Molly froze on her bed, terrified. The men had come for her father, not her – why was this man persisting in his pursuit?
The doorknob rattled, and she slid herself back on the bed. Almost as quickly as it started, it stopped.
The man sighed. "Come on now, Molly May. I'm in no mood. Let me in like a good girl." The knob rattled again. "Or I will break this door down and you will beg for mercy."
In a swift moment of decisiveness, she stood and strode across the room. Hesitating only a second, she threw the door open.
The man grinning back at her wasn't at all what she pictured. He looked almost normal for a monster, although he was incomprehensibly tall and quite obviously very strong, judging from the way the fabric of his shirt strained against his arms.
"Miss Molly," he said after a moment of silence, giving her an exaggerated bow. "Such a pleasure to see you from the front."
"What do you want?" She asked, trying to sound brave. The rattle in her voice gave her away as a coward, and the way his smile widened she knew that he'd noticed.
He stepped towards her, and she immediately stepped back. His blue eyes began to dance happily, and his lips split open in a ghastly approximation of a smile. "Why, I want to come in," he said, stepping towards her again.
She tried to stand her ground. "Why?"
He laughed, although there was no joy in the sound. "You ask an awful lot of questions. Haven't you learned that a good woman keeps her mouth shut when a man wants something?"
Ambrose watched her nostrils flare with unexpressed anger, but she snapped her jaw shut all the same. Smart girl.
He made a show of stepping around her and entering her space casually, as if it belonged to him. He glanced back over his shoulder to see her profile outlined against the door. How a drunken fool like Tom Parker had managed to have such a pretty girl was unfathomable to him.
She turned her head away uncomfortably, and he realized that she was very aware of his eyes on her.
"You seem out of sorts," he said, turning his head away and studying her room. Not that there was much to look at; the place was barren, devoid of any personality. Disappointing.
She was quiet for several moments, and he turned back towards her and raised an eyebrow.
"It has been an odd evening," she finally replied.
He managed a dry laugh. "Yes, I suppose it has been for you." He took a few steps towards her. "As much as I'm enjoying chatting with you, dear, I must be about my business." He paused. "Do you have anything of value that I might bring back to my employer to pay your father's debt?"
She shook her head, but refused to meet his eyes. He stepped closer to her, leaving little space between them. She smelled like cinnamon.
"I must insist on the truth," he said slowly, bringing his hand to her chin to gently turn her face towards him.
"I have nothing," she replied, her deep brown eyes finally meeting his.
His lips twitched. "That is a shame." In the brief moment of silence that followed, he made a decision that would alter her life forever.
Moving with frightening speed, he wrapped his hands around her waist and picked her up, throwing her over his shoulder. The girl cried out, and he waited to see if she would struggle. She did not.
"Seeing as you're the only thing of value in this house, Miss Molly, I would be remiss to not bring you back to my employer."
She started kicking at him halfway down the stairs, causing him to nearly lose his balance. He wrapped his arm around her waist more tightly and used his other arm to still her legs.
"Stop," he said simply, squeezing her forcefully before continuing his descent.
He reveled in the horror on the faces of his companions and did his best to maintain an even expression in spite of his amusement. "This is all I could find that was worthwhile," he said, making a show of jostling Molly on his shoulder. "Think Mr. Barrett will write off the drunken lout's debt in exchange?"
"Put that girl down," the Irishman said, attempting to sound authoritative.
"No," Ambrose replied, inwardly rolling his eyes at the other man's tone. "We were told by Mr. Parker to take what we could find. I found this pretty little thing, and I'll be taking her."
Molly looked to the Irishman, the one who had spoken against the lunatic, and tried to plead with him with her eyes. He sighed heavily and took a step forward, reaching for her hand to help her down. But surprisingly, this course of action was interrupted by her father.
"Man's right; Molly's fair game. Take her. Tell Barrett I'm done with him, and that now we're squared up as far as I'm concerned."
She felt profound anger swell up in her chest. "You useless sod," she growled, struggling against the man holding her. He tightened his grip momentarily, until he understood that she wasn't after him this time. Finally, he let her slide down his body to catch her feet.
He held her briefly around the waist, a small half-smile on his lips, before he released her.
