It was the taste of something awful that woke Charlie. Smacking her lips, vision blurry, vertigo almost emptied her belly right there on the grubby floor her cheek smushed against.

Half her body was pins and needles, her fingers twitching and useless from how tightly her hands had been tied behind her back.

“Well, sleeping beauty looks like she’s starting to wake.”

That cocky drawl and Charlie forced her eyes open. The room may have spun when she rolled on her bound arms to see him, but that didn’t stop her from glaring at the cause of her discomfort.

Tommy Kennedy. The handsome man smiled down, crouched over her; he even had the nerve to brush a stray hair out of her eyes. “I gotta admit, Blackbird. I am a little disappointed. Snatching you was… easy.” One manicured finger traced the slope of her cheek, Tommy pulling back when she ineptly tried to bite. “Well, I guess no one lives up to their reputation these days.”

“What the fuck, Tommy?”

All at once that masculine beauty was marred by a sneer. “Fuck is exactly what this is. You… you, Blackbird, are one huge FUCK. As in in the fucking way. You had your chance to make this easy - to have your pretty little life, with your pretty little place in it. Had you done as you were told, you might have even been content as my wife - once the rules were established, of course.” He pressed his thumb to the scar on her lower lip. “But no, you bitched to Radcliffe and fucked with my place in the gang. You fucked the redneck. Then you fucking killed the men I hired to fix the problem. They were only going to rough you up a little, nothing a whore’s daughter wouldn’t be able to shake off. I was even going to be the one to save you. Wouldn’t that have been nice?”

Nauseous, Charlie tried to push up from the ground. When hands came to help her, she was unsure what was worse: Lying vulnerable, or squatting on her knees so Tommy might tidy her dress to cover her thighs. “So you’re gonna crow, then kill me? Ain’t that cliché?”

“Oh no, Lottie. You’ve got value. All that press today… You’re a hit in Chicago, kid. Little Miss Charlotte Elliot, niece of Beaumont Radcliffe, preparing to walk down the aisle.”

How did any of it matter when it was clear torture was on the menu? Victims were not dragged to warehouses so pleasant conversation might take place. They weren’t stuck in rooms where no one might hear them scream. “And the two burly strangers standing at your back?”

That charming smile was back, Tommy winking. “They’re going to hurt you.”

Charlie knew full well what was coming. “It’d be smarter to shoot me outright.” She smiled coldly. “Cause I swear to god, if I walk out of this room, I’ll slit your throat.”

Patting her on the head as if she were some cute pet, Tommy pretended she had not spoken at all. “Beaumont was an interesting boss - artistic. I learned a lot from the son of a bitch over the years. But imagine my surprise when I find that little Blackbird, his favorite runt of a scampering servant, was this woman kneeling pretty before me.” He took her neck, gripped her chin, and squeezed just enough to stop breath. “And then to find he was giving that scrawny little bastard of a whore recognition as his kin. He surprised me.” Tommy tutted when her face bloomed red and Charlie fought the rope at her wrists. “Not many men can surprise me these days.”

Showing teeth, Charlie exhausted the last of her breath to hiss, “That’s because you’re too fucking stupid to know what’s going on half the time.”

A backhand rocked her hard enough that Charlie crashed hard against cold ground. A foreign laugh sounded - the men in bad suits waiting by the door thinking the show rather funny. They stared right back at her when she contorted her neck to measure their approach, both smiling at the sad picture she made splayed and struggling.

It was about to begin, but Charlie was not going down without one last jab. “You know why Beau wanted me to marry you, Tommy? He knew you couldn’t cut it - wanted me to take the reins.”

Standing over her, his shoe right by her skull, Tommy tapped her reddened cheek with his toe. “I’m sure that’s what he told you. You would have been a convenient little leash. But the truth is, Beaumont’s an old fool. Though I got to give it to him, he did have the right idea about one thing.”

“Oh, yeah? And what would that be?”

“That me marrying a Radcliffe would simplify my ascent to head of the gang, and glorify my rise in the eyes of all Chicago.”

