Author's Note
.｡｡*ﾟi hope you're staying safe and being kind to yourself! .｡｡*ﾟ
Warning: mentions of violence, drug use, strong language
Love youuu 💗
𝒉𝒐𝒑𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒆𝒏𝒋𝒐𝒚 ️
~message any story requests!
NEW YORK CITY, 1899
Sophie walked through dingy alleyways and narrow side streets, the sight of filth and desperation making her feel uneasy. She stayed close to well-lit areas as she made her way deeper into slums of the Lower East Side.
As she walked, mud and puddles whipped at the hem of her dress, getting it dirty. The wind reddened her cheeks, untidying her hair.
Mothers held screaming babies, cigarettes dangling from their fingers. Men lingered around buildings, drinking, talking. Sophie was given a few strange looks, but she kept her gaze straight ahead and hurried along.
Although well past midnight, the streets were teeming with people. Women with faces painted like circus fortune tellers threw themselves at any man sober enough to stand. Sounds of laughter and fighting filtered out from garish saloons with names such as The Hole in The Wall, Shang Draper's, and Suicide Hall.
During all this highlife were beggars and the sickly, looking for charity, scrounging for garbage in the street. One old man in a Union army uniform battled a hoodlum for a meager scrap of food. A woman in a fine hat, riding by in a carriage, hid her eyes by raising a huge bouquet of New England Aster flowers in front of her face.
Sophie tried to mask her face, acting like she was on her way to murder someone. She dipped her hand in her dress pocket, feeling the switchblade. She kept glancing around, making sure no one was following her.
She turned around a corner, being sure to watch her step. She looked to see a man covered in grime and mud, face down on the ground.
Pausing, Sophie stepped over him. He was either dead or drunk, Sophie couldn't be sure.
She approached the dive, taking a deep breath. It was seedier than O'Halloran's. Shouts and rowdy laughter came from within. It smelled like rotten food and alcohol and something else that Sophie couldn't place.
"Come on, Sophie," She mumbled to herself and pushed open the door. The front room was crowded with people. Most were drinking out of tarnished cups while a man served spirits behind a bar. Another played music on a piano in the corner.
She coughed from the cigar smoke blown in her face but kept moving.
She weaved through the crowded pub, keeping her eyes forward. Moving fast, she moved to the back and walked down a long hall with rooms lining the sides. Women in revealing clothing with gaudy makeup reclined in the doorways, staring as she passed.
One woman placed a hand full of bracelets on Sophie's shoulder. "Ain't it past your bedtime, little girl?" She asked, eliciting shrieking giggles from the others. "Are you looking for your mommy?"
Sophie shrugged her off, clenching her jaw. The woman scowled at her and retreated to one of the rooms.
Sophie climbed down a set of stairs until she stepped into a basement, isolated and well-concealed in the building.
It was gray and lit by several candles, and Sophie felt dizzy from stepping inside. She clutched the railing on her way down as if she'd fall at any moment.
Lounging about were a few kids and teenagers, slumped in corners and on rotting sofas. Their clothes had seen better days, ripping at the seams, and hanging off them like rags. Most were barefoot or wore boots that were falling apart. Their eyes were half-closed, glass-looking, staring off into oblivion. Some were asleep. Few noticed Sophie's presence. One was holding a compress to his bruised eye, and another kid was nursing an arm in a makeshift sling. A girl younger than Sophie was coughing terribly, clutching her stomach, whimpering.
Sophie saw an older boy emerge from a back room with something in his hand. It looked like a syringe, something a doctor would use on his patients.
"It'll sting for just a moment," he said to the kid with the sling.
The older boy took the opposite arm and pricked the skin with the needle, pressing his thumb down the syringe like an injection. The kid winced for a moment, and then his eyes went dull.
He laughed and reeled, swaying as he struggled to sit upright. He seemed to relax considerably.
"You okay?" The older boy asked, giving the kid a sideways look.
The kid gave a wide grin and nodded.
"That help?"
Again, the kid nodded. "It doesn't hurt anymore."
"Good. Rest up, and I'll have a look at it in the morning."
Sophie watched with a nervous churn in her stomach as he produced a bottle of brown liquid and a spoon. He knelt before the coughing girl and measured out a dosage.
"Say 'ah,'" The boy said gently, holding out the spoon.
The small girl managed to do so weakly, and he fed the liquid in, making her cringe at the taste. "It tastes like an iron fence."