She very slowly walked towards where her father stood, weaving on his feet. "I've taken care of you for years," she said in a low voice. "I've sacrificed my life to try and keep you from drinking yourself to the grave. I've sacrificed my chance at happiness to care for you, and this is how you elect to repay me?" Her hand reached out and slapped him swiftly against his mouth.
"I'll go to this Mr. Barrett," she continued, fierce joy rushing in her as she watched his face turn to shock and pain from her sudden attack. "Any other life is better than the one you have given me here."
She spun on her heel and quickly walked out the front door, fighting back tears of anger and betrayal.
Ambrose watched her go, resisting the temptation to rush after her immediately and shove her to the ground, lift her skirt, and take her on the front lawn in front of God and this shithole neighborhood of London. He thought of her body pressing against his as she found her feet; that electric moment where their eyes met and he knew that she felt the same wave of lust that he had. She may not know it yet, but in that moment he knew that she wanted him.
If he gave in to his desire, however, Mr. Barrett would indeed be unhappy with him. It would have to wait.
It would not, however, have to wait much longer. He promised himself that much as he strode out into the night after his prize.
Wade glanced up at the clock, his brow crinkling into a thoughtful expression.
This process was taking entirely too long. They should have been back by now.
He resigned himself to the idea that something had gone wrong, and it had more than likely gone wrong at the hands of Dean Ambrose. His lip curled in an expression of distaste and he cursed softly under his breath. It had been a mistake to send him, and he'd known that – yet he'd chosen to ignore that gnawing instinct in his stomach and send the man.
He steeled himself for the worst possible news – Tom Parker was dead. He'd mouthed off at the wrong moment and Ambrose had simply winked him out of existence. Anything he heard below that horrific outcome would seem tame.
Despite his best efforts at preparing for the worst, he was still shocked when a triumphant Dean Ambrose led in a terrified-looking young girl with McIntyre and O'Shaunessy slinking behind them, obviously displeased with whatever this situation was.
Wade raised an eyebrow at Dean. "What is this?"
"Parker didn't have any money. He said to take anything of value. Allow me to introduce the only thing worth shit in his entire home, Molly Parker."
He studied the girl – she was pretty; long chestnut-colored hair and clear, pale skin with the slightest hint of ruddiness on her cheeks and lips. The sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach only intensified.
"What am I supposed to do with a girl?" He asked Ambrose, who snorted derisively.
"If you have to ask, I feel sorry for your wife."
Wade glowered at him. "My wife is the reason I have no use for her," he snapped. "You'd best watch your tongue, Mr. Ambrose, or you might find yourself in a dire situation."
Ambrose didn't apologize – not that he'd expected him to – but he did shut his mouth.
"Ms. Parker," he said, attempting to be congenial, "I'm terribly sorry for this inconvenience. I'll have Mr. O'Shaunessy escort you home immediately."
He nodded back to Sheamus, who stepped forward and lightly took the girl's elbow, in spite of the furious glance Ambrose shot him. To Wade's great surprise, the girl stepped forward instead.
"Sir, might we have a private word?"
He attempted to keep his face smooth to conceal his interest as he waved the other men off. When the door to his study shut behind them, he offered her a chair.
"I don't want to return," she said boldly. "My father was willing to sell me off to pay his – I gather not inconsiderable – debt to you. I can work towards paying it off."
"Ms. Parker, I have no use for you," he said gently, watching her eyes fill with fear. "I'm afraid the only use I'd have would be to sell you to a brothel to attempt to recoup some of my losses, and I certainly don't wish to send you to that kind of life."
She glanced away briefly, biting her lip. He was shocked to see that she was considering that course of action. Things in her home must truly be horrific, he realized. He closed his eyes. Goddamnit. He couldn't send her back to that. Goddamn Ambrose for putting him into this situation.
"Can you cook?" He asked abruptly.
She looked back towards him. "Yes."
"Clean?" She nodded. "Sew?" She again nodded. He sat, tapping a long finger against his thigh before he finally sighed.
"You may stay and work in my home," he finally said, knowing that his wife would be most pleased – she had been nagging him to procure maid services for some time now. "You will perform household duties, and part of your pay will go towards paying down your father's debt to me. The other portion will be placed in an account for you to use when you leave my employ."
She blinked rapidly several times, and he could see she was fighting back tears. "Thank you, sir."
"Don't thank me," he said dryly. "Thank Mr. Ambrose."