Free Bring Me the Horizon by Jennifer Bray-Weber Page B

find the nearest tavern frequented by seamen, until she spotted Cutler ducking inside the one she hovered behind. All she had to do was wait.
    Moments ago, he left, pulling hard on a bottle of rum. Without Carrion. No previous sounds of a brawl. No gunshots. Was Carrion inside?
    Patience. She needed to hold on to her patience a little longer before going inside.
    Just as she resolved to step out into the sunlight beaming down on the street, a door slammed open in the back of the alley.
    Carrion.
    Gracie flattened herself to the damp wall, daring not to breathe, praying the scoundrel didn’t see her cowering in the murk. She shoved her hand into her bag and grasped the hilt of her dagger.
    He swayed and sauntered toward her with a confidence all his own, humming some long ago tune. Hate ignited within her, burning into a raging inferno. How dare he wear that grin. How dare he be in high spirits. How dare he breathe when Sarah was dead. The bastard. Her hate flared.
    The darkness seemed to swirl in his wake like black fog. Her heart hammered, each thud threatening to break her ribs. The closer he came, the tighter her muscles wound. She inhaled deep through her nose. Alcohol, sweat, and a faint scent of perfume wafted in his wake—fuel she used to act.
    Gracie quickly stepped from her hiding place behind Carrion and stuck her knife to his back. He froze. But no sound escaped him, no sign of surprise. This but unnerved her.
    “Don’t move,” she said, her voice hoarse from impulse and fear.
    A chuckle, low and deadly, rumbled from him. “You are too late if ya mean to rob me, chit. The mutton upstairs left me penniless.”
    “Oh, I mean to rob you,” she hissed, “rob you of your miserable life.”
    His head tilted down to glimpse her in his field of vision. The lines of his profile were chasms of severity. “And you, a tiny puss, think ya can kill me?”
    “I’m holding the knife. My size is of no matter.”
    “But, lass, ya’ve forgotten one important fact.”
    No. She planned this carefully. There was nothing she’d forgotten. He only meant to scare her. ’Twas working, too. “I do not fear for my life.”
    Carrion spun so quickly, he was nothing more than a blur. Pain shot up her arm with the twist of her wrist. She yelped and Carrion snatched the dagger from her grip.
    “When you ambush yer enemy, ya don’t take the time to talk. Ya just kill.” He yanked her close and peered down, death on his putrid breath. “Otherwise ya lose yer chance.”
    Tears sprung from her eyes as much from the smarting as the truth in his words. She failed. She’d pay.
    “Pray tell, why would ya want me dead? Wait...” The veil of questions lifted off his weathered face. He’d recognized her. “Yer the witch’s sister.”
    “You killed Sarah,” she snarled through clenched teeth.
    “And, ye, a wisp of a girl, thought to seek retribution.” Carrion chortled. “Blimey. What will ya do, now?” He flicked the knife by its handle, the blade waving back and forth a mere inch from her nose. “Hmm. A better question would be what will I do?”
    “I’ll scream.”
    “Aye. I hope ya do so I can carve it from yer throat.”
    Sinking panic doused her courage. Gracie struggled uselessly against his hold.
    Carrion pricked the dagger’s tip at the base of her throat, not quite piercing her flesh, and skimmed it down to the middle of her breast.
    Hot tears blurred her vision and left a path upon her cheeks.
    “Now I’ll flay ya like I did yer bitch of a sister.”

CHAPTER 7
     
    Another shot of anger flowed through Cutler’s veins as he swigged the rum. And if he were being truthful to himself, a healthy dose of self-pity along with the warmth. But he would turn a blind eye to that fact.
    ’Twas Gracie’s fault. She lied. She must have cast a spell upon him, the witch. Nay, he didn’t believe that. Though it would be easier than blaming himself for being such a fool. More so for falling for her. She still lied and