She whirled as heavy footfalls approached. There wasn’t time to reload or aim before one of the remaining thugs, running from Marco’s shots, plowed into her. She went sprawling, losing her gun and her handbag. Hell.

She just had time to clamber to her feet before the thug swung at her, and she ducked beneath the blow. They danced like this, as he threw punches and she evaded the hits. He had size, strength, and reach on her. Impossible for her to match him that way.

Light spilled on the ground behind the thug, cast by one of the lamps.

She waited. Until the precise moment when the thug threw another punch, and his equilibrium was off. Then she moved. She hiked up her skirts and kicked him in the chest. Unbalanced and propelled by the momentum of the kick, the thug stumbled backward, right into the pool of light.

There was the crack of a rifle. Her attacker jerked as a bullet hit his arm. He shouted in pain. The thug looked at her, then into the darkness where the shot originated from. Cursing, he ran off, vanishing into the night and leaving behind only spatters of blood upon the ground.

Eva couldn’t risk exposing herself, not when Rockley might still be lurking around the construction site, but she vowed that when she saw Simon later, she’d thank him for his expert marksmanship.

Picking up her gun, she spun back to help Jack and saw him standing over Ballard, splayed on the ground. The other man struggled to get to his hands and knees, but his limbs collapsed beneath him. Jack himself was covered in cuts and already darkening bruises, his coat torn, and blood dripping from the corner of his mouth. But he was alive. He still held the case of money.

Glancing up, he saw her. He took a step toward Eva. Then stopped when Rockley emerged from behind a crate with a pistol trained right at Jack’s head.

“My money,” he snapped. “Hand it over.”

Eva raised her gun.

“Get that thing on the ground and kick it toward me,” Rockley hissed over his shoulder at Eva, “or I’ll plant a bullet in his brain.”

She had no choice but to set her gun down and push it to Rockley with the toe of her boot. Leaving Jack wounded and vulnerable as he faced off against his greatest enemy.

*   *   *

Jack glared at Rockley, hate pumping through him. Leave it to the bastard to step in after his hired bruisers had softened Jack up.

“Hand over my money.”

Jack’s entire body was tense as iron. He was aware of Eva, watching him. He felt the weight of the case in his hand. It carried more than pound notes: a means for Miss Jones to rebuild her life, and some way to put Edith to rest.

But the gun pointed at his head had its own convincing argument.

Jack stepped forward quickly and swung the bag, slamming it into Rockley’s forearm. The gun flew from Rockley’s hand. Before the weapon even hit the ground, Jack wrapped his hand around Rockley’s throat.

Eyes bulging and face red, Rockley scrabbled at Jack’s fingers, trying to break his hold. But Jack kept his hand tight around the bastard’s neck. He lifted him up, so Rockley’s feet dangled.

“Feels good,” Jack growled. “Just a fragile bit of bone and flesh. So easily crushed.”

“Dalton, please.” Rockley could barely gather enough breath to wheeze. “Give you … anything.”

“Can you give me Edith? Can you give me back five years of my life?”

Rockley only stared at him with wild, terrified eyes, his hands clutching at Jack’s wrist.

“You’re scared,” Jack rumbled. Pure, clean hate burned through him. “Want to live. Feeling alone, desperate. This is what Edith felt. As she slowly died. And now you feel it, you son of a bitch. I want you to feel it. I want you to look at my face, and know who’s killing you and why.”

Softly, Eva said, “Jack.” Not a plea or a demand. Just the speaking of his name.

His hand still tight around Rockley’s neck, Jack lowered him to the ground.

“But I ain’t going to kill you,” Jack said. “Killing you’s too merciful. I want you to live. You’re going to suffer, Rockley. Every moment of every day. Edith’s at peace now, but you won’t have any. Never again.”

Jack uncurled his fingers from their grip on Rockley’s throat. He took a step back and watched the nobleman gag and cough like a chimney sweep.

He turned at Eva’s approach. She held a hand out to him. “Let’s go.”

Jack reached for her. Their fingers barely brushed, then impact jarred through him. Ballard’s heavy weight bore down on him. The bloke looked like raw meat, cut and bleeding, yet he was relentless, pinning Jack in the dirt, his arm across Jack’s throat.

“You and me ain’t done,” Ballard muttered.

Jack tried to plow his knee into Ballard, but the younger man twisted to avoid the blow. Jack continued to thrash, striving to get a hit in somewhere. Didn’t help that he was already battered and exhausted from their earlier brawl.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Eva pull a revolver from her handbag.

