Page 35 of Jaxon (Gentlemen of War #4)

Jaxon

Since my abduction in France, I can be easily startled and unsettled, but tonight, as I stepped out of the house and briefly walked around the property looking for Amelia, I felt like I had nerves of steel.

The moment I learned O’Keefe had taken her, I slipped into a blind rage, only reconciled by Zachary’s sound mind. He convinced me that we needed a strategy, and while my heart tried to supersede, in the end, he was right.

“You could bring harm upon her if you acted rashly, Jax. We must think clearly.”

We had to assume that O’Keefe would not have acted alone and, once I confirmed that Diggs had no part of it, we assembled and watched from the back windows which had the greatest view of the woods. It was then that we learned that one or possibly two more men were nearby.

We also had surmised that O’Keefe would have led her to the stable. According to the Gentrys, he had no lantern or other means to navigate the woods in the dark. So, as I cautiously approached the stable, I knew at some point in my advance, I would be overtaken.

“Jack!” Amelia’s voice cut through the air. I stopped momentarily, tempted to throw the plan to the wind. “Don’t come in,” she shouted. “It’s a trap!”

My heart lurched for her the moment a man pounced from behind, restraining me. A gunshot surfaced from within the structure and fear seized me. Not for my own circumstance, but for the woman I loved.

What had I done?

The stable door slammed open, and O’Keefe joined the scuffle. Initially, I had resigned to not fight. It would only exhaust my strength, knowing I would need it later, but the gunshot changed everything. I needed to know if Amelia was alright.

Even though I knew that Claude and Diggs watched me from the leafy burrows, intending to follow me and my captors while Zachary would release and protect Amelia, I fought to be free. What if Amelia was injured? What if Zachary could not save her? We had not expected O’Keefe to discharge his weapon, and this very thought terrified me.

Brought to my knees within an unrelenting grip, I calculated two pairs of hands: O’Keefe in the front and an unknown assailant from behind. I caught my breath long enough to ask, “Did you hurt her?”

O’Keefe smirked but said nothing.

A rage threaded through my body and, despite the plan for me to go along with the men, I mustered my strength and knocked O’Keefe’s head backwards with my own.

Jarring me a little, I scrambled to attack again before the man behind me looped a rope around my neck, squeezing it tightly, then binding the other end around my hands in front of me, rendering them useless. I stilled, choking and sputtering. I knew somewhere in the dark that Diggs was likely holding Claude back the moment I was subdued. I was thankful that I could trust that footman but risked ruining the plan. This latest chain of events was entirely my fault. I had acted recklessly, and this would not help any of us.

“Damn you, Gray!” O’Keefe hollered from the ground as blood dripped freely from his brow. “Your lady is unhurt; she dodged the bullet.” It was apparent he held no respect for my title now, rendering us as equals, but I didn’t care how he addressed me, I only cared for the substance of his words. Amelia was unhurt.

The man from behind released his grip on the rope and I fell to the ground gasping for breath only briefly before they forced me back to my feet. Another pull on the rope yanked me forward and through the dense tree line. I had not anticipated the roughness and nearly stumbled to the ground, still unaware of the identity of the second attacker.

We came to a halt a few steps in and I heard the familiar sound of a wick being lit as O’Keefe held up a lantern. He must have stashed it somewhere in anticipation of this trek. His betrayal infuriated me and only exposed how I had failed in my abilities to discern a spy in my own home.

The soft glow of the flame brought ample relief to the blackness as we proceeded forward and trod through thick brush, over dead logs, and a small creek. Did they intend to make me walk the entire path to the village?

I replayed the plan in my head.

Claude and Diggs will stealthily remain close to us, watching to see where they intended on taking me and how many men there might be. Once Zachary gets Amelia safely to the house and under protection, he would join up with Claude and Diggs at a predetermined destination, though I was uncertain of those details as my mind slipped back to Amelia and what fear she must have felt at the hands of an abductor.

If only I could get O’Keefe to slip up, reveal more.