He chuckled softly. "That iron fence will take your cough away."
"I don't have no money, Doc," she said, lowering her eyes.
"You don't worry about that. Let's focus on getting you better," he replied, standing back up, taking notice of Sophie's presence for the first time. "Sophie?" Doc asked, a bit surprised to see her. "Everything okay? Do you need me?"
"No. No, no, no, nothing like that," she chuckled, though all this disease and injury broke her heart. "Doc, I need your help with Jack."
Doc went to a bowl of water, his sleeves rolled up, and he washed his bloodied hands and arms. "I'm not giving him any laudanum—"
"It's not that," Sophie interrupted him. "He's been arrested. And Snyder will take him away if I don't make his bail. I've gotten money from some of the others, but it's not enough. Would you mind…"
"How much do you need? I can give you a little, but not a lot," Doc said, his eyelids drooping, looking like someone who hadn't slept in weeks. He fetched a cigar box and pulled out a few coins, counting them. "Will this do?"
Sophie took the money in his outstretched hand, noticing the dried blood staining his sleeves and shirt. "Yes, thank you," Sophie mumbled, smiling at him. "The trial's at one o'clock, if you can come."
Doc shrugged, giving her a regretful look. He eyed his patients. "I'll try. If I can get away. Might not be able to stay for long."
"I understand," Sophie nodded, seeing he had his hands full. There was no way he'd gotten a decent sleep in the last year.
While selling papers had been his main trade a year ago, Doc had converted the cellar of a dive into a sort of infirmary for street children. Injured or sick newsies, boot blacks, flower sellers, factory workers, or any other street kid who couldn't afford a doctor or didn't have anyone to care for them.
Doc had employed his knack for healing to treat them without charge. And he'd been a miracle worker at that.
Before Sophie could say anything, the little girl strolled over to them, her pale eyes glazed, her actions dream-like. Her long, scraggly tresses fell in her face, the hair ribbon coming undone. She pulled on Doc's arm, tears in her eyes.
"My throat hurts," she rasped. "The medicine didn't work."
Sophie looked at Doc, apprehension painted on her face.
"You have to be patient," Doc reminded her. He picked her up, holding her on his hip, meeting her miserable eyes. "I know it hurts now. But you'll feel better in the morning."
She nodded tearfully, burying her face in Doc's shoulder, still coughing. Doc looked at Sophie solemnly, as if proving his point. "Bronchitis, I'm afraid." He nodded to the boy with the sling, dozing off. "Broken forearm. A gift from the Refuge on his last day."
Sophie nodded, realizing how miserable of a job he had. "I really appreciate your help, Doc," she said. "And I know Jack will, too."
She turned to leave the way she came, but Doc ushered her to a side exit leading to stairs that went directly up to the alleyway. "It's the way I have the kids come in. I don't want them walking through the mess up there," he said, nodding to the ceiling.
Smiling sadly, Sophie leaned in and kissed Doc's cheek. "Thanks again," she said before walking out of the side exit and heading for Morozov and Tracey's place.
Realizing it would be best for to be ready for any possibility when she got to the joint, Sophie opted for a stroll to Corlear's Hook to let the wind clear her head a little.
The waterfront was abandoned, save for the sporadic huddle of young newsboys and boot blacks in tattered clothes, smoking cigars over open fires. These boys must be the new generation that Jack would leave behind in the Duane Street Lodging House.
Jack's boys had always been indisputably resourceful—save for the strike, the circulation of papers increased in Manhattan under his leadership—but their capabilities in the trade led them to believe they wielded a kind of dominance. Occasionally a boy of about twelve, dressed in rags and covered in grime, would spot a newsboy from another borough selling papers on a Manhattan corner and try to soak him. Trying to persuade these territorial fanatics that it couldn't possibly matter who sold where was near useless, and the fights got worse.
Sometimes the confrontations resulted in bloodshed, which made the Manhattan boys all the cockier—and made Sophie warier than usual as she walked by them that night. Her rather purposeful walk must have made her presence obvious, unfortunately, because when she passed by a few groups of ink-stained warriors, they watched her with question, silently warning her to go elsewhere if she was looking for trouble.
Once Sophie got to Corlear's Hook, she had grown quite winded from the excessive travel. Sleep was overtaking her mind.
