Ghost Girl

Chapter 10

I gasped and silently appealed to Jacob, but he was already ahead of me. "No," he said to Alwyn. "He won't fight for you."

Alwyn bit down on his cigar and arched an eyebrow at Quin. "Well?" It was clear from his smug half-grin that he knew what the answer would be.

Quin removed his hat and unbuttoned his jacket.

I caught his arm, but he shook his head in warning. People were watching us now as Bains approached. The eerie silence was deafening after the roar of protests over the switch.

Tommy took Quin's jacket, hat, tie, waistcoat and shirt. At the sight of Quin's muscular frame, the audience became intrigued. Their hushed whispers rippled through the room and some tried to get closer, but Alwyn kept them at bay with a few barked orders.

"Why should I trust your friend?" Bains asked darkly.

"That's your choice." Alwyn chomped down on his cigar. "But I think your customers would like to see him fight, and as a shrewd businessman, I'm sure you want to keep your audience happy. Imagine the mischief they could get up to if denied their sport."

Bains glanced around at the patrons as the whispers became shouts. They called on him to let Quin fight and bayed for his blood if he did not. Someone had already led Old Filth away and the other opponent stood waiting. He was huge with a mean sneer that revealed large gaps between his teeth. I didn't want Quin to fight him.

But he did not meet my gaze and I didn't dare throw myself at him and plead with him to refuse. That wouldn't do either of us any good.

"You don't fight fair," Bains said to Alwyn. From the resigned way he said it, we all knew he'd given in.

"Sometimes it's not about fighting fair. Sometimes it's simply about showing up." Alwyn grinned wolfishly.

"Get in there," Bains growled at Quin. Before Quin could move off, Bains grabbed his arm. "And if I find out you threw it, I'll mess up that face of yours so bad your mother won't recognize you."

The crowd roared its approval as Quin joined the other fighter in the ring. I felt sick.

"He'll be all right," Jacob whispered to me as the other fellow threw a punch and Quin easily dodged it. "He's strong and has good instincts."

"Yes, but he has to lose, or Alwyn won't tell him the priest's name."

"Then he'll go down before he gets injured."

"You think so?" I said wryly. "I hope you're right." But I had a horrible feeling that Quin would want to put on a good show. His masculine pride would forbid him to give up easily.

We watched as Quin dodged a few more punches before finally getting in one of his own. The blow to the other man's stomach sent him reeling backward into the crowd who only shoved him forward again into the ring. He gasped for air and Quin allowed him a moment to recover before repeating the punch.

"Why is he hitting him in the stomach and not the face?" I asked.

"Because bare-knuckle fighting is not the same as boxing with gloves," Tommy told me. "Punching the hard bones of a jaw or skull will hurt Quin's hand just as much, maybe even break it. But punching a soft belly will wind his opponent and save Quin's hands. It's the better strategy." He nodded in approval. "Your warrior knows what he's doing."

He was also the better fighter. Everyone there recognized it. He had a longer reach and was faster, getting in blow after rapid blow, but dancing away from the other man's fist as he wound up to punch. Quin was going to win, and win easily. The crowd knew it, and Bains knew it, going by his triumphant smirk in Alwyn's direction. The only people who didn't seem to think Quin would win were Alwyn and me. Quin wanted that book at all costs.