Razors & Ruin (Rare Horrors #1)

Chapter 40

40

Early next morning…

Sweeney

I let myself in quietly and sit by the fire for a spell, letting it warm my limbs before I get back in bed with Nellie.

If she rolls into my arms and finds me cold, she’ll want to know why, and I’d rather it was a surprise.

By the time she finally stirs, I’ve been awake for hours.

“Good morning, treacle.” I kiss her nose. “How’s tricks?”

“I feel like I could sleep for a thousand years more,” she says, stretching as she stands. “I can’t believe how long it took to get rid of everything. Fucking hours we were at it.”

She’s not wrong. Hundreds of pies and God knows how much disgusting shit had to be disposed of, hidden or cleaned.

We bagged up the savories and took the cart along one of the less-traveled riverside roads to dump them in the Thames, but the identifiable junk went up the chimney.

“Yeah, but it’s spotless now.” I look her over. “Unlike you and me. Stateless, we are. Time for a bath.”

I lead her downstairs. The bakehouse oven burned all night, and I tut as I rake out the cinders. The Beadle’s gold teeth smile at me from the tray, surrounded by greasy ash.

“What are you grinning at, fuckface?” I ask, picking them up.

“You got what you deserved in this life. I commend you to The Devil and hope he’s already got your fat arsehole wedged onto a sharp spike.”

Nellie pumps water into a bucket and fills the tin bath, dragging it before the fire. “It’ll need a few minutes to warm through,” she says, wiping her brow.

I watch her undress. Her body is filling out; now that we can afford it, she and I eat better.

Not that we partake of anything made here on the premises, but we make sure we’re seen buying good meat and produce. Anything that allays suspicion makes good sense for business, and against the odds, my girl can make a fucking excellent stew.

“You look gorgeous, pet,” I murmur. “Come here and let me see to you.”

She giggles. “Like you know how to make something less dirty!”

I take her hand and help her into the bath. It’s not quite large enough for her to sit down, except in a squat, so she has to stand. I make a mental note to get her a bigger one.

I pick up the soap. Despite the considerable expense, I prevailed on Nellie to buy some good-quality carbolic; she and I tend to get in a mess regularly, and water alone doesn’t cut it.

I dampen a rag and scrub it over the soap, dousing her grimy skin. She sighs and leans on me, and I take her weight, my hands moving as I work the rag over her body.

“Do you think it’ll be alright?” she asks. “The Beadle was here on official duties. Someone might know he came by.”

I massage her scalp, my fingertips working the suds into her hair. “Don’t worry. I went on a mission earlier that hopefully went a long way to solve our problems. The main thing is that the shop is clean, for now.”

She furrows her brow. “Mission?”

I drop my lips onto hers, fast and light. “You’re adorable when you’re confused. Let me rinse your hair, and then it’s my turn.”

Scrubbed and dressed, we sit in the shop beside the small oven, bread stuck on the end of toasting forks.

We’ve got real butter, and fuck me if my lovely lady didn’t go and get me some marmalade. I love the stuff.

Nellie laughs as I spread the preserve in a layer an inch thick. “So what’s the big secret?” she asks.

I crack a grin. Blimey . There’s one thing I haven’t told her, and I’m not sure whether she’ll jump my bones or break my nose.

“I fucked you while you were asleep. Not last night, a while ago.”

Her eyes widen, and she coughs, almost choking on her bite of toast. “You what?” she splutters. “That is out of line!”

“Come off it. You’ve never once turned me down. Can’t I assume I have free use of your nasty little holes?”

She flushes prettily. Any other woman would be scandalized to be spoken to like that, but not my Nellie. She wants me to degrade her, and I’m more than happy to oblige.

“That’s not the point!”

She wriggles in her seat, and I know her pussy is giving her trouble. “You literally screwed me out of an orgasm instead of into one, you degenerate fucker. Why should you get to dump your come in me and not put the work in?”

I take a bite, talking around the toast. “Because that’s what you’re for. Fucking, filling, wrecking. It was fantastic, love. Je ne regrette rien .”

“Don’t talk with your mouth full.”

“Do you want your mouth full?”

She leaps to her feet, darting around the counter, and I give chase, dragging her to the floor. “I’ve got something to shut you up right here.”

I drop to my knees and grab a fistful of her wet hair, tugging it so her head is forced back.

A fumble of my fly buttons, then my cock is in her warm mouth, her tongue constantly moving as she works the smooth head. She moans as I crash into her soft palate, gagging, her throat constricting around my throbbing shaft.

This woman . So rare, so exquisite.

Veronica barely tolerated sex at all, and here’s my precious treacle with her jumpy cunt and twisted little head, wanting nothing more than me to fill them both with my come.

“I don’t know what compelled you to call on me in my cell all those years ago,” I say, shoving deeper, “but I’m glad you did.”

I pull out of her mouth, a trail of saliva spattering her cheek, and she laughs, gazing up at me adoringly.

“To tell you the truth, I was a screwed-up young psycho. You were sexy as fuck, I was horny. Then I couldn’t get you out of my head.”

“Nowhere I’d rather be,” I reply as she swallows my length again. “Although your pussy is paradise, your arsehole is manna from heaven—I don’t know. I’ll have to rail all of them repeatedly, and even then, I can’t promise I’ll be able to pick a favorite.”

