Discreet Destruction Read online

  Discreet Destruction

  Guardians of the Bones

  K.J. Jackson

  AWD Publishing

  Discreet Destruction Copyright © 2022 by K.J. Jackson. All Rights Reserved.

  Dedication

  – As always, for my favorite Ks

  Contents

  Dedication

  Discreet Destruction

  1. { Chapter 1 }

  1. { Chapter 2 }

  1. { Chapter 3 }

  1. { Chapter 4 }

  1. { Chapter 5 }

  1. { Chapter 6 }

  1. { Chapter 7 }

  1. { Chapter 8 }

  1. { Chapter 9 }

  1. { Chapter 10 }

  1. { Chapter 11 }

  1. { Chapter 12 }

  1. { Chapter 13 }

  1. { Chapter 14 }

  1. { Chapter 15 }

  1. { Chapter 16 }

  1. { Chapter 17 }

  1. { Chapter 18 }

  1. { Chapter 19 }

  1. { Chapter 20 }

  1. { Chapter 21 }

  1. { Chapter 22 }

  1. { Chapter 23 }

  1. { Chapter 24 }

  1. { Chapter 25 }

  1. { Chapter 26 }

  1. { Chapter 27 }

  1. { Chapter 28 }

  1. { Chapter 29 }

  1. { Chapter 30 }

  1. { Chapter 31 }

  1. { Chapter 32 }

  1. { Chapter 33 }

  1. { Chapter 34 }

  1. { Chapter 35 }

  1. { Chapter 36 }

  1. { Chapter 37 }

  1. { Chapter 38 }

  1. { Chapter 39 }

  1. { Epilogue }

  From K.J. Jackson

  Discreet Destruction

  Guardians of the Bones

  A Regency Romance

  K.J. Jackson

  ~

  Copyright © K.J. Jackson, 2022

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, Living or dead, is coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any forms, or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from the author.

  First Edition: May 2022

  ISBN: 978-1-940149-67-7

  ~

  http://www.kjjackson.com

  ~

  Never miss a new release, freebie or sale! Sign up for my VIP Email List. You’ll get my FREE starter library when you sign up—three full-length books!

  ~

  My Historical Romance Books

  If you haven’t already, be sure to check out my other historical romances—each is a stand-alone story and they can be read in any order (here they are in order of publication):

  Hold Your Breath

  Stone Devil Duke

  Unmasking the Marquess

  My Captain, My Earl

  Lords of Fate

  Worth of a Duke

  Earl of Destiny

  Marquess of Fortune

  Lords of Action

  Vow

  Promise

  Oath

  Revelry’s Tempest

  Of Valor & Vice

  Of Sin & Sanctuary

  Of Risk & Redemption

  To Capture a Rogue, Logan’s Legends

  To Capture a Warrior, Logan’s Legends

  The Devil in the Duke

  Valor of Vinehill

  The Iron Earl

  The Wolf Duke

  The Steel Rogue

  The Christmas Countess

  Box of Draupnir

  The Heart of an Earl

  The Blood of a Baron

  The Soul of a Rogue

  Exile

  Exiled Duke

  Wicked Exile

  Dangerous Exile

  Guardians of the Bones

  Discreet Destruction

  Shadows of Scandal

  Paranormal Romance

  Flame Moon #1

  Triple Infinity, Flame Moon #2

  Flux Flame, Flame Moon #3

  { Chapter 1 }

  London, March 1827

  Verity scooped up the cane from the muck of the ground and swung the heavy silver head of it directly at the knees of the cutthroat behind her.

  That he’d reversed course from charging down the alleyway to join in on the attack on Declan meant she wasn’t as silent as she would have liked.

  The first man she had gotten to had screamed as he went down. A dagger across the back of one’s thigh tended to do that. But the brute was too bloody tall for her to attack the throat. Luckily, after the blade across his leg, his cane was easy to rip out of his hand and knock across his jaw.

  Where in the hell was Jack?

  The cane slammed into the knees of the brute coming at her and she glanced past him. At the far end of the alley, Declan was engaged with two of the three cutthroats that had jumped him—one was already face down on the ground—but he didn’t need two more rushing him.

  “Bitch.” The word was part swear, part howl.

  His knees busted, the brute in front of her crashed into the brick wall, then slipped to the mud. She slammed the heel of her boot into his temple.

  Best Declan didn’t come down the alleyway to investigate. With any luck, he didn’t hear the man’s scream through his own battle.

  She tucked her blade into the pocket of her apron and crept into the shadows of the alleyway, moving closer to Declan.

  One of the men he’d been fighting was in a heap against the brick of the building to her left and Declan was dodging the blade the last cutthroat was waving about.

  To the left. Down. To the right. Declan flew while the other man lumbered, grunting.

  Damn, he was quick.

