The air within the brothel was thick with smoke and perfume, the murmur of voices punctuated by laughter and the tinkling of glasses. Conspicuous figures lounged in the dimly lit parlour, their gazes furtive as they watched each other across tables. Jack moved through the space with an air of ease, his shoulders relaxed, his smile a mask of warmth that concealed lurking intentions.
He was dressed in his finest, his clothes a subtle blend of black and slate that caught the low light with a matte sheen. His long, tailored coat fit him like a second skin, the high collar framing his face and adding an air of mystery. The fabric held the barest hint of velvet, enough to catch the eye but not enough to shimmer. Beneath, his shirt was dark and crisp, the details minimal yet meticulous, and his trousers were tailored sharply to finish just above his patent leather shoes.
Suavely slicked back, brunette hair revealed his sharp features, every strand placed with care. Shadowed and unreadable in the ambience, his normally bright eyes surveyed the room with a detached interest, his gaze both alluring and slightly dangerous. He moved with a quiet confidence, his presence deliberate yet unobtrusive, slipping into the brothel’s atmosphere as though he belonged.
Possessed of curiosity and wariness, the patrons and workers observed him well. His entrance, a rare spectacle, was marked by an aura of polished charm and latent power. Jack’s presence disarmed them, his easy smile and subtle nods casting a spell that drew each onlooker in without a word. He was a man cloaked in mystery, his charm a well-forged armour that held them captive, hinting at depths they dared not question.
His destination was the back room, a private parlour where Madame Maude, the establishment’s matron, awaited him. She was a woman known for her cunning, her influence stretching from the brothel’s inner rooms to the highest circles of London’s underbelly. Maude was no ordinary madame–her fingers were in every pie, her whispers laced with secrets she guarded fiercely. She was ruthless, her reputation a potent shield that few dared to challenge.
But tonight, Jack intended to dismantle that shield.
He found her seated by the fireplace, a glass of brandy in one hand, her gaze cool and assessing as he approached. Her presence dominated the room; she was draped in a deep red gown that clung to her curves, her grey hair pinned back with strands of gold and pearls. She looked every inch the queen she believed herself to be.
“Mr. Blackwood,” she greeted him, her voice low and sultry, her gaze drifting over him as if she were judging a fine piece of art. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”
Jack inclined his head, his lips curving in a smile that seemed genuine. “I heard there was no finer company in all of London, and I knew I had to see for myself.”
She laughed, a sound rich and knowing, the kind of laugh that carried layers of hidden meaning. “Flattery will get you many places, Mr. Blackwood,” she purred, motioning for him to sit beside her. “But you don’t strike me as the type who comes here only to flatter.”
He accepted her invitation, lowering himself gracefully into the seat next to her. “You’re right,” he said, his voice a soft murmur that seemed to draw her in, his gaze holding hers with an intensity that made her pulse quicken. “I’m here because I was told that the real treasures of London are kept behind closed doors. And I was curious… What secrets might be hidden here?”
Her eyes gleamed with amusement as she took a sip of her brandy, savouring the taste before setting her glass aside. “You’re a bold man, Jack,” she said, dropping the formalities, her tone playful yet edged with warning. “Bold men often find themselves in trouble if they’re not careful.”
“Perhaps I’m looking for trouble,” he murmured, reaching for her hand and holding it gently, his thumb brushing over her knuckles in a way that was both tender and possessive. She didn’t pull away. Instead, her gaze softened, and he could see the glint of interest flicker, a hint of desire tempered by the cold edge of caution.
“Tell me, Jack,” she said, leaning in closer, her voice a breath against his cheek. “What is it you’re truly looking for?”
His expression shifted, his smile deepening as he leaned in, his mouth brushing her ear. “Perhaps I’m looking for a queen,” he whispered, his tone laced with an allure that drew her in despite herself. “A woman who understands the shadows of this city… a woman with power. Someone like you, Madame Maude.”
Her eyes sparkled with intrigue, and she let out a low, appreciative hum. “Careful, Jack,” she murmured. “Flattery will open doors, but only truth keeps them open.”
“Then allow me to be honest,” he said, drawing back slightly to meet her gaze. “I’m looking for something real, something that will last beyond a fleeting night.” His fingers tightened around hers, his touch firm but gentle, and in that moment, she felt herself falling under his spell. “You’re the only one I’ve met in this city who could be that.”
She studied him, her gaze searching his face for any hint of deception. But Jack’s expression was soft, earnest, his eyes filled with a warmth that seemed to melt the edges of her caution. She took a slow breath, allowing herself to lean into the quiet allure he exuded, the way his presence seemed to fill the room, radiating a confidence that felt intoxicating.
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“Then let us make this night memorable,” she whispered, her voice tinged with desire as her fingers slipped from his grasp to rest against his chest. She leaned closer, her lips barely an inch from his, her breath warm against his skin.
Jack moved slowly, his lips brushing hers with a tenderness that surprised her, that disarmed her completely. He felt her melt against him, her body yielding, her defences crumbling as his hand trailed up her back, pulling her closer. Her fingers tangled in his hair, her lips parting as she deepened the kiss, her thoughts drowned in the rush of sensation.