When she walked by the big, brown mass of ships in the harbor, she started to fantasize about what she would say to Alexei when she saw him. Act tough, talk sweet? But generally, Alexei had been kind – if not completely out of it – in all their encounters. She didn't understand why so many people were afraid of him. Then again, he'd been a lot worse before she'd met him. Supposedly.
Sophie started down Cherry toward James Street to the boys' den.
The name of bar on the first floor was displayed above the front entrance: Slaughterhouse Point, and the echoes of patrons inside made the place lively at 2 in the morning. The building had not been named after any slaughterhouse, as the space had previously been a gin mill some time ago.
Sophie figured it would be best to go into the alley for the back entrance, and for a moment she gazed up at the fourth floor, noticing the curtains on the windows were drawn to shield the eyes of any respectable citizen passing by.
She stepped inside the door only to find herself in a different sort of atmosphere than any of the other places she'd been that night. The place seemed larger, somehow, and noisier, too. It was close to bursting out the door with lewd customers even at this late hour. Men and women stood at the long bar, at the many small tables, and out on the dance floor. There was a stage on which three blowsy women were suggestively dancing to "I Can't Think of Nuthin' Else but You, Lulu."
One end of the bar was completely taken up by a huge wooden keg with an attached hose. Sophie watched as bar attendants dumped the unfinished contents of glasses into the open barrel top as a line of drunk lowlifes waited in line at the hose. Sophie recognized one of them to be Florence, who used to be one of Medda's star dancers. She stood close to the front of the line, appearing very drunk, with her body pressed against some goblin-faced mobster.
Sophie pushed past the crowd and climbed the stairs in the back, one after the other until she reached the fourth floor. Inside the busy doorway was a wide, wood-scuffed table, along with several moth-eaten sofas and simple chairs of the kind that were cheaply made and easily replaceable. A grime-caked and brass-lined bed was placed at the far end of the wide, low-ceilinged room, on which girls in various stages of dress sat and smoked. Sophie could still hear the cheerful yet distorted tune from downstairs.
The main if not only activity of the den was to sell whatever kind of narcotic they supplied to various customers and indulge in whatever was leftover – mainly opium. The other half of the trade was the cruel practice of getting some of those girls – the ones without families – hooked enough to sell to brothels. It was shanghaiing at its worst.
Sophie thought Alexei looked to have once been of an honest type, having made a living selling newspapers. These days, he could be found lying around, drugged out of his mind. Muggs was more alert, hardened-looking, dealing with those who came in and out of the place. Both were capable of violence and intimidation. Both could also be deceptive and charming. But Sophie wasn't sure she believed that to be entirely true.
Colleen made it seem like Muggs was some hellish demon, but Sophie could sympathize. She knew Jack certainly wasn't perfect, and all older brothers were capable of stupidity. If Muggs was anything like Jack, she'd handle him okay.
Besides the back room where the two slept, there wasn't much to call home for these miserable creatures. Sophie found herself wondering if this was really all they wanted out of life. She couldn't imagine sweet Colleen growing up in a place like this.
Despite Sophie assuming the worst of the duo's intentions, she noticed the girls were paid little attention to, except when they requested to be jabbed with the drug or smoke every so often. And it looked as though they didn't have to pay for any of it. Other than that, they were ignored and left alone.
The place was like any other seedy den that she'd seen: sleazy, smokey, and likely to incite misery.
A tattooed arm circled around Sophie's waist and brought her out of her thoughts with a jolt.
The abrupt Russian accent somewhere in the background clued her in to Alexei's presence somewhere nearby. But she guessed the arm belonged to none other than Muggs Tracey.
Shit, shit, shit, Sophie thought.
"Didn't ever think I'd see you in here," Alexei said. The voice came from behind her, a bit to her right. "Wandering in here all by yourself, you must be bat-shit crazy."
"Perhaps I am, Alexei," Sophie said, trying to keep her voice steady despite her panic. Muggs, she learned, was infamous for beating his foes to death. "I'm here to ask you for a favor."
Alexei chuckled. "Really? What could you possibly want from me?" Finally, he stepped into Sophie's view, his dirt-covered pullover unbuttoned halfway and his greasy mop of golden hair reeking of opium. A long, wooden pipe dangled loosely at his side.
"Jack's in trouble," She said, swallowing hard. "Real trouble. Snyder's going to send him back."
Alexei walked forward, his red-rimmed blue eyes looking haunted. He was so much more intoxicated with the stuff since the last time she saw him. "That so?" he said, his breath on her nose, his movements slow. "And you need our help?"