“You are delusional if you think Beau is gonna let this slide. He’ll fucking kill you, Tommy.”

“No need to worry your pretty little head. Beau’s already dead...”

Even if she’d seen it happen to other men a thousand times over, it could not be true. A man like Beau, someone so grand, could never have been brought down by swine like Tommy. But Charlie knew where they were. The building Tommy had stashed her in was coarse red brick. A place she’d skulked as a girl - the Radcliffe storage yard.

And if they were there… Tommy ruled the roost.

Charlie went pale, she swallowed. “And who’s gonna back you once those loyal to Beau call for your head? No outside men, no wanna be gangsters, are going to be able to hold a city like this. Chicago won’t bow to interlopers or pretty boy graspers. If Matthew don’t kill you, the Italians will!”

“The Italians and I… we have an understanding.”

“YOU FUCKING TRAITOR!”

Tommy crouched down to wipe a string of spittle from her lips. “And you should know, your redneck, his kin, were gunned down the moment they rolled into town this fine evening. That boy… Eli… hear tell he cried like a baby - just like you did when you got shot in the belly.”

The thought of Matthew lying dead... butchered. Her lip was shook, and it felt all too real. “You’re lying.”

Tommy grabbed her by the hair so she might look him in the eye, the man whispering menacingly sweet. “Every last one of them died while you were swilling champagne with Martha. Your party was a great distraction, Beau’s best all there to babysit you while I gutted that bastard myself. So you see, ain’t no one coming to save you. Not Beaumont, not your hick.”

It felt like someone had scooped out her insides, but that didn’t change her nature. “I ain’t never needed saving.”

“We’ll see how you feel in a couple hours... If you beg, I might just listen.” Tommy’s next bark was for the men at the door. “Work her over, but no bruises can show for her big day tomorrow.” He slapped her cheek just hard enough to be annoying, talking with each tap. “Once you understand your place and learn what’s in store for you when you act up, we got an appointment at city hall, Lottie. I would prefer to see that pretty face intact when we pose for the papers. And don’t worry, I won’t touch you until I’m certain there’s no hick spawn in need of scraping from you belly.”

They’d ripped off her dress, leaving Charlie in a slip and bloomers. By the end of the first hour, the scraps were torn and bloody.

No matter the pain, her mouth wouldn’t quit. She hissed out every last curse she knew - threatened their mothers, their sisters - swore she’d chew off their cocks.

Another fist punched a kidney. She spit up and pretended she wasn’t crying.

Through it all, Tommy outlined a litany of rules. “You will obey, smile, and bat your eyelashes for the press, little wife. You will only speak when I tell you to speak.”

“F... fu...ck you.”

She was shoved down on her belly, her legs pulled taut before the crack of a belt hit her back in rapid succession. But it didn’t stop there. That biting leather traveled down her buttocks, over the length of her legs, and smacked with the greatest fury against the soles of her feet.

And God help her, but Charlie started screaming. Like all the others who had been tortured in that room over the years, no fucking soul could hear.

On it went. Hour after hour until she no longer had the strength to fight the rope cutting into her wrists, until she no longer made noise when kicked, punched, or whipped. She just stared forward and wondered why Matthew’s ghost hadn’t come to get her.

Probably cause she was going to burn in Lucifer’s pit...

A square of cloth dabbed under her eyes, Tommy gentle. “I don’t think you’re listening, Lottie.”

She wasn’t. All she heard was the ringing in her ears and the broken, overloud sound of each breath she could hardly suck in.

Tommy snapped his fingers before her eyes, saw her rapid blinks, and cooed. “Had enough, huh?” He cut one of Charlie’s hands free, leaving a coil still tied tight like a tether around the other. “All you gotta say is you’ll be a good little wife.”

Blood rushing back into her hand brought another new pain. Pins and needles set her fingers twitching.

“Kill me.”

“You’re no good to me dead. At least not yet.” Tommy smiled as he fingered her sweat-soaked hair. “Antonio, why don’t you show the girl your idea of a good time.”

