LITMIR.BIZ

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       The edge of John’s mouth lifted. “Just imagine how overly stupid and loud it’d be if it were happening in your low closet?”

       Georgia set her hands on her hips. “You’d only snap at the first thrust, John. There’s barely enough of you as it is.”

       Robinson bit back an exasperated laugh and shifted against the wall. She certainly knew how to serve up a good tongue.

       John paused. “Is that Matthew? Was he the one up and banging on the wall like Fecky the Ninth?” He pushed past Georgia, striding into the room, and jerked to a halt, scanning Robinson. His eyes widened as his sweat-sleeked face flushed all the more. He glanced back over at Georgia. “Who’s this prick? And what’s he doing in your room?”

       Robinson narrowed his gaze and pushed away from the wall, ready to fist the runt back out into the corridor where he belonged.

       “Back against the wall, Robinson,” Georgia warned, pointing at him. “And don’t say a word.”

       Gritting his teeth, Robinson fell back against the wall, but held the youth’s gaze, challenging him to come at him.

       John swiped his hair out of his eyes and leaned toward her, his bare chest rising and falling more steadily. “Christ, Georgia. You can’t be trusting men you don’t know. Get rid of him. Before I do.”

       “Don’t be playin’ all high and mighty, John, whilst you’re playin’ with your whores loud enough for the whole buildin’ to hear.” Georgia grabbed the youth by the arm, directing him to the open door. “I’ve been behind on the rent by a whole dollar forty-five since my reticule was swiped and I’m boardin’ him to make up for it, is all. So you needn’t be jerkin’ your chin at me. I know what I’m doin’.” She tried shoving him into the corridor.

       John yanked his arm away from her and spun back. “You’re doing more than boarding him.” He swiped a hand over his face. “You’re fecking him for extra money to move west, aren’t you?”

       She gasped. “I’m not feckin’ him!”

       “Like hell you aren’t.”

       Robinson shook his head from side to side. “Have a little more respect for the woman,” he called out from up against the wall he was still sentenced to. “And while you’re at it, sir, put on a shirt lest you blind us all with your lack of refinement.”

       John’s eyes widened. “Smite me. He’s a fobbing Brit. Sir and all!” Shoving past Georgia, John veered toward him and said through clenched teeth, “You’d best leave lest I bloody you up well enough for your whore of a mother in England to feel it.”

       Robinson pushed away from the wall, straightening to his full height of six feet four inches, towering well above the boy by a whole head and a half. “I’d like to see you try, little John.”

      “Get out!” Lunging, John snapped out a clenched fist up toward his face.

       Robinson vaulted aside as John’s white-knuckled fist smashed into the wall behind him, denting the plaster with a muffled thud that resounded within the room.

      “John!” Georgia grabbed John by the waist and dragged him back toward her. “Enough. Enough!”

       Robinson held out a strained hand in warning, even though what he really wanted to do was smash the boy’s skull into pieces.

       John swatted away Georgia’s hands from around his waist and veered back toward him, his lean chest rising and falling against impassioned breaths. “No one makes a whore out of Georgia. No one. Especially not some prick of a Brit.”

       Holding the youth’s gaze, Robinson removed his coat and tossed it toward the chair, readying himself for whatever was about to happen. “The only one making a whore out of Georgia right now is you, John. I suggest you leave. Before she has to witness something she oughtn’t.”

       Georgia grabbed the youth by the arm with both hands and yanked him back, using her own body to maneuver his. “As you can see, John, despite him bein’ a Brit, he’s a gent who knows how to control his own two fists. Unlike you.” Turning him back toward the door, she shoved him out into the corridor. “Now get back to your girl.”

       “She’s not me girl,” he tossed back, turning back toward her. “I’m only fecking her to keep meself sane, because living next to you on the hour is like living next to the Garden of Eden. Snakes and all!”

       “Don’t you worry, this Eve is movin’ the entire garden west and soon. Good night…Adam.” Slamming the door, she bolted all three locks.

      “Georgia!” The door rattled. “Georgia, please don’t do this. I’ve got two dollars and thirty-four cents saved up. ’Tis yours if you need it and I sure as hell won’t ask for spit, in turn. Just don’t…don’t feck him.”

       Georgia hit the door with a hard, fast fist, rattling the door. “Is that all you think I’m good for? A bloody feck? Off with you, you knacker, before I tell Matthew to slice you up like custard pie and serve you to the locals!”

       There was a mutter as footfalls faded. A door slammed.

       “What a vile little maggot,” Robinson drawled. “Is feck what I think it is?”

       Georgia turned and glared at him. “If that were Matthew or any other man, you would have been dead by now. Don’t think that because you stand well over six feet that you can talk back to these men. This isn’t Broadway where people settle things with a bit of conversation. People here settle for blood. I want you to remember that the next time you mouth off.”

       He shifted his jaw. “He was disrespecting you and he was disrespecting me.”

       “Get used to it. It’s called life. Sometimes, you’ve got to swallow your pride to ensure you don’t die.” She snatched up the lamp from off the table and disappeared into the adjoining room, momentarily leaving him in shadows.

       Robinson swiped an exhausted hand across his face and winced as his fingers scraped against his scab. Seething out a breath, he leaned against the wall. “How old was that bastard, anyway? He looked rather young to be carrying on the way he did.”

       “He’s one and twenty,” she called out from within the low closet. She unfolded yellowing linen and spread it onto the straw mattress, smoothing it out. “Not nearly as young as you think. I was eighteen when I became a wife.”

       He stared at her. “You were rather young.”

       “Young? Don’t be silly. Most girls marry younger to avoid fallin’ into the hands of a brothel, and unlike them, I actually married for love. And a fine love it was.” She half nodded and turned away, her voice fading as she breathed out, “Even if it didn’t last.”

       Leaning over, she quietly arranged and rearranged the linen on the bed as if not at all pleased with the way it was laying. He sensed she was actually doing it to avoid any further discussion pertaining to her marriage.

       He trailed a hand against the uneven plastered wall as he made his way toward her. “So John is one of the boys?”

       “That he is. He can read and write now because of them.”

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