"Bad," Sophie said.
"Yeah? How bad?"
"I'll do whatever you want. For both of you. Just name it."
Alexei stared at Sophie for a second, racking his drug-induced mind for understanding. After a beat or two, his lopsided grin returned, his expression softening. "Let her go, Muggs," he said.
As he said this, Sophie noticed the few girls who had been watching and expecting to see an altercation lost interest and turned away. Sophie looked at the crazy-eyed Muggs after he released her, running a skeletal hand through his hair. He folded his arms across his chest, prepared to grab her again, yet all she did was tug her shawl tighter around her shoulders.
"Hit the pipe, Muggs," Sophie said. "Might help you relax."
Muggs moved toward her as Alexei's hand shot out to bar him with a chuckle. "Hey, calm down, Muggs, she doesn't mean nothing by it." He looked at Sophie and took her hand in his, squeezing it and placing a gentle kiss on her knuckles. "You're welcome here, Sophie, you're safe. Don't let him scare you." He led her away easily, wrapping his arm around her. "You don't gotta do nothing for us."
Sophie swallowed back her uneasy feeling and followed him to the wide table. She observed the same vice and squalor here, and she recognized the hole in the peeling wallpaper behind the table where the bottles of various tinctures were kept.
She fought to hold onto the fact that Alexei was bad news, probably dangerous, and so she turned down his offer for a smoke from his treasured pipe (aside from her previous nightmarish experiences from the stuff, Sophie had a suspicion the drug might have been tampered) and instead opted for a shot of vodka.
The contents of the small glass did not taste as strong as it had at Tibby's, however. Sophie figured it had been watered down.
Alexei inhaled from his pipe and flinched when one of the small girls pulled on his sleeve for a puff of the same. Alexei shook her off easily. It was a striking difference from Doc and his patients.
"So," he said to Sophie, glaring down emptily at the little girl's desperate face. "What's Jack gotten himself into this time? Extortion?"
"He got arrested at the rally," Sophie said. "And I was hoping, since you and my brother were friends, you'd help me make his bail so he doesn't have to go back to the Refuge. You don't have to come to the trial or anything, but I know you'd want to help keep him out of that place."
Alexei gave Sophie a slow once-over with his eyes as the little girl wandered away in search of Muggs. "And what if it doesn't work? By the way, how come you ventured here all alone at this hour?"
"Alexei," Sophie sighed, forcing him to look at her. "And I'm not asking you for anything else."
"Sophie." He kept his incredulous façade. "How much dough you got so far?" He took another puff from the pipe, and Sophie turned her head as the smoke drifted her way. "Come on, show me."
Sophie fumbled in her dress for a moment, pulling money out from her brassiere and pocket, pooling it together and handing it to Alexei. He gave her a smug stare and then examined the dollars, holding it up to the candle to see better. He squinted, inspecting them like a forensic scientist in a lab, smoothing out the creases and turning them over.
Sophie watched him in confusion, leaning forward to see what he was looking for. Alexei shook his head, chuckling under his breath. "Where'd you get this from?" He asked.
"Some is Marquette's. The rest came from Cards, Lion, Shakespeare, Fleet, and—"
"Crazy?" Alexei guessed, a half-smirk on his face.
Sophie nodded, still in the dark.
"Oh, that's real smart, Sophie," Alexei laughed, picking up another dollar and inspecting it in the same way. "Borrowing money from them of all people."
"What…what do you mean?"
"These are counterfeit, sweetheart. All of them," Alexei shrugged, tossing the dollar back at Sophie.
"Counter-what?" Sophie scrunched up her eyebrows.
"Cards, Lion, Shakespeare…all five of them deal in fake money, passing it off as real," Alexei said, shaking his head as if Sophie was dumbest person in the room. "You didn't know that? That's the reason Lion was in the Refuge in the first place."
Sophie was shocked, looking down at the money she'd secured only an hour before. "But…I…" She felt like crying, hot tears stinging the back of her eyes, her stomach dropping.
"Well, except for this one," Alexei said, holding up one dollar. "This one's clean."
It was Marquette's.
"Why would they do that to me?" Sophie mumbled, holding her head in her hands, her throat closing. "I don't understand."
"They're conmen, experts. Takes one to know one, I guess." Alexei leaned against the table, taking her hands away from her face. "They were probably hoping you and the judge wouldn't know the difference. I don't think it was meant to trick you so much as it was to trick law enforcement. They wouldn't do that to hurt you."