But even as he returned her passion, his mind remained cold, calculating. He waited, patient as a hunter, his hand moving down her back to the pocket of her gown, where he felt the outline of the ornate key she kept for her private rooms. With a practiced ease, he slipped the key from its pocket, tucking it into his sleeve without her noticing.
As they pulled back, her eyes glowed with a hunger that only made her more vulnerable, more trusting. She smiled, her face soft with satisfaction. “Stay with me tonight, Jack,” she whispered, her voice a hushed plea.
“I wouldn’t dream of leaving,” he replied, his tone gentle, his eyes filled with a false tenderness.
The warmth of the room enveloped them as they leaned against a mountain of silk pillows. Maude had discarded her red gown for a more modest wrap, but it did little to conceal the richness of her figure. Jack reclined at her side, his touch featherlight as his fingers traced patterns along her wrist. Her lips curved in a small smile, equal parts coy and knowing.
“Tell me,” she murmured, her voice soft as velvet, “what is it about me that you find so… irresistible?”
Jack tilted his head, his lips quirking in an enigmatic smile. “Isn’t it obvious?” he asked, his voice a low purr. “You’re not just a woman, Maude. You’re a force. The way you command respect, the way you walk into a room and own it. It’s intoxicating.”
Her laughter was low, indulgent. “Flattery will only get you so far, Jack.”
“Then let my actions speak,” he murmured, shifting closer. His hand slid to her shoulder, kneading gently. The touch was tender, reverent, the movements of a man skilled in making others feel worshipped.
Maude closed her eyes, sighing softly. “You’re dangerous, you know that? A man like you could wrap anyone around his finger.”
“Only because I’ve had years of practice,” he admitted, his lips brushing the delicate skin of her temple. “But I promise, my interest tonight is genuine.”
She turned her head slightly, her sharp eyes meeting his, searching for deceit. If she found any, she didn’t show it. Instead, she allowed herself to relax, letting his lips trail down to her jawline, her pulse quickening with each calculated kiss.
“You could charm the devil himself,” she whispered.
Jack pulled back just enough to meet her gaze, his eyes magnetic. “Perhaps. But tonight, I’m content to charm the queen of London.”
A flush crept across her cheeks, and her hand drifted up to his chest. “You speak as if I’m invincible.”
“You are,” he assured her, his voice a fervent whisper. “You’ve built an empire in a world that tries to destroy women like you. You’ve survived, thrived. That’s something to be admired.”
She reached for his face, her fingers brushing against his jaw as she pulled him in for another kiss. It was softer this time, tinged with gratitude, though neither dared to put words to it. Her hand slid to the back of his neck, and she held him there, as if trying to absorb the truth—or lie—of his words.
Their embrace deepened, though it remained carefully restrained. Jack’s hands wandered over her back, skimming her curves but never pressing too far. His movements were deliberate, measured, the caress of a man who knew the power of anticipation.
“Stay,” she whispered against his lips. “Just for tonight.”
His smile was slow, almost melancholy, as he leaned his forehead against hers. “I wouldn’t dream of leaving,” he said, his tone laced with a false tenderness that made her heart flutter.
Hours passed, and in the quiet of her chambers, the two were left alone, the night stretching on in silence. When her breathing finally slowed, and her form lay relaxed beside him, he moved with a silent precision honed from years of practice. He rose from the bed, moving to the corner where he’d left his coat, retrieving the blade he’d hidden there earlier.
Returning to her side, he stood over her for a moment, watching the rise and fall of her chest, the way her face softened in sleep. A part of him almost admired her–the strength, the command she wielded in a world that sought to break women like her. But that admiration was fleeting, as cold and empty as the darkness that filled his own heart.
Without hesitation, he leaned down, pressing his hand over her mouth to muffle any sound. Her eyes flew open, terror flashing in their depths as she struggled, her hands clawing at his arm, her body thrashing in a desperate attempt to escape. But he was relentless, his other hand raising the knife, the silver edge glinting faintly in the dim light before he brought it down with a swift, practiced motion.
The first stab sank deep into her chest, and she arched, her scream muffled beneath his hand. Her body bucked, her eyes wide with agony as he twisted the blade, feeling her warm blood spill over his fingers. He withdrew the knife and struck again, each movement precise, controlled, as if he were carving a piece of art rather than ending a life.
Her struggles weakened, her breaths coming in short, frantic gasps, her hands falling limply by her sides. He watched the life drain from her eyes, the once-brilliant spark of Madame Maude fading into emptiness. The room grew quiet, the air heavy with the scent of blood and the silence of death.
When it was done, Jack straightened, wiping his blade clean on the sheets before tucking it back into his coat. He gazed down at her still form, a faint smile playing on his lips, satisfaction flickering in his eyes.
With one last glance around the room, he pocketed her ornate key, slipping it into his coat. He moved toward the door, his steps as silent as a shadow, leaving behind the body of the madame who had once ruled these halls with an iron grip.
As he stepped into the night, the fog embraced him, hiding him from the prying eyes of the city, and he disappeared into the darkness, a ghost in the fog, the queen of the brothel left lifeless in his wake. And as he vanished into the alleys, his mind turned to the next name on his list, the next life he would take, moving ever forward with the same cold purpose that had driven him all along.