Unseen hands flipped up her slip, her panties were yanked down, and like a shot, Charlie shrieked and began to fight like a rabid alley cat.

Everyone had their breaking point.

Antonino didn’t get her bloomers past her knees before Charlie started sobbing, reaching out her crooked fingers towards Tommy, “Please don’t let him.”

Tommy took her chin, turned up her tear stained face, and murmured, “There now, Lottie. I can be reasonable. You have something to say to me?”

Blubbering too badly to make sense, the only word understood was, “please,” over and over.

The collected, soft smile of her tormentor grew. “Don’t cry, sweetheart. So long as you obey, do as you’re told, and serve your husband as a good wife should, I won’t let my men touch you.” He cradled her bleeding body against his shoulder, the softness of his voice a lie. “But if you do disappoint, or use that tongue in any fashion that does not please me - next time after they beat you, I’ll let them fuck you in ways that won’t put a bastard in your belly.”

He wanted her to swear faithfulness, to watch her sell herself into servitude in exchange for reprieve. But the only thing he truly offered was a lifetime of hell. She’d been momentarily weak... she’d faltered. But what difference was rape now versus rape later?

It took a moment for her head to clear, for vision to sharpen, and intention to turn razor sharp. There were only two broken words Charlie could offer. “Fufffufuuck yoouuu.”

Furious, shoving her back to the floor, Tommy roared, “Hurt her! Hurt her bad!”

She didn’t scream when dragged to her hands and knees, she said nothing when pawing hands began to poke between her legs. And thank god she didn’t, because if she had, she might have missed the sounds of distant deliverance.

Masses of gunfire.

Each cold pop was near enough to mean only one thing. “Sounds like not all of Beau’s men were keen on having a traitor play boss, Tommy. They’re comin for you.”

She got a kick in the head for her lip, a kick that dropped her.

There was sweet silence, the men far too busy scrambling at Tommy’s orders.

“Antonio, take care of her. Marco, you’re with me.”

One guard, one vengeful woman, and one piece of discarded rope wet with her blood hanging conveniently from her wrist...

Once they were alone, Antonio flipped her onto her welt covered back and tried to jam his cock between her thighs. All he got for his trouble was a garrote around his neck, twisted by a woman with nothing left to lose.

The Italian tried to fight back, slamming her down against the floor. All it did was tighten her grip. He went red, then purple, then blue, Charlie pulling hard enough her bound wrist dripped blood between them.

In a matter of minutes, the goon fell full upon her, eyes bulging. Even so, Charlie did not let up the garrote’s hold until the bastard’s soul dropped straight down to hell.

He was a heavy motherfucker, but she was past pain – past feeling.

Rolling him off, she took the revolver tucked into the bastard’s belt. She ignored the burn at the bottoms of her feet, and scrambled as fast as unsteady legs could carry her.

Using the wall for support, Charlie stumbled out of the building – falling, standing, forcing herself forward. Beau’s office wasn’t far, and the near sound of breaking glass and blasting guns promised her the revolt was far from over.

She stumbled on.

Behind a barricade of cars, Beaumont’s loyal men shot up the front offices.

And he was there.

Radcliffe... with that frightening look in his eye, led the assault. He was pale, had a wound bleeding from his gut, another in the shoulder. And he was losing.

Charlie clicked into tunnel vision. Raising the hand gripping her stolen pistol, she aimed right for the Italian scum shooting at her old boss.

Standing in the dark, unseen, gave her the advantage. Charlie pulled the trigger; the foremost Italian was shot straight through the throat. His buddy’s head exploded, and the other man who hurt her – he looked up just in time to see her, so Charlie might enjoy his face when she shot him in the cock.

Firing two more times in rapid succession, two more bodies fell to the ground, the front ranks of Tommy’s borrowed men broken.

Dropping her empty revolver, Charlie stumbled through the remaining crossfire to rob a corpse of his loaded colt 45. She checked the chamber, ignored the sounds of someone shouting her name, and killed every man between her and the side door, before shoving her way through.

