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fast. Tremors racked her body, violent shivers threatening to unseat her and tumble her to the ground, where she risked being trampled under the horse’s hooves. Maybe that would be for the best. It certainly couldn’t be any worse than the future these men had planned for her, especially the one with the cold hands and dead voice.
    Devil pulled his horse to a stop and alighting, he signaled for Finn and Moose to join him. “Stay with the horses,” he ordered Carver. Best to keep the man away from the girl. His nose was already swollen, and a large bruise was spreading beneath eyes lit with an unsteady rage.  
    The horse beneath Jacqueline shifted, and her body teetered precariously in the saddle as her riding companion climbed down from behind her. A moment later, she was sliding from the horse’s back, her feet touching the ground and her legs buckling.
    Moose reached for Jacqueline, juggling her roughly in an attempt to keep her on her feet. He’d never handled a lady before, and his attempts were clumsy, at best.  
    Her hands still tied in front of her, Jacqueline struggled to gain her feet. The hood slipped and a sudden flash of sight revealed thick fog, an empty street, and a broken sign. The cracked and faded image of an anvil and hammer disappeared as her hood was tugged back into place.  
    “Get her inside,” Devil ordered, though he wasn’t worried about being seen. These streets belonged to him, and the residents knew better than to concern themselves with his business.
    Jacqueline was led down a steep set of stairs, each one shallow and slick beneath her slippers. A door opened, the hinges groaning violently, and the clang of iron echoed somewhere in the distance.  
    Jacqueline stumbled off the last step, but a hand on her arm caught her and guided her around a corner. The air turned warm, the cleansing fog replaced with the smell of mildew and earth. They were in a cellar, if she had to guess, or somewhere below ground.
    “In here,” Moose muttered, leading the girl into a small storage room.  
    Jacqueline pulled to a halt as the hand left her arm, leaving her helpless. She reached for the hood.
    “Leave it,” Finn ordered, grabbing her wrists and drawing her to the side of the room. Quickly, his movements efficient, he tied her wrists to a ring screwed into the wall. Used to secure barrels of smuggled brandy to the wall, it would serve a different purpose tonight.
    “There’s a blanket at your feet,” Finn told her, “and water, should you need it. Someone will be by to check on you later.”
    “What’s going to happen to me?” Jacqueline asked, her voice loud under the hood. Her breath moistened the rough burlap, scenting the air until she could taste it on her tongue.
    “Nothing,” Finn assured her, “as long as your father does what he’s told.”
    Jacqueline felt the man move away, and the air around her suddenly turned cold. She followed the sounds of his feet crossing the room. He didn’t go far, and she had the impression the room was small. She heard more shuffled footsteps and the low murmur of voices. Then, silence.
    A moment later, Jacqueline flinched at the unmistakable sound of a door in the distance slamming shut.
    Slowly, Jacqueline slid to the ground. The movement drew her wrists up over her head, the rope growing taut. Resting her forehead against the inside of her arm, the trembling finally gave way to tears. Great, gasping sobs racked her body, and panic broke over her in waves.  
    She had no idea where she was, though she was relatively safe and unhurt, for now. She would be thankful for small favors and hold on to the small hope that the man had been telling the truth. Her father would do whatever these men wanted; she had to trust that. Eventually, she would return home, and this whole nightmare would be forgotten.
    Hours passed, feeling like days under the dark hood. Jacqueline drifted in and out of sleep as her arms went numb and her legs grew stiff against