  She’d seen him fight many times, and every time, she was jealous. Fast. Strong. Smart. Levelheaded. Moves that were unexpected. So sure of himself. She wouldn’t want to go up against him. Ever.

  But she did enjoy watching him.

  Quick as the snap of a whip, Declan’s hand snatched the cutthroat’s wrist and he cracked it, the blade falling from the man’s hand.

  A knee into the cutthroat’s gut and then Declan slammed the cutthroat’s head back into the building behind him.

  The man sank, slowly, crumpling into himself. Third one down and still air permeated the alley.

  “Verity?” Declan’s look swung her direction.

  Hell, she thought she was enough in the shadows. Close, but not too close. Damn the white apron she hadn’t had time to strip off.

  He’d seen her and it was no use hiding. She stepped forward, nodding, just as a new cutthroat charged at Declan from behind.

  She jumped, feinting fear, pointing as she held out the heavy cane in her hand to him. She would have offered a terrified scream if it had been plausible.

  A quick glance behind him at the threat and he coughed out a, “Thanks,” then grabbed the cane from her hand and turned and swung.

  The brute was out in an instant.

  Declan spun back to her.

  “You shouldn’t be out here, Verity. What are you thinking? You know these streets aren’t safe—and especially the alleys. Get the hell back to the Alabaster.” His irate words rained down on her.

  Her head bowed
, hiding her face, but she nodded, silently contrite. She moved forward, sliding past him as she picked over prone bodies and headed toward the lights of the street that led to the Alabaster.

  Five steps past him and his voice cut into the night. “Verity—I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell at you. Scare you.”

  Her feet paused and she half turned back, gave him a quick nod, then ducked her head, scurrying the rest of the way out to the main street.

  “I can walk you back.” Declan’s voice was directly behind her. He moved too fast. He always did, popping up over her shoulder when she wasn’t prepared for him.

  Not looking up at him, she shook her head, her steps quickening, and the sound of his boot heels faded behind her, stopping until there was no echo of them.

  Off on her own.

  A scared little mouse, on the run.

  That was her job. Her real job.