“What the devil, O’Keefe?” I asked. “I trusted you, Lucas trusted you.”

He scoffed. “I have no quarrel with Lord Lucas. It is you I seek to destroy.”

“Why?”

“You nearly ruined my family.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Shut up!” The other man said. I had yet to get a good look at him, but I imagined him to be the man with the scarred cheek, one of the key players in this theatrical performance.

A sharp prick pressed into my back, likely a knife point, reminding me that he had control… for now, and I will continue to let him believe so until Claude, Diggs, and Zachary make their next move.

After a few more minutes of silence, I asked in a more subdued tone, “Why didn’t you just kill me when you had the chance, O’Keefe? The many chances you had.”

He stopped, set the lantern down, and opened his snuff container. Pinching a portion of tobacco, he inhaled it swiftly. “Because Carver, here…” he waved a hand behind me, “first needs to find out what you know and who you told, but do not fret, Gray,” he sneered. “I have volunteered for the opportunity once all is said and done.”

Carver. The mystery man. “Why attack my friends? They had nothing to do with what happened in France.”

“Come now,” he said facetiously, picking up the lantern once more. “I knew the others were arriving soon enough, I only needed to reduce the numbers.”

“But why Amelia?”

He snickered, “Why not?” Then laughed raucously. “When her party first arrived inadvertently, I worried they would complicate things. In the end, she made splendid bait, did she not?”

A thread of vehemence traced my spine. “So, with my seizure, you will leave them be?”

The man with the knife jabbed it just enough to poke through my shirt and cut my skin. I felt warm liquid trickle from the point of contact, though it had to have been superficial, for it only lightly stung. “I’d best not fret ‘bout nobody but your own bloody skin—” He leaned forward and I could smell liquor on his breath. “—'specially that sweet tart. I’ll tend to her just fine.”

A wave of heat propelled me as I spun around and slammed my bound fists into the man's cheek, sending him reeling sideways. The ropes tying my wrists together gave the blow unexpected force. He staggered, giving me the opening to drive a second punch into his chest, stealing his breath.

A gunshot cracked behind me, but I didn't flinch, oblivious to whether it had found its mark. I grabbed a fistful of the man’s shirt as we crashed to the ground. Freeing his hands, he landed a blow to my cheek and kicked wildly to shove me away. Another shot split the air.

Then, air itself vanished.

O'Keefe’s associate, Carver, wrangled the rope that bound my hands to my neck and yanked it. I gasped and choked as he dragged me to my knees, the cold steel of his blade settling against my throat. “Try that again...” he slurred, blood welling in his mouth. I stiffened, the razor-sharp edge pressed against my skin. “If they didn't need you alive...” He trailed off, spitting a mouthful of blood. And then I saw it… the scar on his cheek. Carver—the mystery hunter. Anger flared, but I tamped it down to where only one thought burned clear: the moment I got free, he was mine.

I took a deep swallow, waiting for Carver to remove his blade. His black eyes seemed to sear through me. I could see how badly he wanted to finish the job, but I would not be an easy kill. He finally lowered his knife and shoved me upward and forward. I glimpsed O’Keefe’s musket in one hand and his pistol in the other, both aimed at the night sky—wisps of smoke swirled above them. Good. Two guns now not at the ready.

Another shot rang out a short distance away. My breath halted. Carver and O’Keefe exchanged looks.

“Move!” Carver yanked the rope again and darted forward, pulling me faster through the trees, forcing O’Keefe to retrieve the lamp and run ahead of us to light the way.

I could only hope that the distant gunshot connected with the right man and prayed my friends remained unharmed.

“Where are we going?” I choked out as the coarse threads of the rope dug into my skin.

Carver muttered, “There’s somebody who wishes to speak to you.”

Silence resumed, and shortly thereafter we reached a small clearing in the woods—one that I recognized—where a patch of wild forget-me-nots shrouded the ground, and the bordering pines were so thin they didn’t obstruct the moonlight. If I was to estimate, it was a good 300 paces from the stable. The sound of the river nearby also told me that the men did not venture far from it. This knowledge was immensely helpful, presuming they were unaccustomed to such deep-wooded treks.