Bleary eyed, Sophie stared back at him, chewing on her lip. She rolled her eyes, pocketing Marquette's dollar and leaving the rest on the table. "Of course," she mumbled, shaking her head. "To think this could work. Jack's right, I'm stupid."
Alexei's eyes darkened, and he tilted her chin up to meet his eyes. "Hey. You're not stupid. I don't ever want to hear you say that again, kid. No matter who tells you that. If I were you, I'd…" He stopped, gazing past her to some commotion in the back room.
Sophie bit her tongue, waiting for him to go on, but his focus was directed at two of the littler girls in petticoats, whining to Muggs about wanting to smoke. Tears began to roll down their cheeks.
"Get off me!" Muggs had to pry one of them from his side, only to follow it with: "If you keep that up, I'll give you something to cry about!" He shot Alexei a look from the doorway. "When the hell is that Weasel son of a bitch getting here? I want them out!"
Alexei shrugged. "Same as last time." He watched Muggs snort a white powder off his pocketknife. "You want we should cut out the middleman?"
"I'm fucking thinking about it!" Muggs roared, almost tripping over a girl on the floor, giggling deliriously from the narcotic. "This ain't an orphanage!"
Sophie looked as though she wanted to say something, but she kept whatever it was in her thoughts.
"Alexei?" She said eventually, getting his attention back. "Is there anything you can do to help Jack?"
"I ain't got enough money," he replied with a shake of his head. "Why don't you leave now while you can? I don't want you around when Weasel and his guys show up. It won't be pretty."
"Is that a threat?"
"It's whatever gets you out of there," he replied, irritated. "Now."
"Can I talk to Muggs?"
Alexei groaned, running a hand through his hair. "Sophie."
"I'll ask nice," She bargained.
He stared at Sophie steadily and gave a half-shrug. "Be quick about it. I doubt his answer will be any different from mine."
Sophie forced a smile.
As her heart rate slowed, Sophie felt like she had made a terrible mistake in coming here. This feeling only grew as she found herself in front of Muggs in the back room. He had dried blood under his nose, and the way he stared at her as if he'd seen her naked made the hair on the back of Sophie's neck rise.
Two miserable old mattresses were thrown near the broken window and a rotting crate was used as a makeshift nightstand between them. The walls appeared to be damp and thin, and the humidity coming in through the shattered glass of the window made her choke on the air. It looked out to a similar tenement building in structure, and below that was a ring of fire escapes.
Laying on the mattress was Muggs, cigarette in his mouth, packing a bowl of opium. "The fuck do you want?"
He was looking at her as though she were nothing, worthless, even if Sophie could see he was gutter trash himself. Sophie shifted from foot to foot, feeling very claustrophobic.
"You're Colleen's brother?" She asked, though she already knew the answer.
He sat up. "Who's asking?"
Sophie squared her shoulders. "I'm Sophie Kelly – Jack's little sister," she said, and when Muggs gave her a blank stare, she continued, "I'm friends with Colleen."
"That so?" Muggs laughed in a way that made Sophie shiver. "You a whore like her?"
"I'm not a kidnapper like you," she replied bitterly.
Muggs blinked and wiped his nose, a slow smirk on his lips. He took a drink from his near-empty glass. "Well, what is it? She need money or something?"
"No," Sophie said, taking a deep breath. She crossed the room and sat down next to him on the mattress. "But my brother got arrested last night at the rally. Snyder will send him back to the Refuge if we don't pay the fine."
Muggs stared at her for a moment, as if considering, and then shaking his head. "He probably had it coming."
Sophie's blood boiled. There was no point in beating around the bush with him.
"I know where to find you," Sophie said, her voice low. "And I'll talk on the stand. If Jack gets sent up, so will you. All the shit you've been up to since the Refuge. I'll send the bulls right to your door."
Muggs raised an eyebrow. He was almost astonished.
"You're what, twenty?" Sophie continued. "The judge doesn't have to send you to the Refuge. He could send you further up to Sing-Sing. Where they've got electric chairs."
Muggs laughed a little again, looking at Sophie like he recognized her for the first time. "Jack Kelly's little sister, you said? I see it now."
Sophie didn't smile. She simply nodded, never once breaking eye contact.
"Sing-Sing. Ain't that where your daddy is?" Muggs teased, blowing a cloud of smoke in her face.
