The Rippers Princess: Book One

Kind, compassionate, and gentle were not words to describe the man sitting at the table in the bar. Ordering drinks by the bottle and buried in a game of cards, the smile that spread across his mouth, parting his lips to bare his teeth, was nothing short of cruel and conniving.

Still, possessing the charm of a man it was best not to be acquainted with, he drew women to him like a magnet. They were damaged and broken things to start with, and once he was through with them, they were nothing more than ghostly shells.

A chair kicked back, and a glass was thrown, smashing against the far wall. Liv sighed before setting down the glass she’d been polishing.

With tempers riled by drink and an accusation of a sleight of hand, the men at the table announced their intentions in violent verbal threats.

Slapping the bar top, Liv pushed the towel into the waistband of her trousers. Making a slow approach to the volatile table, she rolled her eyes as she walked up behind them.

The man who believed he’d been cheated held the neck of a vodka bottle. The contents long since finished, he drew his arm back. Readying to hurl it at the man sitting calmly with an arm slung over the back of his chair at the other end of the table, he spat words that would make a nun cross herself.

Catching the man’s wrist as it started forward, Liv brought up her other hand to retrieve the bottle. “I think it’s time you leave.” Flipping the bottle down, she set her palm over the opening, her nails tapping the glass as the man turned his attention to her.

This was not the first bar fight she’d needed to intervene in, and she was confident it would not be the last.

The patron’s face was red and ruddy, a vein in his temple twitching with anger. His mouth formed a snarl, prepared to spew insults and threats at Liv.

Raising a hand to show her palm, Liv shook her head. “Not today, sunshine.” Swinging up the bottle in her other hand, she clocked him on the side of the head, staggering him. “One word out of you, and they’ll be putting you in a body bag.” Moving around to stand behind the cursing man, she shoved his back.

Forcing him to the door, Liv was pleased to hear nothing. The shouting died down, and the others at the table who’d been willing to start throwing fists all sat back down in some kind of stupor.

Being a bar owner in the rough end of the city, Liv had learned quickly that being meek and timid was like holding up a sign screaming she was weak—easy pickings for the scum she catered to.

Holding open the door, Liv shoved the man out into the street before giving a stark warning that if he returned, she’d gut him.

It was a false threat—Liv would never dream of doing such a thing—but the man didn’t know that.

Tugging out the towel, Liv wiped both hands. They were cut from the glass and stung due to the dregs of vodka that were still inside the bottle when it broke.

Wrapping the towel tight around her left hand, Liv swore under her breath. She turned an eye on the table that had upset what had been a quiet night, sneering to see they’d already started a new game of cards.

Knowing better than to cause any more issues than the one she’d just dealt with, Liv returned to the bar. Sliding a small medical kit out from underneath, she started picking the tiny shards of glass from her palm.

Depositing the last shard of glass into the little ashtray on the bar, Liv tipped some more vodka over her hand. It stung like hell, but it was certainly not as painful as using TCP.

Sucking in a sharp, pained breath, Liv dried her hand gently before winding some bandages around it. With a quick glance at the clock above the bar, she reached for the bell, ringing it twice.

“Last orders!” she shouted to the many bodies still hunched over pints and drinks. A few of them grumbled; it was an earlier close than usual.

With a twenty-four-hour licence, Liv could well have stayed open, but the small incident had left her in a sour mood and wanting her bed.

After half an hour, the bar dwindled down to all but one patron. Still nursing the last bottle he’d ordered, he remained at the table, a cigarette hanging out the corner of his thin lips.

Collecting the glasses off the bar top, Liv stacked them in the glass washer before sliding out a tray and a metal bucket to start clearing the tables.

Moving from one table to the next, Liv stopped at the top end of the room, a heeled foot kicking the glass still littering the floor. “Don’t you have a home to go to?”

Placing down the tray, Liv collected up the glasses. Dumping the overflowing ashtray into the bucket set down by her feet, she kept from touching the surface of the table. More than aware of the lines they’d used the playing cards to cut, Liv didn’t want to end up with any remaining grains on her hand.

