Between Sin and Salvation

Chapter IV

When Louise finally reached the wharf, her eyebrows lifted in surprise. To say it was bustling was an understatement; she had never seen so many men there before. There had to be what seemed like a hundred of them, faces all unfamiliar, streaming up and down the stairs to the upper level of the distillery. Unease gripped her once again. What kind of trouble had Mr. Solomons gotten up to?

First, he had requested her presence during the day, something he had never done before. Then there was the strange behavior of the cop, and now this, an influx of new men swarming the distillery. She needed to think.

In search of quiet, she ducked behind the distillery, nestling against the splintering wood beside the rarely used back door. The sharp edges of the wood bit into her back, but she welcomed the discomfort. It grounded her. Fishing a cigarette from her trouser pocket, she quickly lit it with a match. She inhaled harshly, the burn in her lungs a familiar sting as she tried to make sense of all the oddities she'd witnessed.

The muted creak of the door beside her interrupted her racing thoughts, pulling her back to the present. Much to her chagrin, she realized she'd been seen. She closed her eyes and tipped her face up, letting the afternoon sun touch her skin as she exhaled a plume of cigarette smoke. The brief moment of solitude was shattered by the weight of someone settling next to her, the wooden boards groaning under the added pressure. The scent of sandalwood, whiskey, and tobacco wafting over her should've tipped her off or, at the very least, rung her alarm bells. But her thoughts were too scattered, too tangled to fully consider her surroundings.

"Fuck off, Ollie." She snapped to the only person she thought foolish enough to approach in her apparent state of agitation.

But instead of Ollie's recognizable, timid response, a deep, dark chuckle echoed far too close to her ear. Her skin prickled as she realized the person beside her was decidedly not Ollie. It couldn't be... could it?

Turning her head, Louise opened her eyes and nearly recoiled at the sight of icy blue ones staring back at her. Mr. Shelby, she noted with disdain, was even more painfully handsome than she remembered if such a feat were even possible. He stood there, similarly dressed in a grey three-piece suit but with a striking red tie this time. He leaned casually against the building, hands tucked in his overcoat pockets as if he owned it and the very ground they stood on.

"Mr. Shelby," Louise greeted with a tight smile, doing her best to repress the feeling of being a mouse caught in the jaws of a cat.

She could only watch as his eyes lazily traced over the blood smeared across her face, lingering on the stains that marred her collar and sleeve. His gaze traveled with unsettling calmness, finally narrowing in on her split-knuckled hand, the one casually dangling a cigarette. A flicker of something dark crossed his expression, something dangerous. Could he see it now? Her violence?

The silence between them stretched until he decided it was over. "I was under the impression you didn't smoke, Miss Vergne?" he remarked, his tone so deceptively casual it sent a shiver down her spine.

Unable to bear the weight of his piercing eyes, ones she was sure could expose all her ugly truths, she looked away. "I'm a liar, Mr. Shelby," she replied, bringing the cigarette back to her lips to prove her point. She inhaled deeply before exhaling slowly, the smoke dancing in the taut tension between them. "I like to tell lies."

His face remained impassive as he considered her, his expression a mask that gave nothing away. Then, without warning, he leaned in, his arm brushing intentionally against her chest. The contact sent a jolt through her, but she remained frozen, every muscle tensed as his fingers lingered at her lips, grazing them before plucking the hanging cigarette. Her heart pounded violently in her chest, as she stood helpless, watching him trace her cigarette across his own lips with a slow, deliberate motion. The gesture was darkly intimate; his eyebrow arched as if daring her to retaliate.