Total pages in book: 179
Estimated words: 165476 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 827(@200wpm)___ 662(@250wpm)___ 552(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 165476 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 827(@200wpm)___ 662(@250wpm)___ 552(@300wpm)
Breathless, Ned ran up to the heroic man, whom he was ready to sacrifice for his own cause, and slammed the side of his head with the grip of his gun so hard Butcher Tom got to take a frantic, wheezing inhale. Ned put the stranger’s round head in a hold and dragged him back even as the thick elbow slammed into his stomach as if this man were the present day Goliath.
“Stay. Still. Or I’ll kill you. Don’t you fucking understand English?” Ned yelled, tensing his muscles to withstand the power behind the punches. Panic shot into his brain when the large body thrashed against him, and it became clear that if this stranger managed to spin around, Ned would have to choose whether to save his own life or let this mountain of a man decide his fate. Ned needed to stop him from squirming, and fast, without the risk of accidentally pulling the trigger.
Tom rose, pale and gasping for air. But before Ned could have asked for his aid, Tom’s hand dove to the large sheath at his hip, and blood exploded into Ned’s face the moment the Butcher swung his cleaver at the passenger’s throat. The blade sank in deep, cutting tendons, muscle, and cartilage. When Ned staggered back, Tom knocked the stranger to the floor and cut his head off with two more blows.
The one man who’d chosen to react and protect a fellow passenger lay dead, wide eyes staring at the ceiling from a head parted from his shoulders. He had such a pleasant face, even if marked by razor burn.
Murdered by a man who deserved to be hung a hundred times over.
The shock dulled Ned’s senses, but he still heard all the screams erupting inside the car as Tom stood, his bandana damp with blood and sticking to his face to reveal its contours. This was all Ned’s fault. Numb, he pulled himself up, barely capable of keeping his body straight. A few seats down the aisle, the older man whom Cole had robbed was panting heavily, with both hands pressed to his ribcage.
Ned took a step toward him, shocked by the coppery taste on his lips, and when he realized what it was, his eyes flickered with hundreds of little particles swarming around the objects in front of him, and replacing sharp vision with flecks of color.
The beat of his own heart was the only sound he heard when Tom hurried down the aisle and caught up with the girl in the pink dress, who’d cowered behind an empty seat. He pulled her up by the hair, but before she managed to beg, the cleaver sliced her throat open, turning the pink bodice of her dress red.
The earlier screams stopped, as if in that moment all hope died.
“That’s what happens to those who don’t listen!” The blood-stained butcher yelled, and when he turned around, walking down the aisle at a leisurely pace, Ned was twelve again, staring at the man he was powerless against.
He wanted to flinch away from the unwanted touch but remained still when Tom squeezed his shoulder, smiling under the drenched bandana. The girl’s final gurgle still rang in Ned’s ears as if he’d been hit on the head and was now stuck with the sound resonating in his skull. When Tom pulled him into a brief hug, Ned was too stiff to resist him.
“My boy. Don’t you think I’ll forget this,” he said before pushing Ned along the aisle, past all the people who’d wake up to nightmares about this moment for months to come.
He had not meant for that poor man to die, nor for the girl to meet such a cruel end, but his agreement with the Pinkertons was dirty business, and his wishes meant very little until he saw it through to the end. Was the inability to save someone equal to being guilty of their death? Ned didn’t know anymore.
When he looked up, nauseated from the taste of innocent blood world, he spotted Cole at the end of the second car, and while the swarming dots distorted the familiar features, the sleek black outfit made his identity clear.
“We’re done here,” Tom called out before Ned stumbled out of the train, to grass that dipped under the weight of his guilt. It was already dark, but he noticed Nugget’s pale form anyway and dragged his feet toward his horse, out of breath by the time he grabbed his saddle and pressed his face to his friend’s warm neck.
At this point, did it even matter that he worked for the Pinkertons? That he was a part of a scheme to bring down the Gotham Boys? That he hadn’t pulled the trigger once? He was the same kind of scum as the gang he was now part of.