Page 38 of The Big Bad Duke (The Shadows #9)

G ideon led the way, his booted feet silent against the cold stone floor. This house was strikingly similar to the one Leila had burned down.

Their cell had been underground, surrounded by a few empty cells. Above them, a trapdoor led to the ground floor. Fortunately, the guard had left it open when he descended to bring their evening meal.

Gideon paused at the base of the wooden ladder. He could hear voices—low, casual conversation punctuated by the occasional laugh. The sound of men at ease.

How many? he wondered, trying to distinguish the individual voices. Three, maybe four.

Gideon quickly climbed the ladder, and Leila followed him silently.

They crawled out right under the main stairs. The main hall began just around the corner, where three men were seated on the floor, playing cards in the flickering light of several oil lamps. They had their backs to him, focused entirely on their game.

Perfect.

The first man was lean and wiry, with graying hair tied back in a queue. His movements were quick and nervous as he shuffled his cards, and Gideon could see the outline of a knife at his belt.

The second was younger, broader across the shoulders, with the kind of muscle that came from years of manual labor.

The third man had his profile turned toward Gideon, revealing a face marked by an old scar that ran from his left temple to his jaw. He was the largest of the three, with thick arms and scarred knuckles.

He turned to Leila, who had positioned herself directly behind him.

“I will distract them,” he whispered, his lips barely moving. The words were so quiet they barely stirred the air between them. “You need to run past them and get us a horse.”

“I can help,” she protested, her whisper fierce despite its softness. Her grip tightened on the dagger.

“I know you can,” he whispered back, and he meant it. He had seen what she was capable of. “But I need you to secure our escape. There might be more men who will barrel down on us at any moment. And if you’re fighting alongside me, they might block our escape route.”

She hesitated, and he could see the internal struggle playing out across her features.

Finally, she nodded, though reluctance was evident in every line of her body.

Smart girl.

She offered him the dagger, but he shook his head. “Keep it. There might be more men outside.”

“But you—”

“No buts.” Gideon nudged her toward the wall to keep her out of sight from the guards. Then he turned away and took a deep breath, filling his lungs despite the protest from his damaged ribs.

He could feel his heart rate slowing as battle calm settled over him.

He gathered all his remaining strength for this crucial moment, drawing on reserves he wasn’t sure he possessed. The pain in his body seemed to fade, pushed aside by the desperate need to survive.

Quietly, he stepped into the main hall. The floorboards creaked softly under his weight, but the men at the table were too engrossed in their game to notice.

Now.

In three long strides, he closed the distance to his targets. His approach was so swift and unexpected that the men remained unaware they were being attacked until the very last moment.

The lean man with graying hair began to turn, some instinct finally alerting him to danger. His mouth started to open, probably to shout a warning, but Gideon was already on him.

He grabbed the man by the head and twisted his neck in one violent motion.

The man’s body went instantly limp, cards spilling from his slack fingers as he fell, lifeless, to the floor.

One down.

The second man—the broad-shouldered one—was rising from his seat, his hand reaching for the weapon at his hip.

But Gideon was faster. Ignoring the spike of agony that shot through his skull as he moved too quickly, he snatched the dead man’s knife from his belt and plunged it deep into the second guard’s gut.

The man’s eyes widened with shock and pain.

He gasped for air as his hand closed around Gideon’s wrist, trying to pull the blade free, but his strength was already fading as his blood poured out onto the floor.

Two down.

But the third man was larger than his companions, more experienced, and he had precious seconds to prepare while Gideon dispatched the others.

The man’s scarred face twisted with rage as he charged at Gideon. Even as he ducked the violent attack, Gideon caught a glimpse of movement in his peripheral vision. Leila had made it past the carnage and was already at the hall’s main entrance.

That’s all that matters. She’s safe.

The knowledge gave him strength, pushing back the exhaustion and pain.

The scarred man pulled out a sword—no, not a sword, a sword-cane. Gideon’s sword-cane—and swung it, putting his full weight behind each blow. Gideon managed to dodge one attempt after another, throwing himself from side to side despite the protests from his injured ribs.