Peering forward, one man sat on a log, his ankle resting on the opposite knee. I saw the intermittent glow of his pipe as he smoked. His hat was pulled low, but he was dressed significantly finer than the others. Another man stood beside him, the silhouette of his gun pointed in my direction could not be mistaken.

O’Keefe shoved me roughly forward. I caught myself from falling by reaching out with my bound hands against the cracked trunk of an oak tree, it’s circumference wider than that of several men’s stretched arms. The dead oak . Griffen and I had often played on it in our childhood. It’s upper half, broken and deteriorated over time, now lay on the ground adjacent to it.

“Who fired their gun?” The man questioned angrily, but with slow and measured words.

O’Keefe stepped forward, “Sorry, uncle. He was misbehaving.”

Uncle? I heard the man’s loud exhale, even amongst the insect chatter. “Well, here we are, Lord Jaxon,” he said as he stood up, the familiar thick brows and significant nose of Mr. William Groves emerged in the lamplight. I did not hide my astonishment. Not over his involvement, I was already aware of that, but that he had come himself.

He chuckled darkly. “Now, you are a hard man to find.”

“I was right in front of you in London,” I replied sardonically. “I even danced with your daughter.”

He took a few steps forward and planted a solid facer on me. It split my lip and blood dripped freely down my chin. When I stood up straight before him, he hit me again. This time I heard a crack and felt my left cheek ache, then go numb. “That one was for stepping on her toes.”

O’Keefe, Carver, and the unnamed man all chuckled in response.

“Now…” Groves inched closer. “I know your memory has returned. I saw it in your face when I greeted you at the Drake Soiree. He tented his fingers in front of him and tapped his fingertips against his lips. “You are going to tell us everything you learned in France.”

“Or what?” I snapped.

Groves laughed. “My friend here is quite gifted at making people talk. You might say it’s his special talent.”

Suddenly a loud crunching sound broke through the trees and into the clearing. Claude and Diggs appeared with their weaponless hands raised and an additional two strange men standing behind them, guns leveled at their backs.

My heart sank. Blast!

Diggs shouted in my direction the moment he saw me, “They shot Zachary!”

The man behind him hit him in the head with the butt of his rifle. He fell to the ground holding his skull in pain.

My stomach plummeted. I looked to Claude and spoke in French, “Zachary’s down?”

He nodded.

Now, O’Keefe hit me in the ribs with his rifle sending me to my backside on the mossy ground. “What did you say?” he asked.

I fought for a breath with the wind knocked out of my lungs. “I—I only asked him if Zach was hurt.”

O’Keefe leaned closer. “Haven’t you learned by now that everyone will pay for your spineless decision to run?” He smiled shrewdly. “Including your Miss Amelia.”

I scrambled to my feet, and despite my pain and restraint limitations, adrenaline coursed through my body in spades at the mere mention of her name. I launched toward O’Keefe, slamming my head against his chest as we both tumbled to the ground. I kneed and kicked, but my opponent got the better of me, punching me twice in the gut in rapid succession.

I rolled to my side as O’Keefe hung over me, a look of sheer hatred in his eyes. “I should kill you now.”

“That’s enough,” Groves hollered. “Carver, Brady, take him, he’s yours, send word when you are through with him.” I looked up to see Groves now waving a hand in Claude and Diggs direction. “As for the others, get rid of them.”

The loud, deafening sound of a gunshot rang out.

I maneuvered to my knees, fearing for my friends, but the man lying motionless on the ground was the one who held his gun on Diggs. A second shot followed, dropping Claude’s captor, and chaos ensued as bodies scrambled in the dark.

I glanced around frantically. Who was shooting? Zach? Or Jesse? Surely not Ennis or Mr. Duncan. O’Keefe and the tall man they referred to as Brady scattered in opposite directions.