And then there he was. Tommy crouched for cover behind Beaumont’s overturned desk, three men hunkered beside him.

Three shots; three fresh corpses.

The walls grew splattered with red, the ground pooled red, but all Charlie saw was hate. Tommy dared to meet her eye, to stand and face his death.

Chest rising and falling, Charlie aimed her revolver one last time and pulled the trigger. A telltale click of an empty chamber was all she got for the effort.

Tommy laughed.

There was more than one way to kill a man with a firearm. Taking the weapon by its heated barrel, she swung at him, keen to beat him to death. Tommy’s nose shattered; blood got in her eyes. A second swing knocked out his front tooth.

But he was bigger; he wasn’t hurt like she was.

Tommy landed a solid hook to her jaw, knocking her head hard enough she saw stars.

Flying at him with teeth and claws, Charlie was caught mid-air when an arm came around her middle. Ripped off a man she needed to kill, she twisted like a snake while a blur ran past. Another took her place, beating Tommy bloody amidst roars and the crack of breaking bone.

Charlie kicking, shrieking, was not herself. But Beaumont spoke at her ear, talking to his little girl like one talked to a frightened animal. “I got you, Blackbird. Be still now, Lottie.”

“I GOTTA KILL HIM!”

The arms around her ribs tightened, sharp pain stole her breath. Unable to breathe, Charlie went limp, choking.

The beast on top of a ruined Tommy turned at her horrible noise, Matthew calling out to his woman. “Charlotte.”

She was finally dying, and he’d finally come to take her away from the pain. She whispered with such sorrow, such hope, “You’re dead. Tommy, he told me you were dead.”

Matthew Emerson looked right at her, blood saturating his shirt. Charlie’s shaking hands reached out to touch the apparition. The rope was still tied tight around her left wrist, her fingers purple and swollen, but forgotten so she could cling to the phantom.

Her voice broke; she started to cry. “I love you, Matthew.”

Charlie’s slip was in tatters, bloody and dirty, stinking of sweat. There were cuts and gashes, more bruises than he could count, but Matthew untangled her from Radcliffe and held her.

Charlotte went limp.

Nurses stared wide-eyed at the horribly beaten woman rushed into their hospital. The doctors ordered Matthew to stay behind - tried to take her away. He would not allow it. He never left her side no matter what they were doing to her.

Through it all, Charlie made no sound of pain, not until a fever took hold. The doctors warned him that with signs of internal damage and the subsequent swelling, Charlotte would not live through the night. Best they could do was make her comfortable.

Matthew said the only thing he could think of to make the men try harder. “This is Beaumont Radcliffe’s niece. She dies, you die.”

Those seemed to be the magic words to get everyone moving. So much was done, Matthew could hardly keep up. He refused to even leave so his own wound might be stitched closed. He made them do it there, so he could hold Charlotte’s hand and talk to her as she seized.

When she vomited blood, when she shivered and sweated like the fires of hell were blazing around her, he refused to let go.

She kept breathing.

Pain, even dulled by morphine, is a funny thing. It nagged at the comatose woman, scratched her sleep apart, and pulled her out of a mad world of noise and bad dreams. When Charlie’s eyes finally opened, Matthew was asleep, his forehead resting against her thigh, his hand in hers.

She just looked at him, confused, exhausted. Charlie squeezed his fingers.

The man startled, Matthew’s head shooting up.

Charlie smiled as best she could manage. “I love you.”

Matthew’s wide-eyed look of utter relief was heartbreaking. He surged up and kissed her, just as he had kissed her sleeping lips over the last five nights of torment. He breathed in her breath, giving it back with his own declaration, “I love you, Charlotte Elliot. I’ve loved you from the moment I clamped eyes on you in the Willards’ barn.”

At the sound of her crying, Matthew swiped his thumb under her eyes. “Sweet girl, you’re safe. I got you now.”

“I thought you were dead.”

Crooning into her hair, he swore, “I’m not gonna die on you.”

