Chapter 153: Chapter One Hundred-Fifty-Three: The Debt of Mercy
//CLARA//
"Bo—"
The brute didn’t even get to finish the word. Casimir descended like an apex predator. His fist connected with the man’s jaw with a sickening crack of bone. The man hit the ground, out cold.
The second man fumbled for his revolver. He never reached it. Casimir caught him by the throat, drove him backward, and his skull hit the brick wall. He collapsed beside his partner.
Silence slammed back down onto the cellar, broken only by Hattie’s hitching breaths.
Casimir stood in the center, his chest rising and falling. Then, slowly, he turned his head, his dark, obsessive gaze locking onto me. Shock flickered behind his cold eyes before a raging wildfire instantly consumed it.
He dropped to his knees in front of my iron chair. His large, calloused hands shot out, cupping my face, his thumbs brushing fiercely against my cheekbones to check for blood.
"Clara," he rasped.
I tried to answer. I opened my mouth, but my earlier screams had entirely destroyed my throat. I could only manage a pathetic, wet wheeze, my lips trembling against his thumbs as hot tears spilled over my eyelids.
His gaze drifted downward to the ruined collar of my dress. A low growl rumbled deep within his chest, his jaw clenching so hard I heard his teeth grind. Worry warred with absolute fury across his chiseled features.
"Don’t speak," he commanded with a harsh, protective purr. "Don’t try to speak."
He reached behind his back, and a small pocketknife appeared in his palm with a fluid flick of his wrist. With two swift, brutal slashes, the hemp ropes binding my wrists and ankles snapped.
The second my hands were free, I threw myself forward, tumbling out of the chair and crashing directly into his chest. I buried my face into the crook of his neck, shaking with silent, violent sobs.
Casimir froze, his body rigid as iron, before he broke with a long, shaky exhale. His arms wrapped around me with a crushing strength that practically lifted me off the ground. He buried his face deep into my matted hair, pressing a hard, lingering kiss against the top of my head to make sure I was truly, tangibly there.
"You absolute fool," he muttered against my hair. "You reckless, infuriating creature."
A small whimper broke the silence from the side of the room.
"Mr. Russell," Hattie choked out. "Please... Mr. Guggenheim... we need to save Mr. Russell."
Casimir’s body went completely still. Slowly, he pulled back just enough to look into my face, his grip tight on my shoulders. His eyes narrowed into slits.
"Elias?" Casimir’s voice was dangerously low. "That fool is here? After I told him to stay low?"
I couldn’t speak, so I just nodded rapidly, my eyes pleading.
"Sit still," he barked, standing up.
He walked over to Hattie, slicing her bonds with a single motion. She collapsed forward, weeping softly into her hands.
Casimir ignored her entirely. He walked back to me, shed his heavy wool coat, and draped it over my shoulders to hide my torn dress. He gripped my waist firmly with one hand while hauling Hattie to her feet with the other.
"Let’s get you out of here," Casimir said, his tone flat. "And you will not leave my side. Do you understand?"
I nodded.
He didn’t waste another second. Casimir guided us out of the cell and up the steep, narrow flight of stone steps, his body positioned completely in front of mine, shielding me from the dark abyss of the stairwell.
We pushed through the velvet draperies into the grand reception parlor. The music stopped. The laughter died. Silence fell until you could hear the grandfather clock ticking.
The bouncers, the gamblers, the wealthy men in their silk top hats parted like the Red Sea, backing away from the perimeter of the room to give Casimir a wide, unobstructed path.
Casimir didn’t stop walking until he reached the center of the parlor, directly beneath the massive, glittering chandelier. He kept one hand firmly on my waist, pulling me tight against his flank.
"Bring out Elias Russell," Casimir barked.
The voice wasn’t a shout, but it carried a lethal, ringing resonance that cut through the silence like a blade.
From the back of the room, near the heavy ledger office, a large, thick-necked ruffian stepped forward.
He wore a grease-stained waistcoat and had a heavy gold chain looping into his pocket. He didn’t look happy to see Casimir commanding the floor.
He surrounded himself with four large, scarred thugs, each of them resting their hands heavily on the hilts of the clubs and knives tucked into their belts.