Fielding another attack, Gideon moved aside and kicked his attacker in the shin with his booted heel.

The man screamed in agony and doubled over. Gideon seized the moment and smashed an elbow into the man’s face. The guard staggered back but quickly rebounded, driving his knee toward Gideon’s injured ribs.

For one terrifying moment, all Gideon could see was black. He staggered back, losing the knife in the process, and waited for his vision to return.

When it did, he saw the guard moving toward him with the sword.

Gideon dodged the attack and lunged forward.

His hands closed around the man’s thick neck as he drove his forehead into the man’s nose.

Cartilage crunched, and blood sprayed across both their faces, a sharp pain radiating from his forehead.

He shook it off quickly while the guard appeared disoriented by blood and his broken nose.

Taking advantage of the momentary confusion, Gideon searched the bloodied floor.

He quickly found what he was looking for, dropped to the ground, and rolled toward his prize.

Picking up the knife he had dropped earlier, Gideon approached the guard from behind and slit the man’s throat.

Three down.

But just as the scarred man collapsed and Gideon straightened in victory, relishing a moment of pure freedom, he heard the sounds of heavy footsteps on the stairs leading down from the upper floors.

Someone else was coming.

Damn.

When the figure appeared at the top of the stairs, Gideon’s blood turned to ice water in his veins.

He recognized the man instantly. It was the large, burly guard who had dared to proposition Leila in the most disgusting way.

Now, standing tall at the top of the stairs, Gideon could see that the man was indeed taller and broader than he was. His arms were thick as tree trunks, and his chest was broad enough to serve as a shield wall all by itself.

Unlike Gideon, he wasn’t battered and bruised from a recent beating. He wasn’t bleeding from a dozen small wounds, nor was he fighting through cracked ribs and a swollen eye.

“Well, well,” the man rumbled, his voice like grinding stone. “Look what crawled out of its cage.”

* * *

Despite Gideon’s injuries, Leila quickly realized that he didn’t require her help.

He was magnificent, she thought with a mixture of awe and terror as she watched him move.

The transformation was startling. One moment he had been a broken man barely able to stand; the next, he was a force of nature unleashed. He charged at those men with pure strength and agility that seemed to come from a deep well of determination she hadn’t known existed.

Frozen in horrified fascination, she watched as he snapped the first man’s neck like it was a child’s toy.

Gideon moved like a dancer, if dancers dealt in death instead of beauty.

She still worried about him—how could she not? But she didn’t linger to watch the rest of the outcome. She couldn’t afford to. She had her own role to play in their escape, and hesitation could mean death for both of them.

Move, Leila. He’s counting on you.

She ran outside into the cool night air. She could smell horses nearby—the distinctive scent of leather, hay, and animal sweat.

She found the horses quickly: three of them tethered near a water trough. They were sturdy animals, built for endurance rather than speed, but they would serve. She chose the largest—a dark mare with intelligent eyes that didn’t shy away when Leila approached.

Dark as night. In Osmanli, she could be Leila’s namesake.

“Easy, girl,” she whispered, running her hand along the horse’s neck. “We’re going to take a little ride.”

She mounted the mare easily, her years of practice as a child finally bearing fruit.

The horse shifted beneath her, sensing her urgency, but remained calm.

Leila guided her around the corner of the building, positioning herself where she could see the main entrance while remaining hidden in the shadows.

Gideon, where are you?

She waited, every muscle tense with anticipation. Her fingers drummed against her thigh as she counted the seconds, each one stretching into eternity. The night was eerily quiet, broken only by the distant sounds of what might have been fighting inside the building.

Thirty seconds passed. Then a minute. The silence from within became oppressive, punctuated only by the mare’s soft breathing.

Something’s wrong.

When two full minutes had passed with no sign of Gideon, Leila cursed under her breath.

She dismounted swiftly, her feet hitting the ground with barely a sound. The mare whickered softly in protest, and Leila placed a calming hand on her neck.

“Wait here,” she whispered to the horse. “I’ll be right back.”

She ran toward the building, her heart hammering against her ribs with each step. She slipped through the doorway and into the main hall. The scene that greeted her was worse than her darkest imaginings.