From the end of the table, the man snorted, a massive waft of cigarette smoke escaping as he did. “I’m in no rush.” Taking a swig from the bottle, he slapped it down on the table, making the glasses rattle.

Standing straight, Liv set a hand on her hip. “You might not be, but I am.” Quipping tartly, she eyed the thin man with some contempt.

Kieron Blackman had more than a reputation; his name breathed fear into the city. All knew that the man taking slow, slugging sips from the bottle was responsible for a string of violent crimes and many deaths. Being bold-tongued was often a mistake to make with Kieron, but as of yet, he’d made no complaint when Liv was a little short with him.

Kieron tipped back in his chair. Balancing on the two back legs, he kept one hand on the table. “Got yourself someone to cosy up with at home, then?” he mused, a little flick in the corner of his mouth switching it to a smirk.

Her brow arching, Liv shook her head, returning to cleaning down the table. “No, not unless you count my bed.”

Avoiding eye contact when Kieron snickered in reply, Liv managed to reduce the obviousness of her flinch when he snapped the chair back down to the floor.

“I could keep you warm,” he offered luridly. Sliding the bottle across the table, it knocked against Liv’s hand.

Fingers closing around the bottle, Liv slipped back from the table, aware she was giving Kieron an eyeful of her bust from being bent over. “Let’s be honest, Blackman,” she started, her tongue skirting over her teeth. “You’re a walking claptrap.” Angling the bottleneck at him, a shrug lifted one shoulder.

Their eyes locked, and worryingly, Kieron looked far from amused at Liv’s suggestion that he was a walking bank of STDs.

Sucking in her cheeks, Liv took a nervous swig from the bottle. Hell be damned; if she was to meet her maker that night, she wanted one last drink before she went.

Carefully, Kieron picked up the wide-brimmed hat that was resting on the table edge, putting it on his head as he pushed back the chair. Quietly standing, Kieron brushed down the long, trench-like coat he always wore. With his head down, his face was hidden by the brim of the hat.

Maybe Liv had been a little too bold. Starting to consider her options for escape, she swallowed thickly when Kieron started around the table, a single hand disappearing inside his coat pocket.

Her heart hammering, Liv didn’t once take her eyes off Kieron. Her fingers were losing feeling from how tightly she was gripping the bottle, and she nearly dropped it when he stopped beside her.

Despite having known it before, Liv had never quite realised how tall Kieron was until that moment. Standing right in front of her, he blocked the light from behind and cast his own face into shadow—but not enough to hide the smile that lingered on his mouth.

“I let you get away with a lot,” Kieron gravelled, his breath a hot mix of alcohol and cigarette smoke. “Mainly for amusement purposes.” He laughed. It wasn’t warm; the sound was cold and scratched at Liv’s ears dangerously.

Shrinking back, Liv’s heel crunched on the broken glass. Her chest ached from the fierce and fearful pounding of her heart, leaving her feeling faint.

Her eyes closing when Kieron ran the backs of his fingers down her cheek, Liv became rigid.

“Don’t push your luck,” he breathed against her ear, before pressing an almost caring kiss to her forehead. “My amusement of you won’t last long.” Delivering the words as some sort of warning, he removed his hand from Liv’s face.

Cautiously opening one eye, Liv bit down on her lip, giving a small nod to say she understood.

Kieron extended a long finger. Stroking it down the bridge of Liv’s nose, he tapped it once on the tip. “Good girl.” It was sarcastic, like he was praising a dog rather than a person.

Removing the bottle from Liv’s hand, Kieron walked around her. Downing the last of the beverage in one go, he tossed the bottle across the bar, letting it smash somewhere on the far side.

“See you tomorrow night, princess.” Kieron tapped two fingers to his forehead before slipping out the double doors.

Shaken, but not entirely frozen to the spot, Liv rushed to deadbolt the door. Leaning on it heavily as her heart left its petrified state and she was able to breathe correctly again, Liv tried to shake off the chill that Kieron had left on her skin.

At the very least, Liv was still alive.

This time.