Deeper in Sin by Sharon Page Page B

and built like a pugilist, with arms that bulged in tight sleeves, and a head that merged into shoulders because his neck was so thick. The last one had a ferrety look, small and lithe. All three stank of smoke and foul sweat.
    All were armed with blades. Dangerous, but at least it meant they had to engage in combat and not just shoot him with a pistol.
    Cary smiled. He had his fingers on his cravat, working at its knot.
    â€œYe won’t be grinning for long,” spat the fat one in the center.
    In a split second, Cary pulled his cravat loose, then tore it free of his collar.
    The fat footpad lunged, sending his bulk forward with surprising speed. The blade glinted as the footpad swiped. Cary had wound the cravat around his wrists and held it as taut as a leather strap. He caught the footpad’s forearm in it, stopped the blow, and used the man’s momentum and the strained cravat to throw the man backward.
    But the fat assailant was back in a heartbeat, staggering forward. He slashed, but Cary feinted and moved, avoiding the thrusts.
    One slice went into his coat. Cary knew the man would stab him eventually if he shoved the knife out long enough. It was just the odds. Maybe three blows in a hundred would be what he needed.
    So don’t let him get in one hundred blows, he told himself.
    Cary’s leg swung up as he darted from another thrust, and his momentum sent his boot into the man’s jaw. Howling with pain, the man flew backward.
    Hulking like a gorilla, the second one came forward. Gorilla Man circled, moving slowly and clumsily. He lunged and slashed, but Cary moved like lightning. He had noticed a pile of discarded barrels in the alley—mostly ripped apart by children in search of wood to burn for their families. There were a few pieces left. Cary jumped around the second villain—Gorilla Man—and grabbed one of the nail-studded slats. Holding it in two hands, he blocked thrust after thrust.
    He knew he had let himself get on the side of the alley, away from Miss Ashley.
    He had to get to her. But the first bastard—Fat One—was back in the midst. With his feeble weapon, Cary fended off the blows from Gorilla Man and Fat One.
    Where was the third? Cary landed a kick to the chest of Gorilla Man, and the bulky footpad went down with a thud.
    Then Cary heard it—a sound that paralyzed him. A woman’s scream. A cry of pure fear and shock. Miss Ashley. Cary had found the third bastard.
    He shoved Fat One back and jumped over Gorilla Man. The blade came up and caught his inner thigh. Pain shot through him.
    Cary had been to war. He knew damn well how to fight through pain.
    The third villain, a small man who looked like a weasel, had grabbed Miss Ashley and dragged her toward the alley.
    Miss Ashley was kicking and attempting to punch the man. She cried out in a sound that sounded like frustration, not terror now, and she bit the man’s arm.
    That bought her freedom, and she hauled up a piece of the same barrel. She rose to strike—
    Cary ran toward her, his leg ice-cold but also burning with pain. Miss Ashley suddenly made a strange whimpering sound. She staggered back from the third weasel-like villain and let the wood drop.
    She looked horrified. Was it because she was just about to hit him?
    As she staggered backward, Fat One went for her. Even with his bulk, he was moving faster than Cary was with his wound.
    So Cary ran at the fat bastard and drove his piece of wood hard into the base of the man’s spine. The man spasmed, jerking back. Cary grasped him and pulled him a few feet away from Miss Ashley. Her face was white—paler than moonlight. Her eyes were huge.
    â€œGo!” he shouted. “Go for my carriage—”
    A huge first slammed into his face, snapping his head back.
    Lights exploded in front of his eyes.
    He couldn’t see. Where was the bloody knife?
    Even down in the muck of a battlefield, believing it was hopeless, Cary had