Nellie’s hand is inside her bloomers, frigging her clit like a madwoman. I reach below her waistband and shove her hand away, and she groans, letting her teeth graze my surging cock.

“You better not fucking think about it.”

I slap her cunt with the flat of my palm, and she leaps like I’ve scalded her, skewering her throat on my length to a depth hitherto unknown.

“Cunting Christ!” I cry. “More of that, my pretty whore!”

I spank her again, her swollen clit pulsing as the blow lands, and she squeals, my cockhead crashing into her soft palate.

My climax erupts from deep in my abdomen, and I ravaged her clit with my rough fingertips, hurling her over the edge.

Heat and wetness flow from her as she unravels, and she cries out, gargling my come as it pumps down her throat.

I pull free of her tight throat and sit, my back against the counter, trying to get my body under control.

“That was unexpected,” she says, her voice raspy. “Good job the shutters are closed!”

“I don’t care.” I help her to her feet and swoop to kiss the back of her hand. “Let them see how freaks like us do it.”

Nellie is astonished when I show her the spoils.

The Beadle was the kind of over-confident prick to carry all his keys on one ring. Some of them were even labeled, presumably as a neighborly favor to any burglar who happened to try their hand.

It was a piece of piss to let myself in, raid the place, and pack up his belongings. I did it carefully, making it look like the dirty swine had legged it in the dead of night.

“Cor,” Nellie says, picking up a solid silver paperweight from the bundle. “We’d get a few bob for this and no mistake.”

She rummages deeper. “Fuck me sideways, look at this dress!”

“The Beadle was married in his younger years,” I say. “His wife ran away with his close friend, or so I heard. Couldn’t have happened to a more deserving come-stain.”

Nellie’s eyes glow with adoration. She loves it when I’m crass, which is just as well.

“Anyway, he tended to hang onto things, so you, my pet, will find all manner of trinkets in there. I also liberated a pile of cash from underneath his mattress and, just for fun, pissed in his bed.”

Her nimble fingers move quickly as she fingers through bundles of notes.

“There’s so much money here, Sweeney. More than I’ve ever seen in my life. Shame you couldn’t have swung by the Wetherby gaff while you were at it; if one of Beatrix’s dresses fit me, they all would.”

I love her so fucking much.

Her voice is still strained, and her neck is livid with marks, each one a moment when she surrendered her life to me.

That’s the cold bones of the matter; she knows I could have killed her, could kill her afresh every time I put my hands on her body.

Dig beneath the veneer of social discourse, and we’re all playing the same game.

A man can take a woman’s neck in his hand and snap it like a sapling, but he does not because he loves her. She accepts the risk with implicit faith because she loves him .

A man trusts a woman with his heart; in return, she trusts him with her life. Nellie and I just play harder than most, that’s all.

We’re both scarred, her more than me, but by her own hand. She hides them from curious stares, but I spend hours mapping them with my fingertips, learning her pain.

She told me about her father one night, after too much drink. The things he made her do.

He was too much of a coward to fuck her, afraid he’d injure her, but on the night of her mother’s death, in the bathroom, he went for broke.

She slashed his face with his razor—such dramatic irony couldn’t be conceived by the most talented playwrights—and he relented, afraid of his daughter’s madhouse rage.

He believed a woman could kill him, and that’s why he dragged her to the workhouse as soon as the sun came up.

“You’ll not be short of finery, love,” I say. “We’ll have a few days off work while the dust settles. I suggest we put it about that you took ill last night, and that’s why the shop was shut.”

She holds the dress to her body, swinging her hips to make the skirt swish. “And what about Sommers?”

“He won’t be back. The law will assume the Beadle and the priest were caught up in the libertine activities that put the Wetherbys in the ground.”

I show her the trunk and suitcases. “We can burn these. The police will find all the valuables and luggage gone, and with no sign of a break-in, Occam’s Razor applies.”

She cocks her head. “What’s that?”

I smile. “Principle of parsimony, my pet. In short, it means the simplest explanation is usually the correct one.”

“You’re so clever, Mr T. You really think it’ll work out?”

I nod. “The old man was wrapped up in some horrible shit, and coming out of that smelling like roses would be a tall order. He won’t risk Johanna’s future, and I will keep my wagging tongue to myself.”

She tosses the dress and twirls into my arms, surprising me with a rough, biting kiss that makes my cock twitch.

“I’d appreciate it if you’d lend it to me occasionally,” she murmurs.

“You bet I will,” I say. “And don’t you worry your pretty head. If Occam’s Razor fails, I have one of my own, and I know how to use it.”

A street organ starts up outside. Serendipitously, it plays the Danse Macabre , and Nellie and I start to laugh.

I swoop her into my arms and lead her in a waltz, spinning her nimbly amongst our ill-gotten gains.

“We have a wedding to plan,” I murmur.

She swoons and drops her head on my chest. “Oooh, Mr T.”

I give her hair a firm tug, and she responds with a hiss, like a feral cat.

“I want that shop sign swapped before the month is out. Mrs Todd’s Meat Pie Emporium.”

I grab her chin. “Too long have I tolerated another man’s name stuck to my woman like a fucking leech. Say my name. Now.”

“Sweeney Todd,” she whispers. “And I am Mrs. Nellie Todd.”

Damn fucking right.