He got her quiet, seeing she was too tired to talk. So he just sat there, holding her hand, stroking her, and smiling just enough to make her eyes shine as he buzzed for the doctor.

An assessment was made, Charlie poked at until she just about socked the physician. Once the doctor was finished, warm broth was brought in. Matthew snatched the tray from the nurse, cocking his head towards the door so the intruder might leave. He would tend his woman himself.

As he fed Charlie, he told her Beaumont was well, assured the girl his family was safe.

She slept quietly for the first time since arriving.

The next time she woke, Martha was there blubbering all over her.

Charlie, hated to see a lady as proud as Martha reduced to tears. “I’m fine.” Her attention went to Beau. Sizing up the man who met her eye but looked like he’d aged ten years in ten days. “He dead?”

“You never need to worry about Tommy again.”

After the hours of humiliation and pain Tommy had favored her with, all Charlie could say was, “I hope it was gruesome.”

Beaumont’s men had found the room with blood splattered all over the walls. They’d found her torn bloomers on the floor. And they’d found the corpse she’d left behind. “You look like hell.”

Properly laughing with a broken rib wasn’t possible. “Hey, you would have been proud of me, Beau. I took that beating like a champ. I didn’t fold.”

But she had, even if it had only been one short moment, and it was there all over her face.

A man who could manage poise at the snap of a finger, blinked those baby blues. Fucking Beaumont Radcliffe teared up. “I’m always proud of you, son.”

She hadn’t heard him call her that since the old days. “I’m a girl.”

“I know.” Beau reached for his cigarette case, unsteady hands placing one between his lips. “Matthew, why don’t you we step into the hall and let the women catch up?”

Matthew’s look at the mere suggestion he leave Charlotte’s side was nothing short of a death threat.

“Go on, Matthew,” Charlie urged. Someone had to comfort Beau, and she was in no condition to do it. “You’ve been cooped up in here for days. Take a walk. Martha can keep me company.”

Making it clear he was not pleased, Matthew did as he was told. Once the men were in the hall, the gangster lit his cigarette and let out a breath. “Leave her be tonight. I’ve been keepin Tommy on ice for you. He’s healed up enough to truly feel what he has coming.”

Watching Charlotte through the blinds, seeing her sniff as she talked to Martha, was killing him. Clenched fists, arms so tense they could have bent iron, Matthew nodded.

Radcliffe stared towards the same scene. “Martha will stay with her. After all that was done, it will be good for Lottie to have a woman around - if you get my meaning.”

Matthew’s voice was low. “She told me what happened. She told me everything...”

Radcliffe took a drag, he watched his girls. “Maybe she did, maybe she didn’t. Don’t matter. It’s her story to tell anyway she likes.”

Pale eyes left the window, Matthew turned towards the man ultimately responsible. “You did this to her. This was your fault.”

And that’s where the younger man was wrong. Radcliff pulled the cigarette from his mouth. “But it isn’t that simple, is it? Deep down you know, I’m the reason she survived it.”

There was nothing Matthew could do, no real way he could strike at Radcliffe without hurting Charlotte. “The day you die, I am gonna dance on your grave.”

“No you won’t. You’ll be too busy seeing to your grieving wife. She’ll take it real hard. Lottie is my girl.”

“She’s my girl now.”

When Charlie was fast asleep, Matthew entrusted her to Nathaniel, Eli, and Martha, so he might keep that appointment with Tommy. Beaumont was waiting for him, his jacket removed, shirtsleeves rolled up.

In the same room still stinking of Charlotte’s blood, they spent the night showing Tommy Kennedy the true face of pain.

Before he died, things had been done to him that were ungodly, meted out by two men with absolutely no remorse.

And then it was over.

No word was spoken. Matthew simply left the old man to clean up the mess.

When he arrived at the hospital, he found Charlotte smiling to see him. “See, you needed good rest and a decent meal, Matthew. You look refreshed.”

Matthew nodded in agreement and went back to his customary seat, shooing Nathaniel off with a dangerous glare. When her hand was in his, he took a deep breath, and told her he loved her, no care for who was listening.