freddy. And I thought you, the two of you…” She struggled then said, “I thought you cared for him.”

Blood drained from Elis’s face, leaving him cold.

“I know he cares for you,” she said beseechingly.

Elis’s heart stopped. He managed to regain his breath and remember the truth. If Latham had ever cared for him, Elis had well and truly crushed that misguided feeling when he broke Latham’s trust. He wanted to ask what Lizzy knew, what Latham had divulged to her, jealous she seemed to be in Latham’s confidence when Elis…

Elis had made his bed and he was learning to lie in it, thorns of guilt and resentment digging into his back notwithstanding.

“I told you, you have the wrong man. Call on Charles Mullen if you are truly worried. He may help.” Judging by her clothes which were fine and complimented her slight frame to disguise her frailty, Latham was no doubt paying for her upkeep. But Elis doubted his generosity would spread far enough to fund her hiring Mullen. Also, Elis didn’t think he could stand the thought of Mullen sending another man to rifle through Latham’s life, scared of what they might discover.

He left without daring to look back at the disappointment marring her already drawn face.