Chapter 51
The two prisoners were stood side by side. Each man was held fast in the cruel grasp of a couple of grim-faced Blinders. They were facing the door but even so someone, probably Tommy, had made sure that they had a good view of the vicious implements laid out neatly on the rickety table to their left. Even in the poor light, there was no way that they could have missed the blood spatters on the concrete floor, nor the stink of piss and fear either - in the close quarters it was enough to make you gag. In case that was not enough drive home to them how precarious their position was, in the five minutes or so that they had been out of Arabella's sight they had taken some serious punishment. She gave them a cool once-over. They were bruised and bloody but, since they were both still alive and conscious, care had clearly been taken to ensure that they would still be able to answer the Blinders' questions. That was all to the good.
In a previous life, the sight of the battered captives, and the thought of what was likely to follow, would have upset her and she wondered slightly at her lack of reaction. Intellectually she knew that she should be shocked by this coldness but she again could not bring herself to care. Now she was simply grateful that she was not the one being beaten and impatient to get the information that they needed.
The younger of the two captives was outraged by caught. He struggled against his captors' grips, swearing and spitting threats as he did so. Next to him the older man seemed calm and unconcerned, and it was he that drew Arabella's focus. In the harsh light cast by the bare bulb, he reminded her a little of Father Hughes. His eyes were cruel and knowing, and his face carried the same air of superiority, the same false, perverted innocence. The resemblance made her skin crawl. Her pulse began to race and she felt her fingernails digging into the flesh of her thighs through the thin material of her gown. Under the veil her skin was as pale and cool as a corpse's.
'I see you brought your whore to watch, Shelby', the older man said mockingly. There was a hint of an Irish accent, another thing he shared with Hughes. Tommy punched him in the gut. The guards released their grip and he dropped to his knees gasping and retching, then forced out a choking laugh. 'Does violence turn her on?' This time he received a punch in the mouth. The younger captive recoiled almost as much as the victim did when Tommy's fist landed but the blow didn't stop the older man slinging further insults.
Arabella looked on dispassionately as the guards pulled the man back on to his feet and Tommy got to work again. Neither the violence nor the insults seemed to touch her at all. Instead, strange to say, she was slightly bored. It was as if she was watching a rather underwhelming play. Something dreary, with trite dialogue, a plodding plot, and characters you could not bring yourself to care about. She itched to go back upstairs to join Tilly at the roulette wheel. To leave the cold and the stink and the tedium behind, but she knew that she was stuck here until Tommy got the information that they needed.
Sighing slightly, she leant back against the cracked wood of the door, peering serenely though her tinted lenses and veil as fists and blood flew, and men's oaths and grunts warmed the frigid air. She was almost unnoticed now. All the action was taking place in the narrow circle of light thrown out by the solitary bulb, and no one there paid her any heed at all. They were all far too engrossed in their own bloody drama. She barely even featured in the insults anymore. Her mind drifted.
As the sense of isolation grew it gave her the chance to study the cast of this dull drama properly. The eldest of the captives had been thoroughly beaten but it was clear that this was not a new experience for him. He was riding with the blows and, though he bled and moaned when hit, he was clearly still in control of himself and his tongue. The younger of the two had taken less punishment, though not by much. He was more like a rabid dog than a man. Rather than cow him, every punch seemed to make him fiercer, more aggressive. Tommy, however, was starting to fray at the edges. His punches were sloppy, his shoulders drooped. Exhaustion was setting in and she could see that the situation was playing on his very last nerve.
To Arabella, less involved than the others and not flooded with testosterone or adrenaline, the captives' endpoint was clear. The eldest, at least, wanted to enrage Tommy so much that he lost concentration; at that point he would try to make his escape. She tried to attract Tommy and Johnny's attention but their blood was up. They probably wouldn't have noticed if she had stripped off and run around the room naked. She was obliged to wait, looking on helplessly, until Tommy was goaded passed his limits.
In the end, all it took was a series of offensive comments from the younger man about various female Shelby relatives and that was it. A reinvigorated Tommy cracked his bruised knuckles and went in with fists and boots flying. The Blinders backed up to give him room, grinning mirthlessly at their boss's viciousness. Johnny was eventually forced to intercede before Tommy could kill the man.
In the brief breathing space caused by Johnny's intervention, the oldest captive made his move. Despite Arabella anticipating it, it still came as a shock when it finally happened. She was still stood between him and the door and such was the speed of his break for freedom that she had no chance to step out of his way. He barrelled into her full on and reflexively she caught hold of him to stop herself from falling.
'Get off, you fucking whore!' He roared. His foul breath, tainted by cigar smoke, whiskey, and a row of rotten teeth, made her gag. His fingers bit cruelly into her arms as he tried to tear her off him but Arabella held on to him for dear life. For some reason she was more frightened of letting go than she was of holding on. She could feel her panicked pulse throbbing in her ears.
In an instant his hand came to Arabella's throat and gripped tight, pushing her up and away, adrenaline gifting him sufficient strength to lift her off her feet. Losing her grip, she kicked out violently but uselessly, like a child on the gallows. The pain was excruciating. Black spots dance in front of her eyes and she heard Hughes' callous laughter in the distance. With her last rational thought, she attempted to claw out his eyes.