"That's right. Triple homicide." Sophie said. "And I'll tell him exactly who you are, a full description, so he'll know whose eyes to gouge out when you get there."
Muggs considered this, nodding a bit, the smirk being replaced with a soft smile. "A full description, huh?" He leaned closer to her, his eyes flickering to her lips and back to her eyes. "That's strange. I don't think we've ever met before now."
Sophie flinched, slightly relieved when he pulled away after a beat.
"You're wasting your breath. I ain't afraid of prison, okay?" he said, taking another drag from his cigarette. "Snyder don't scare me."
Sophie waited a moment, her mind moving as fast as Muggs'.
"No, but he'll scare Colleen," Sophie said. "She got arrested, too. Cops beat her up bad. And she'll be sent back there. Only this time, Snyder won't be so kind."
Sophie prayed this would work. She knew it would work on Jack if someone said that to him. She figured if her cause were just, she could get away with a little deception.
Muggs fixed his gaze on the empty glass. "That true?"
"Yes," Sophie felt the room begin to close around her and her throat felt scratchy. She took a nervous breath. Her eyelids began to droop from exhaustion, and she was beginning to regret all the running around she had done and lack of sleep she had gotten.
Sophie wanted nothing more than to curl up on that mattress and close her eyes.
It was like something had slipped in the mask. For an instant, Muggs looked completely defeated, like he'd failed, with nothing but emptiness in his eyes. "She, uh…" He tried hard to speak. "Where is she now?"
Sophie was quiet. She could hear a loud noise echoing from the corridor.
"You love her? You want to keep her safe? For once?" Sophie asked, trying to catch her breath.
"Where the hell is she?" Muggs repeated the question, this time sounding threatening.
"At the precinct, they're holding her until court tomorrow. One o'clock."
Muggs glared at her finally, obsessively pushing into a bruise on his right palm. He looked like he was about to say something, when without any warning, the doorknob of the den turned and the door slammed open.
Sophie squinted to see Mr. Wiesel from the Distribution Center along with three, large goons walk into the room.
One man was holding a club, twirling it tauntingly.
Sophie clutched her head with her hands, feeling dizzy as the room spun quickly. She could hear Alexei speaking with them. Almost immediately, Muggs wrapped a hand around Sophie's mouth, pulling her to him, out of view from the doorway.
She screamed against his hand, struggling madly. Muggs pressed his lips to her ear, shushing her. "Shut up, shut up. Don't make a sound. They'll hear you."
"How many?" Wiesel asked gruffly.
"Thirteen," Alexei replied, a twinge of unease in his voice. "More than last time."
"No families, I assume."
Alexei shrugged. "No, I don't think so," he mumbled.
The man with the club stepped forward. "You better hope not, Russki, or we'll be paying you a special visit next time. I don't need the bulls to come sniffing around no more," the man growled, sending a threatening jab with the club at Alexei.
Alexei didn't flinch. He remained stoic, nodding. "They got no one."
"If you say so," Wiesel muttered, holding up his hands. "But it's your neck if we find out you're lying."
"I ain't lying."
Sophie whimpered a little, as Muggs released her, and she rubbed her cheek painfully.
One of the men looked in through the doorway, coming closer, and seeing Sophie. He smiled as if to say he'd caught her.
"You're a sweet thing," The man said. He turned to the others as Wiesel leaned against the doorframe. "Ain't she?"
"Leave her be," Alexei called from the main room. "She stays here."
"Oh, I bet she does," Wiesel smirked, eliciting chuckles from his men. "This is the little hellcat whose brother thinks he's a strike leader. Wonder how much we'd get from Pulitzer if we delivered her right to Randall's Island."
"I said leave her alone," Alexei said, coming up behind them. They turned to face him, eyeing him in disbelief.
"Yeah, or what?" A man asked, crossing his arms. "I ain't scared of no dope fiend. What will you do?"
"I'll fucking kill you."
The men whipped around to face Muggs, taken aback at the words.
Sophie's eyes were starting to close from exhaustion, and she must have begun to hallucinate. She could've sworn she saw Muggs Tracey aiming a pistol at the men on her behalf.
Muggs stood, putting distance between the men and Sophie. "You either get out…"
A click from the hammer of another gun, this time behind the goons. Sophie squinted to see Alexei, aiming his own pistol. "Or we'll take you out," he finished in Russian. And for the first time, Sophie could see that murderous glare in his eye so many had talked about.