Then the gun fell from her hand, clattering to the dirt, as Rockley grabbed her from behind. He wrapped one arm around her, pinning her arms to her sides. In his other hand, he held a long, thick nail, and pressed its tip against Eva’s neck.

She twisted, trying to break free, but he dug the sharp tip of the nail into her skin. A bead of red appeared.

Jack’s eyes clouded. He thought he’d been angry before.

“A little less fight,” Rockley spat. “That means you, too, Dalton.”

Fury tore through Jack. It burned along his veins, set fire to his muscles. Gave him strength beyond any he’d ever had. He grabbed Ballard’s wrist and shoved the man’s arm off his throat. He twisted Ballard’s entire arm. The man groaned as something in his limb snapped.

Jack pushed to standing, throwing Ballard off. Fist like a freight train, he rammed it into Ballard’s face. Bones crunched beneath Jack’s knuckles, and the hired muscle collapsed onto the ground. Black spatters of blood landed in the dirt. Ballard’s eyes rolled back. Though his chest moved, the rest of him didn’t.

Panting, steaming with hate and swaying on his feet, Jack faced Rockley. Eva held herself still beneath the sharp point of the nail, but she looked as angry as Jack felt. Marco and Simon had to be holding their fire, concerned that they might hit her.

Rockley glanced at Ballard’s prone form. “No wonder I hired you, Dalton. You were always the best at administering beatings.”

“Saved one for you.”

“I’ll decline your generous offer.” His gaze flicked to the case Jack held. “Let’s try this again. Hand me the money. And if you make the slightest move, the merest twitch, then I give this woman a new means of breathing.” He pressed the nail harder against Eva’s neck. She didn’t make a sound as more blood welled and dripped down beneath the collar of her dress.

It was all Jack could do to keep from launching himself at Rockley and tearing the bastard’s head clean off his body. But the long night had taken its toll on him. His legs felt so goddamn heavy. He wouldn’t be fast enough to reach Rockley before the son of a bitch stabbed Eva.

Moving stiffly, Jack closed the distance between him and Rockley. As he got nearer, he saw white lines of rage around Eva’s mouth.

“Slowly,” Rockley warned as Jack lifted his hand holding the case.

Jack did as Rockley commanded, moving at a drugged pace. Rockley snapped out his free hand and grabbed the case. Still holding on to Eva, he edged back, putting distance between them and Jack.

“Now you let her go,” Jack growled.

“I may as well put a gun in your hand if I do.” He glanced down at Eva. “She comes with me. The same terms apply. If you make a single move, or,” he added, raising his voice, “if your friends out there try to shoot me, then I stab her. Am I clear, gentlemen?”

There was a long silence before Marco’s and Simon’s voices came from out of the darkness. “Clear.”

Rockley started walking backward, taking Eva with him.

Enraged at his own helplessness, Jack could only watch as Rockley crept farther away, holding Eva.

“I’ll make you pay, Rockley,” Jack said through gritted teeth.

“No you won’t” was the answer.

Eva released her hold on Rockley’s arm. She speared her hand between her throat and the nail, pushing her palm against its tip. Blood dripped down her hand as she tried to shove Rockley’s arm away.

Jack leaped forward. He grabbed Rockley’s arm and pulled it back. As he did, she ducked out from Rockley’s grip.

Knowing she was safe, Jack launched himself at Rockley.

He and Rockley crashed into a stack of girders. Jack pinned him against the metal beams. As Rockley struggled, snarling and cursing, Jack pried the nail out of his hand.

Holding Rockley’s gaze with his own, Jack rammed the nail into the bastard’s chest.

Rockley’s eyes went round and wide. He stared down in disbelief at the nail sticking out between his ribs. Blood soaked the front of his elegant shirt. He dropped the case. Feebly, he clawed at the nail, trying to pry it from him, but blood made the metal slippery, and he couldn’t find a good grip.

Jack stepped back. He watched Rockley slide down the stack of girders, until the man sat on the ground with his legs sticking out like a doll. The case filled with money lay beside him.

“You can’t…” he gasped.

“I did,” Jack answered.

Rockley turned his glassy eyes to Eva, who came to stand beside Jack. “Please … as a woman … you must help…”

“As a woman,” she said, “I’m happy to watch you die. You won’t hurt any more of my sex. Ever again.”