  A scared little mouse that was actually a deadly little mouse.

  ~~~

  Verity hadn’t spoken in two years, four months, three days.

  It was easy to keep track, for every day she awoke, she had to remind herself where she was. What she was doing. How deep she was in.

  Two years, four months, three days of living with this farce of being a maid at the Alabaster gaming hell, and now she was staring at the end.

  “You have to find a way out of it. Without answers, you are useless and you need to get out.” The long line across Hector’s forehead that was always present—from temple to temple and starker than the many other wrinkles creasing his skin—deepened with his aggravation.

  She shook her head, her mouth pulling to a tight line. She would explain if she could, but she couldn’t speak. If she broke now, she didn’t think she could ever slip back into the pretense of her life.

  Hector knew exactly why she wasn’t answering, but that didn’t stop a long sigh from exhaling from his lungs. Fingertips met fingertips in front of his mouth, making a steeple, and the sides of his forefingers tapped on his lips as he stared at her. “You’re going to have to give me more to go on, Verity, or I will be forced to pull you from the job. Put someone in your place that can find the answers we need.”

  She leaned forward, picking up the quill on Hector’s desk and then stabbing the nib into the inkwell. Holding in a growl, she scrawled the point across the paper, ink smearing.

  You cannot. I am trusted. No one is in a better position. Not even Jack. I cannot lose this post.

  Hector’s hands dropped away from his face, his left fingers curling into a fist that landed atop the desk, the weathered wrinkles along his knuckles stretching to white. “Then make a bloody exception and speak to me. Tell me something—anything. I haven’t heard words from you in two years. You’ve done well on the job, but this current threat is not acceptable. And you won’t even talk to me. Explain it. Three attacks in one month cannot be condoned.”

  She shook her head and scratched more words onto the paper, then spun it toward him.

  You know why I cannot speak. I have this handled.

  “I never should have put you on this job.” His head shook, more to himself than to her. “Never should have listened to Jack on the matter.” His fist uncurled and he sucked in a deep breath, leaning back in his chair. “You give me no choice. I have to pull you from the job.”

  She jumped to her feet, her head frantically shaking as she slammed her knuckles onto his desk. Her left hand flew up, palm to him as her right hand grabbed the quill, dashed ink onto it and scrawled more words onto the paper, the last letters mere scratches in the paper for lack of ink.

  I will find the source. I am close, I know it. I took care of the other threats well enough. Please don’t do this—you know why.

  He stared at the paper for several long heartbeats. His dark blue eyes, aged almost to silver, lifted to pin her.

  “Then find out who is attacking Mr. Rudderton. That is part of your job. Threats like this will not be tolerated.”

  A stay of execution.

  For now.

  With a nod, she set the quill onto the desk gently, belying the desperation making her fingers twitch.

  He would notice that. The slight shake along her pinky.

  Hector liked that she didn’t flinch. Didn’t hesitate. Didn’t show fear. It was why he chose her to begin with.

  Another farce that had been hard to keep up with for the past three years.

  For she did flinch.

  She did hesitate.

  And she was absolutely, definitely afraid.

  But all of that had to remain hidden. From him, from the world.

  She nodded to him again. A promise with her look, if not her words, that she would find who was threatening Mr. Rudderton.

  Hector accepted it with an incline of his head.

  She turned, walking out of his office and into the night, her black maid’s dress letting her disappear into the darkness, into the shadows along the streets.

  She made it halfway to her boarding house before the tears of frustration started to fall.

  Rarely did she let the pitiful, desperate core of her bleed out with salty tears. But it had been so long—so long since the last time she had cried—that she couldn’t quite stop the tears as she usually did.

  She had to find the threat against Declan, or all would be lost.

  Her brother was counting on her.

  And a noose was waiting for her.

  { Chapter 2 }

  Her hands twitching, Verity looked through the sinking darkness to the end of the alley and across the street to the next tunnel of darkness. Coaches, wagons, and horses passed by, blocking her view again and again, but her stare stayed pinpointed on the corner of the alley across the way.

  She was deep enough into the shadows to not be seen, but close enough to the street to spring at any moment. Her nose twitched at the coal dust she’d sprinkled across her face to hide her white skin in the shadows. No apron tonight. No silly mistakes.

  The last three attacks on Declan were connected—she knew that just as well as Hector did. Verity had recognized one of the attackers that had managed to escape the fate of his partners multiple times, yet still he kept coming for Declan with more cutthroats. The idiot was for some reason determined to take down one of the most brutal rulers of the rookeries.

  It made sense—Declan would always be looked at with salivating tongues, a king on the top of the heap, needing to be sliced down. Too much power, and power bred danger.

  The slippery eel that kept escaping her dagger or Declan’s fists was a stocky, barrel-chested man with two missing front teeth and a fat nose that was so crooked, it didn’t even matter that she had broken it with a fire poker the first time she’d saved Declan from him in an alley. The man was either stupid, or had far more resources at his disposal than someone of his lowly station normally did.

  For he kept coming after Declan.

  That meant the brute was the key to finding out who was ordering the attacks on Declan.

  She just had to make sure the cutthroat would try again. And soon.

  She needed bait.

  And she wasn’t above using the man she was paid to protect as said bait. Which meant getting Declan out of the Alabaster, his main gaming hell, and into the neighborhood in the middle of the night.

  An easy enough task, as she had gone to him, drawn pictures of a man beating a woman in front of the Seasweep Boarding House. A drawing which Declan instantly deciphered as old man Lewis beating his wife again.

  Declan had a soft spot for Mrs. Lewis, who housed most of the sailors that cycled through the Alabaster or one of Declan’s other gaming hells on their way in and out of London. Their coin at the tables was too lucrative to lose, and Mrs. Lewis knew how to take care of all the men in the best way possible. She also knew how to pass along to Declan all the overheard comments, plans, and schemes that were discussed by the sailors at the Seasweep.

  It kept Declan’s pulse on any lucrative deals, and tha
t was how he worked. He was cunning, charming. He had his portion of the rookeries run with a wink and a smile and a fist one didn’t see coming.

  Though at the moment, Declan was on a fool’s errand, for Mrs. Lewis wasn’t currently being beaten by her derelict husband—Verity had seen the vagabond passed out in the walkway three streets away.

  True to his code of decency, Declan didn’t send one of the Alabaster guards for the job—no—Mrs. Lewis was far too important to his enterprise. Declan needed to be sure Mr. Lewis personally got the message that he was dispensable, his wife was not.

  Declan was on the move minutes after Verity had alerted him, striding out from the well-lit alleyway along the side of the Alabaster and charging down the street.

  She’d barely had time to get herself into position before he came into view.

  Also true to the efficiency that strummed in his veins, Declan veered to the right into the dark alleyway opposite the street from her.

  Predictable. Always in such a hurry, he would, without fail, take the shortest path. Even if it meant shadows and darkness and danger.

  Declan had far too much arrogance for his own good.

  There had been nine attempts to club and rob him the last two years. Five of those attempts were specifically on his life—three within the last month alone. She’d helped thwart all of them—though in four of the instances, Declan was already engaged in the skirmish and she just skirted about the edges of the melee, cutting the number of attackers to a manageable amount that he could dispose of without much problem.

  It wasn’t that Declan couldn’t handle himself. It was that the odds were often stacked against him and no one had his back.

  She did.

  He just couldn’t know she did.

  Even if it put her in peril.

  Over the years she’d had to come up with excuses for the bruises, the broken fingers, the cuts across her face, the limping after she turned her weak ankle once again. Which was easy enough to do when one didn’t talk, when one always kept her head down and her hands busy.