"Now see here, Mr. Guggenheim," the ruffian said in an arrogant challenge as he took a slow step forward.
"We respect your name in this city, we truly do. But the Velvet Noose has its own rules. You have no business interfering with Mr. Elias Russell. The man is a thief who skipped out on his markers. We have an account to settle with him, and the house always collects."
The ruffian gestured vaguely to the back rooms.
"The girl beside you belongs to our server staff as of tonight. If she’s your taste, we can negotiate a price after the floor clears. Business doesn’t always bow to your personal whims, Mr. Guggenheim."
I couldn’t find my voice. In a panic, my fingers bunched into the fabric of Casimir’s vest, clutching his side. I looked up at him, my eyes wide and pleading, silently begging him to save Gary.
Casimir looked down at me. The fierce, terrifying monster who held me looked completely, utterly hopeless. The desperation in my tear-stained face seemed to disarm him entirely.
He let out a loud, heavy sigh, the tension in his shoulders dropping just a fraction as he looked back toward the ruffian.
"Name the number," Casimir said coldly.
The ruffian blinked, caught off guard by the abrupt shift. "What?"
"The debt," Casimir spat, his voice dripping with absolute contempt. "The markers, the interest, the damages to your precious floor tonight. Name the exact number it takes to buy Mr. Elias Russell’s life from this house. I am clearing it. In full. Tonight."
The ruffian’s eyes widened, a slow, greedy grin stretching across his scarred face. He exchanged a smug, victorious look with his surrounding thugs. They had expected a bloody turf war.
Instead, they were about to get a massive, unearned windfall from the wealthiest man in the state.
"Well, now."
The ruffian grinned, revealing a mouthful of yellowed teeth. He rubbed his thick hands together like he was warming them over a fire.
"If you’re buying, Mr. Guggenheim... that changes the matter entirely. His marker stands at four hundred sovereigns. In gold coin, mind you. Plus the house penalty for skipping out."
He paused, letting the number settle.
"Of course, there’s also the interest. We’ve been holding his paper for nigh on eight months. Our boss ain’t a patient man."
Four hundred sovereigns. From what I’d gathered in this century, that was nearly two thousand dollars. Enough to buy a row house in a working-class neighborhood. No wonder they had been so eager to get their hands on him.
I watched Casimir’s expression, trying to gauge if he would spend an enormous amount of money on Gary.
"Six hundred. All accounts settled," Casimir countered. "Bring him out. Now."
A sharp gasp rippled through the room. The ruffian’s smirk died on his face.
Three thousand dollars. For Gary. And Casimir hadn’t even blinked.
The shock lasted only a second before greed took over. The ruffian nodded, a frantic edge to the movement as if he feared Casimir might change his mind, and flicked his wrist at the thugs behind him.
"Bring the lamb to the slaughter."
Two minutes passed. Nobody in the parlor dared move a muscle. My heart battered itself against my ribs as I stared at the dark hallway.
Then came the sound of dragging feet.
Two massive thugs emerged from the shadows, hauling a limp, broken form between them, and threw him like a sack of garbage right at our feet. Gary hit the floorboards with a sickening thud.
"G—Elias!"
The scream didn’t even make it out of my throat—just a broken, silent gasp as I dropped to my knees in the grime. Casimir’s coat dragged around me as I reached out, my trembling palms cradling Gary’s battered face.
He was in an awful state, his face a map of split flesh and purpled, swollen bruises. His left eye was completely swollen shut with dark crimson, and his chest heaved in shallow, agonizing gasps.
"Gary, please," I pleaded silently, gently wiping a smear of blood away from his brow.
Slowly, with an agonizing amount of effort, Gary’s right eye cracked open. The bloodshot slit of his iris focused on my face, then drifted up to the towering silhouette of Casimir standing directly over us.
A crooked, painful smile touched Gary’s bloodied lips. A small, wet chuckle rattled in his throat. He looked back at me, his voice nothing more than a faint, threadbare whisper against my palm.
"You found him," he breathed.
Then, his eye rolled back, his head going entirely heavy against my fingers as his consciousness finally gave out, plunging him into the dark.
