Chapter 234 - Two Hundred And Thirty Four
The sound of Ryan’s voice, roaring through the chaotic night air of Aldridge Port, was the sweetest music Suzy had ever heard. It cut through the fog of her pain and despair, a ray of comfort against the raging sea. A weak, joyful smile, almost a grimace given her bruised face, touched her lips. His name, a prayer, a desperate hope fulfilled, slipped from her in a soft, trembling whisper: "Ryan."
Seeing Suzy, his beloved wife, slumped between two rough-looking men, her beautiful gown torn and soiled, her face pale and bearing the unmistakable mark of violence, transformed Ryan’s fear into a white-hot rage. His eyes, usually so warm and thoughtful, blazed with fire. He dismounted from Thunder in one fluid motion, the stallion instinctively standing firm. Before his feet even fully hit the cobblestones, two long-barreled pistols were in his hands, their polished steel glinting ominously in the flickering lamplight. He aimed them steadily, not at the envoy or the boss, but directly at the men holding Suzy.
"Who is it? Who did this to you?" he asked, his voice deceptively soft, a terrifying contrast to the fury in his eyes, his question directed only at Suzy.
Her hand, trembling violently, lifted a fraction, her finger weakly indicating Jem, the brute who had struck her and dragged her from the kidnappers’ den.
Jem, startled by Ryan’s sudden, ferocious appearance, fumbled for the pistol tucked into his belt. He was a hardened criminal, used to violence, but there was something in the Duke’s eyes that made his blood run cold. He attempted to draw and fire, a desperate, clumsy movement.
Ryan was faster. Lightning fast.
A deafening crack, a flash of orange from one of his pistols, and Jem’s attempt ended before it truly began. A neat, dark hole appeared in the center of Jem’s forehead. His eyes widened in momentary, terminal surprise, and then he slumped to the ground like a discarded sack, dead before he hit the cobblestones.
"I have never," Ryan stated, his voice still low but now resonating with deadly intent, his gaze sweeping over the remaining stunned smugglers, "never in my life, dreamed of raising so much as my voice in anger to her, let alone my hand. Who, in all the hells, gave you the confidence to do so?" His question hung in the air, unanswered, as Jem lay lifeless at his feet.
The remaining smugglers, shocked out of their negligence, scrambled for their own weapons. The envoy, his face a mask of terror, dove behind a stack of crates, his boys deserting him. The air crackled with tension.