Page 19 of Greed: The Savage (Seven Deadly Sins #7)

That was his sole purpose—in life, in work—and the one time he’d failed, it had been today. His gut knotted hard. This slip of a firebrand who’d upended his bloody world deserved his protection, and he hadn’t been there when she needed him. He’d failed her.

The pain, the guilt, the shame of that were his to carry to the grave—and he’d never forgive himself for it.

Nor should she.

At some point, they arrived.

One of the servants yanked the door panel open to reveal a smug, triumphant Roy in wait. “Dynevor wants to see the both of you now.”

By the other man’s crow, it couldn’t be any clearer; Lady Darrow’s servants had gotten to the earl first. She’d be out for blood. His and Addien’s.

It wasn’t himself Thornwick worried about. “Give us a moment, Roy.”

“Can’t do that, my lord. Dynevor said he wants you immediately and no draggin’ your heels.”

God, Thornwick was dripping blood, and one glance at Addien should have told the bastard exactly what danger she’d faced that day.

But no—he’d been too busy puffing himself up, lording it over Thornwick, blinded by his own petty triumph.

That kind of fool didn’t deserve to breathe the same air as her—let alone have her affections.

Thornwick closed the door and slid the specially designed lock in place, to the other man’s shouts.

Roy pounded on the panel.

“Go to your rooms, Addien,” he said. Already anticipating the guard’s next moves, Thornwick reached to the other side of the conveyance and slid the other lock into place. “I’ll speak to Dynevor.”

Addien put up a fight. “Dynevor wants the both of us—”

“I’ll handle it, Addien.”

“I’m fi…”

Thornwick got on a knee, and brought the rest of Addien’s words trailing to an incomplete finish.

He gathered one of the mud-marred slippers beside Addien. “I’ll only tell him what I need to, Addien,” he promised. “And you don’t need to be around for the recounting.”

“Open the bloody door, Thornwick…ain’t yer place to…”

Thornwick ignored Roy’s embarrassingly indignant shouts. All his attention belonged to Addien. “I’m going to help you with your slippers, if you’ll allow it, Addien,” his voice resolute; there to convey she was in charge.

Addien’s always flashing eyes glittered with something he’d never before seen from her—tears.

They hit him square in the solar plexus. His breath strangled, fury surging black and hot through his veins. I’ll kill Dunworthy.

Addien swiped angrily at the moisture on her cheeks and gave a juddering nod.

“Leave Dynevor to me,” he promised her again.

What he wouldn’t do was let another soul see Addien like this. He’d be damned if she was paraded before anyone—man, monarch, or their Lord and Savior—wearing her tattered dressings and the marks of Dunworthy’s attack.

Thornwick would guard her dignity with the same unflinching devotion he had the King’s secrets.

Addien grunted. “He didn’t really hurt me, ye know.”

The gruff in her voice at even having said those words aloud brought him the ghost of a grin.

No, he didn’t know.

“Did he breathe your air, Addien?” he asked softly.

Addien looked at him with wide eyes.

“Then that was an offense worthy of death.”

When he climbed out, Roy’s ire remained squarely on Thornwick.

Roy should have been there to offer Addien’s hand. The bloody bastard wasn’t. It was Thornwick who helped her down. Addien stayed close to Thornwick’s side, like she sought to bury her shadow in his.

He sneered. Good. She was better off seeing for herself what a pile of rubbish the fellow truly was.

Once he’d personally escorted Addien to her rooms, he did a quick change into unbloodied garments. A short while later, he was in front of Dynevor to answer for his crimes of this day. Dynevor didn’t offer a seat.

“Dunworthy lives,” Dynevor said by way of introduction.

“That’s unfortunate.” Thornwick bloody meant it. He’d intended to kill him and he would have zero qualms about it.

Dynevor barely raised an eyebrow. “You’ve got some answering to do,” he said bluntly. “And I want answers fast.”

Thornwick curled his swollen, bloodied knuckles over the edge of his employer’s cluttered desk and leaned in. “Funny. I’m here for the same thing from you.”

