She shook her head as his cock entered her body swiftly and fully, stuffing her.
“Be a good girl,” he told her.
He held the girl still as he sank into her tight hole.
She cried out and he began to move in and out of her.
“Oh God,” he choked out once and grunted.
He pushed into her, with animal grunts coming from him, before he came inside the girl, jerking as the ropes of milk filled her pussy. He pulled out of her and saw the white seed spill down her leg. He buttoned himself up slowly and watched the girl adjust her clothing.
Before he walked back inside the tavern, he threw a shilling on the ground at her feet.
***
Mohammed met with Lord Fairfax, who assured him that he would hire the Bow Street Runners to track down Katharine. When Baron Adams had her abducted in revenge for her refusal of him, they had been successful in discovering what had occurred. Baron Adams still remained missing and had not returned to society due to Edward’s absolute resolve to force a duel.
Edward and Mohammed were certain that the Runners would find out what had happened to Katharine and where she might be.
In the meantime, Mohammed wanted Abdullah to find Jean Baptiste. As half-Arab, he might be hidden in a dirty part of London that would never have been known to them. Abdullah might be able to ferret him out, knowing the language and the people.
Abdullah nodded but said nothing.
“Inshallah, we will find her safe and soon,” he said to Mohammed.
***
Sally dried her tears as her brother, Liam, clenched his teeth in frustration.
“I’ll kill him,” he yelled.
Sally had told her brother of the rape and had been devastated when she had been taken against her will.
“Let the authorities deal with him. He’s a monster,” she said.
“No. I will deal with this myself,” Liam told his fearful sister. “I swear it.”
***
Abdullah spent a week doing as he had been bidden, and tracking down Jean Baptiste in London was no small feat. Jean Baptiste was a mercenary who lived in the dark and could easily blend in with the criminals in the great city. Abdullah, having been a palace guard, knew how to find someone who didn’t want to be found.
While Abdullah made quiet enquiries into finding the mercenary, he kept Mohammed at bay, saying he was getting closer to finding him. He was not at all surprised when he discovered Jean Baptiste residing in a disreputable inn in Whitechapel. It had taken him time to discover his whereabouts, but an Arab man in London was not common, and Jean Baptiste had the disfiguring scar, which stood out as well.
Abdullah had learned early in his life that most men could be bought and those who couldn’t could be made to talk with pain and torture. He could use both to his advantage. And so, he found himself at The Mucky Duck one evening to confront the mercenary.
Abdullah was not afraid of Jean Baptiste. Since the half-breed was a cold-blooded killer and a wanted man, it only made him understand the man more. That Abdullah had paid him well to perform a service he had not performed only angered the advisor. He was owed an answer.
He noticed that the stairs in the back of the inn were worn and creaked as he made his way to the man’s room. He carried a sharp knife on his person and would use it in a moment’s notice. As a well-built man, Abdullah had grown a tad soft as chief advisor to the sheik, but his roots were seeped in brute force.
He knocked on the door and was immediately let in. The room was dark with a bed, drawers, a table, and a lone candle on it. One chair stood next to the table. The room had an air of neglect, and Abdullah almost sneered at the insignificant man who stood before him. He seemed content in his meager surroundings.
“Ahlan, my friend,” Jean Baptiste spoke a greeting to Abdullah and gestured for him to enter.
Abdullah stepped into the room flinging his robes behind him, while the mercenary watched him warily. He didn’t entirely trust the large man.
Though Mohammed chose to and easily moved between the English world and the Arab one, changing clothes and languages as he went, Abdullah would not. He chose to always remember his great land and culture, and he dressed accordingly.
He continued to wear the traditional clothing, which was a loose, long-sleeved ankle-length garment made of wool in a deep blue color. He looked briefly around the drab room and then settled on the lone chair. He looked across to the dangerous man who stood before him.