“Go! Now!” Groves shouted at Carver, pointing to the three horses tied up to a nearby tree. Groves swiftly untied his horse and mounted while Carver pulled on the rope at my neck, forcing me forward. I thankfully managed to wedge my fingers within the space between the rope and my skin, allowing minimal breath.

He tugged me in the direction of a horse that I assumed he planned to force me to ride for us to flee. As we neared, I waited for Carver to untie the horse and then I shifted and kicked it hard in the hide, startling it and sending it galloping forward.

Another yank on the rope flung me backwards to the ground. I struggled to breathe, my vision blurred, and the light was disappearing. Hostile sounds erupted all around me as I felt the bands acutely tighten, suffocating me. Then, right at the moment of my despair, they suddenly loosened, allowing a sharp intake of air.

“Jaxon!”

I blinked.

“Jax!” Hunter’s face came into view.

“Hunter?” I thought I said, but the words may not have come out correctly.

Slicing sounds surfaced only moments before my neck and hands were freed. I reached up and rubbed my injured throat. Rope burns had seared into my flesh and bled.

“H—how did you—”

“Explanations later, my friend, can you stand?”

I took several cleansing breaths and stood. Taking in the surroundings, I attempted to orient myself with what little light the moon offered. The few lanterns had either been doused or taken.

“Let’s be off, mate.” Hunter grabbed my sleeve. “O’Keefe and Groves got away.”

Down at my feet lay a motionless Carver, I could not readily see what silenced him. “Is he dead?”

“Presumably,” Hunter said as he used his boot to roll him over, then withdrew Carver’s own knife from his chest.

“Which way did O’Keefe go?” A surge of vengeance flared within me.

Hunter pointed in the direction of the house.

Damn. He’s going after Amelia again.

I seized several long inhales to restore breath to my lungs. “I need a weapon.” He quickly handed me a pistol. “I’ve got O’Keefe!” I shouted as I tore off in an unsteady run, tripping several times before I could maintain my bearing. I kept the sound of the river to my left, moving swiftly but cautiously. When the flames of a torch came into view, I felt invigorated, then suddenly clawing hands came out of nowhere and hurled me to the ground, knocking my pistol out of my hands.

As we rolled harshly along the uneven ground, I caught glimpses of O’Keefe. He laid in wait for me! Good . I was strengthened by the knowledge he had not reached Amelia. This only empowered me.

Somehow, without the previous bindings, I managed to clamber on top, striking his face in rapid succession. He fought back, thrusting a powerful blow to my chest. I rolled to the side, breathless, but without a moment to spare, I scrambled on all fours as he kicked me, forcing me down again. I thought of Amelia. If I did not end it here, he would continue… always looking for a way to harm me or those I loved.

The familiar rage that had coursed through my veins earlier was summoned and brought me to my feet as I hurled my body into him, sending us both back to the ground and into an aggressive bout, each getting the best of the other at alternating times until one final shove forced him off my back. When I heard the loud splash, I realized he went into the river.

His cries filled the air as he flailed, gasped, and gulped. I could not see well enough through the ripples, and with the fast-moving current, the quick bob of his head vanished almost immediately. I struggled to stand and rushed to the edge, grabbing a branch along the way. While I detested O’Keefe’s actions, I wished for him to face judgement, not death. I followed the bank of the river, hoping he would hold out and eventually reach the unfinished bridge. Perhaps there he could cling to a board, and I could get to him, but by the time I reached the mark and scanned the water, I no longer saw any part of him. I watched and waited.

Nothing.

Heat surged within my body and along my skin. I ran a hand down my face and it came away bloody from numerous cuts and bruises. I plunged my hands into the river and splashed icy water against my skin, bringing temporary relief to the enflamed areas.

With a heavy heart over the night’s events, I circled around and glanced over the silhouette of my hunting lodge. Only a glimmer of light shone from within. I could only trust that my friends vanquished our foes in the forest and my greatest fears of fallen friends would be minimized.