The young earl’s brows—one bisected by a pale scar—dipped to sharp points over his nose, fury cutting into his features. “Have a care,” he said with a grotesque smile. “I’ve cut men open for less.”

Thornwick would have been only too happy to slit him from gullet to neck if he’d been guilty of the filth Dunworthy had spewed.

“Is that why you’re sending the girls here with me? Addien?” His voice dropped, lethal. “Because if you did—if that was your intention—”

His blade was out before Dynevor’s jewel-hilted dagger flashed fully into view.

“Oy,” the younger earl snapped. “What the hell are you accusing me of?”

“It’s not what I’m accusing you of,” Thornwick said coldly. “It’s what two patrons accused you of.”

Two men—warriors of different breeds, each savage in his own right—stood locked in place, knives drawn, neither hesitating, neither flinching.

“Do you think I’d do that?” Dynevor asked, still holding his blade.

“Dynevor,” Thornwick said evenly, “if I didn’t believe any man was capable of anything, you’d never have hired me.”

The earl’s brows dipped further before he grunted and lowered his dagger. Thornwick followed suit, each man sheathing his weapon in the same measured beat.

“Fair enough,” Dynevor said. “No—my sister nearly swung for avenging street girls forced by gentry. I won’t honor her life and sacrifice by doing the same evil. Even if Ophelia hadn’t nearly hanged for it, I’d still never put a man, woman, or child at the mercy of some nob and his wiles.”

Thornwick studied him for a long moment, weighing the truth in his words, then gave a single nod.

“I take the beating—and the sight of you—to mean Dunworthy had it coming.” It wasn’t a question.

“Dunworthy had it coming,” Thornwick confirmed.

Rage tightened Dynevor’s lips. “Snap?”

“I sent her to her room so we could speak privately.”

They shared a look. Dynevor paled. “Fuck.”

“She handled herself—and Dunworthy—with distinction,” Thornwick said, his mouth curling in hate around the title. “And I handled him after.”

“Should’ve killed him,” the earl said, the sincerity in his tone leaving no doubt he meant it.

It was a regret Thornwick would carry to his grave.

“Addien’s worried she’s going to hang. And that you’ll sack her,” Thornwick said, because when he spoke to her next, he wanted the assurances ready.

“She’s not going to hang, and she’s not going to be sacked.”

“Yes.” Thornwick nodded. “I was confident of that. She…had her reservations.”

“As all people born to the streets would,” Dynevor acknowledged, rubbing his chin. “Did she believe Darrow and Dunworthy?”

Thornwick countered with a question. “If you’d been in her place, facing those threats without a title to your name, wouldn’t you?”

“Aye.”

“This is only part of what needs discussing.”

Dynevor’s gaze sharpened. “Go on.”

“I don’t believe the baroness or her brother were lying,” Thornwick said.

Rage pulled the younger man’s mouth tight. He leaned in with a low snarl. “If you know—”

“They believed the order came through the Devil’s Den.”

That stopped Dynevor cold.

“These weren’t just two debauched peers spinning tales. They were truly affronted—adamant Addien had been sent, and—”

“And?” the earl snapped.

“There was mention of…pastimes offered elsewhere, if not here—likely in the streets—by Mac Diggory.”

Dynevor went still. In that motionless moment, Thornwick saw the devil resurrected behind his eyes.

“Wouldn’t surprise me. Evil doesn’t die.” With steady hands, the earl lit a cigar. “What’s the plan?”

“Addien was set up. Served up. I strongly suspect we can trace a trail of coins from Dunworthy,” Thornwick said. “We move forward with interviews and—”

“And see if there’s a pattern,” Dynevor finished.

“Exactly.” Thornwick inclined his head.

“Addien—”

“Will not be accompanying me,” Thornwick cut in, his voice edged in steel. “Someone else—someone as capable. I’m not letting her out of my sight unless I have to, and only with a plan in place.”

Dynevor nodded.

When their meeting concluded, Thornwick left.

It wasn’t until he was alone in his room, scrubbing the blood of his prey from his body, that he remembered his mission to find an unsuitable bride to vex the duke. That would have to wait.

Strangely, he didn’t care.

In fact—he didn’t care at all.