The crowd roared its approval. I resisted the urge to cover my ears. The stage lights flashed wildly, as if the intention was to disorient the crowd so much that they would forget they’d already tipped the bartender.
“The man himself is here tonight!” the MC shouted, working off the crowd’s energy. His manic grin flashed beneath the nights. “It’s gonna be a night you won’t forget. A killer experience. Are—you—ready?”
If possible, the noise in the bar grew louder. My head hurt, but I stuck it out with clenched teeth. What the hell was happening tonight?
“Then get ready to welcome,” the MC growled, “Jack the Ripper!”
The power cut in the bar. The lights went out, plunging the crowd into complete darkness. A girl screamed, triggering every other girl to join her. The guys yelled, just as freaked out. My heart pounded in my chest as my eyes struggled to find a single source of light. If the Ripper was here, it would be the perfect moment to strike. No one would know who pulled the knife.
A single spotlight illuminated the stage. A slim figure in a top hat, a waistcoat, and matching trousers stood with his back to the audience. Something glimmered in his right hand: the blade of a knife? My pulse intensified again, fluttering against my throat.
The figure spun around, letting his coat flare around him. He raised his hand—the glimmering object was a microphone—and leaned into the light. He was a gorgeous guy in his late twenties, with a charming smile that caught the audience’s attention without hesitation.
“Whitechapel!” he shouted into the mic. “Are you ready to party?”
The crowd stomped and hollered with appreciation as another stage light flickered on to illuminate a DJ’s turntable. The man tossed his top hat into the crowd and replaced it with a pair of headphones.
“I’m the Ripper!” he howled.
He smashed a button on his turntable, and the music resumed, more frantic and faster than before. The people on the dance floor promptly fell into the beat, pushing up against one another without any regards for personal space. When someone’s butt rubbed against my thigh, I hopped off my stool and headed for the exit.
The street was dark and cold. The moon was nowhere in sight. I hurried along the sidewalk, keeping my eyes peeled for trouble. The music from the bar faded out behind me. Overhead, the single streetlight along this road flickered out. The shadows deepened. I quickened my pace. Evelyn’s flat wasn’t far. I’d be home soon.
A splash of water—like a boot in a puddle—echoed behind me. I whirled around and saw nothing. When I faced front again, I noticed the street sign: Henriques Street. This was Ripper territory.
Footsteps clicked behind me. Without looking back, I made a run for it. The cold air burned my eyes as I crossed the road and kept sprinting. Not far now.
The toe of my shoe caught the edge of a curb. I landed hard and skidded across the pavement, peeling skin from my forearms. An ugly laugh rang out, and the guy I’d rejected in the bar loomed over me.
“Hiya, sweetheart,” he said, flashing a terrible grin. “Just me and you now, innit?”
11
I scrambled across the pavement and tried to find my footing, but the bar guy was too quick. He planted his feet on either side of my torso and trapped me against the ground. I thrust my fist up toward his crotch, but he quickly cupped his tender parts with both hands.
“Thought you might try that,” he said, leaning over me. His breath reeked of whiskey. “I knew you wanted to touch me.”
I snarled a nasty reply, but it only made him laugh.
“Tough girl, eh?” he asked. “Think that leather jacket makes you look hard?” The stupid grin returned to his face. “Wanna know what makes me hard?”
He sank to his knees, resting his full weight on my torso and trapping my arms beneath his legs. I hollered as loudly as possible, but he planted his sweaty palm over my mouth.
“None of that,” he said. “I like quiet girls.”
I bit his hand, but he was so drunk that he hardly noticed. Pressing harder against my face, he used his other hand to undo his belt buckle. Panic spread through my veins as I tried to wriggle free and got nowhere. He pulled down his zipper.
Evelyn, sans shoulder sling, stepped out of the shadows. If I hadn’t known her, the look of complete rage and abhorrence on her face would have scared the living shite out of me. Without making a sound, she seized the man around the neck and yanked him off me.
In Evelyn’s grasp, he couldn’t get his feet underneath him. She dragged him like a ragdoll, his knees scraping the ground, and dumped him in the wet gutter a good twenty feet away. Then she turned his face up so that he could see her. He stared at her, looking utterly terrified.
“That’s my friend,” she hissed. “I could kill you.”
For a heated moment, I thought she might. Her fists moved at lightning speed. In one second, she had broken his nose. In another, she’d rendered him unconscious. He lay in the street, blood dripping from his nose and into his slack-jawed mouth. Evelyn had her back to me, shoulders by her ears, fists at her sides.
“Ev?” I whispered.
Part of me was scared to see her face, but when she rotated toward me, the anger receded from her expression, and anguished worry replaced it. She scooped me up and lifted me into a hug so tight that my feet hovered above the ground.
“Are you all right?” she asked, holding me at arm’s length to examine me. “Did he hurt you?”
“N-no. You came just in time.”
All the adrenaline left my body at once. I shook violently, unable to stop my teeth from chattering. Evelyn shrugged off her sherpa-lined coat, pulled it around me, and rubbed my shoulders. Without letting go
