Chapter Nine: Blood on the Streets and Unseen Ties
Thomas moved through the cramped alleyways of Flea Bottom, his mind clouded with anger, the memory of Lyra's bruised face burned into his thoughts. He arrived at Marla's home, a sagging building tucked between two larger, equally dilapidated structures. The door creaked as he pushed it open, the stale air thick with the smell of old cooking grease and damp linens. Marla was inside, washing dishes while her daughters played quietly in the corner.
She looked up as Thomas entered, her brow furrowing at the dark look on his face. "What's got you in such a mood?" she asked, drying her hands on her apron.
Thomas didn't waste time with pleasantries. "I need your help. It's Lyra," he said, his voice tight. "She's hurt. Some bastard put his hands on her. She's at home now, but I don't want her to be alone."
Marla's expression shifted instantly, her casual demeanor replaced with a fierce, protective concern. "Lyra?" she asked, quickly putting the pieces together. "You mean the girl who stays with you?"
Thomas nodded, his anger simmering just below the surface. "She's more than that," he admitted, his voice low. "She was carrying water when one of her old customers found her. He hit her when she wouldn't give him what he wanted. I need you to take care of her."
Marla wasted no time. She grabbed her daughters by the hand, gathering a small bundle of supplies. "Come on, girls," she said firmly. "We've got a friend to help." They hurried back to Thomas's place, and Marla immediately went to work, examining Lyra with a practiced eye. Lyra flinched at first but allowed Marla to tend to her, the older woman's touch surprisingly gentle.
"She's bruised up, but she'll be fine," Marla said, her voice steady as she wrapped a clean cloth around Lyra's forehead. "Just needs some peace and quiet. No more stress."
Thomas lifted Lyra into his arms, careful of her injuries, and carried her back to the tavern. He placed her gently on the plush bed in the old boss's room, smoothing her hair back from her face. She looked so small and fragile in that moment, the usual fire in her eyes dimmed by pain and exhaustion. Marla and her daughters stayed close, setting up in one of the other rooms, their presence a quiet comfort in the otherwise empty building.
Thomas kissed Lyra's forehead, whispering for her to rest before stepping out into the hallway. Marla was there, waiting by the door, her gaze questioning. "Where are you going?" she asked, her tone cautious but knowing.
"Getting her something to help with the pain," Thomas said, his jaw clenched.
Marla crossed her arms, raising an eyebrow. "Sure. Just don't hit him too hard, yeah?"
Thomas's smile was thin, his eyes cold. "I'll try," he muttered before disappearing into the night.
The walk to the man's house was quick, Thomas's feet moving on autopilot as he replayed Lyra's words in his mind. He found the house easily, tucked away at the end of a narrow, grimy alley. Through the half-broken window, he spotted the man, sprawled lazily on a ratty mattress with another woman, his hands roving greedily over her body. The sight of him, so casual, so unrepentant, sent a fresh wave of fury through Thomas.
Thomas burst through the door, grabbing the man by the collar and yanking him off the bed. The woman shrieked, scrambling away as Thomas threw the man to the floor. "What's your name?" Thomas snarled, holding him down with one hand while grabbing a piece of firewood from beside the hearth with the other.
The man's eyes were wide, his bravado gone. "T-Terric," he stammered, trying to scramble back, but Thomas swung the wood with a vicious crack, connecting with his cheekbone. Blood sprayed, and Terric's head snapped to the side, a dazed groan escaping his lips.
"Listen close, Terric," Thomas said, his voice low and menacing. He leaned in, his breath hot against the man's ear. "Lyra is mine. Mine to fuck, mine to use, mine to protect. You so much as look at her again, and I'll make sure the Watch never finds what's left of you."
Terric whimpered, his face a mess of blood and swelling. Thomas stood up, tossing the firewood aside as he turned to leave, not sparing another glance at the groveling figure on the floor. The door slammed shut behind him, the sharp sound cutting through the stillness of the night.
Back at the tavern, the dim glow of candlelight flickered across the room as Thomas sank into a chair, his fists still clenched, blood smeared on his knuckles. Marla approached cautiously, sliding into the seat across from him. "You got it out of your system?" she asked, her voice a mix of concern and exasperation. "She's just a girl, Thomas. A girl you pay to keep you company."
Thomas's eyes met hers, his gaze fierce and unyielding. "I thought that's all she was," he said, his voice rough, tinged with bitterness. "When I took her in, I told myself she was nothing more than a cure for this addiction. Something to use, not care about. But every day, every time I saw her smile, every time she talked, I couldn't ignore it. She's more than that now. She's… human. And I treat her like one when no one else will."
Marla studied him, her expression softening. "You're kinder than most men in this city. But you know how Flea Bottom is. You hurt someone, they'll come back at you twice as hard. Revenge is easy here. It's like breathing."
Thomas grinned, the dark humor of her words hitting home. "I don't care, Marla. If someone hurts her again, I'll hurt them worse. My morals are my own, and I won't change them just because this place is rotting."
Marla chuckled, shaking her head as she leaned closer, her hand resting on his thigh. "You're a stubborn bastard. But it's why I like you." She leaned in, brushing her lips against his, her kiss slow and deliberate, tasting of cheap wine and unspoken promises. Thomas pulled her closer, his hands roaming her back, tugging at her dress as he deepened the kiss.
They stumbled back into the boss's room, falling onto the plush bed that now belonged to them. Marla straddled him, her hips rolling in a slow, teasing motion as she unbuttoned her blouse, letting it fall away to reveal her full, heavy breasts. Thomas groaned, his hands immediately reaching up to cup them, his thumbs brushing over her nipples as she moved against him.
Marla rode him with a practiced ease, her movements slow and steady, the bed creaking softly beneath them. She leaned down, her breath hot against his ear as she whispered filthy encouragements, urging him to take her harder, faster. Thomas gripped her hips, thrusting up to meet her, his breath coming in ragged bursts as he lost himself in the feel of her, the soft warmth of her body pressing down on his.
They moved together, each thrust building on the last, the rhythm of their bodies syncopated and unrestrained. Marla's moans filled the room, each one a sharp, eager cry as she bounced on his lap, her movements growing more urgent with each passing second. Thomas's hands explored every inch of her, feeling the sweat-slick skin, the curves and dips that were so familiar yet always thrilling.
Marla leaned back, her hands gripping his knees as she rode him harder, the plush bed absorbing the frantic pace of their lovemaking. Thomas's head fell back against the pillows, his grip tightening on her hips as he felt the tight, inevitable coil of release building. When it finally hit, it was with a force that left him gasping, Marla's name on his lips as his cock pulsed inside her, spilling deep.
Marla slumped forward, her forehead resting against his, both of them catching their breath in the heavy silence that followed. "You know," Thomas said, his voice still breathless, "one of these rooms is yours. Once it's cleaned up, you and the girls can have it."
Marla smiled, her fingers tracing lazy circles on his chest. "We'll make this place ours," she murmured, her voice tinged with a soft, hopeful defiance. "And maybe, just maybe, we'll find a bit of peace here."
Thomas nodded, holding her close as the weight of the day settled on his shoulders. But the anger, the frustration—it all felt lighter now, burned away in the heat of Marla's touch. As he lay there, his thoughts drifted back to Lyra, resting just a few doors away, and the faint flicker of something like hope stirred in his chest.
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