The Rogue You Know (Covent Garden Cubs) Read Online Free Page A

burned, and his legs twitched. His body screamed, Run . Voices exploded behind him.
    “I was trying to get away from…them.” He pointed to the Norfolk dumplin’s coming through the jump. When Racer and Stub turned to look, Gideon gave them a shove and took off running.
    He tore past the fencing ken where Mother Cummings kept her goods and onto George Street. Behind him, Racer and Stub yelled for Beezle. Racer was fast, and Gideon couldn’t outrun him. He’d have to lose him. With that in mind, Gideon cut down an alley, leaping over a broken wheelbarrow and attracting the attention of a scavenging dog. He must have looked like a better meal than the dog had found, because the beast nipped at him and gave chase.
    “Oh, come on!” Gideon said with a glance at the heavens. “A dog too?”
    With the buffer nipping at his heels, he dove into a doorway, slammed the door on the mongrel, and stumbled up the stairs. His legs felt like lead bars. He was winded when he reached the roof, and he had to bend over and catch his breath. His legs cramped and threatened to fail him.
    Panting, he peered over the edge and saw Racer entering the building. Beezle, Stub, and the rogues from Mother Cummings’s weren’t far behind. He needed an escape plan. Somewhere they’d never find him. Somewhere he’d be safe.
    Fog and haze from coal fires shrouded the city. To the south, the river’s countless ships’ masts resembled bony fingers pointing to the sky.
    Skeletons.
    Not that way.
    East led to more rookeries, more men to chase him. West— west . West meant Hyde Park, Piccadilly, Mayfair…
    Gideon forced his beleaguered legs to attempt three large steps back, then tested his endurance. He ran across the roof and jumped across to the closest building, landing with a thud. The roof sloped, and he slid down and down.
    Shit. He was dead.
    His hand snagged a loose piece of wood that cut into his skin. He dangled, blood from his hand dripping into his eyes. Ignoring the pain, he slammed his feet against a glaze below him.
    Shit again. The glass was too thick to break, and his fucking hand hurt like a hot iron had branded it.
    Then the pane lifted, and a woman peered up at him. “What the bloody ’ell is going on?”
    Good question.
    A slug hit the building beside him.
    Very good question.
    Gideon peered over his shoulder. Mrs. Cummings’s men hunched on the building he’d jumped from. With their heads together, they watched as one primed the barking iron again.
    “This is bad. This is very bad.”
    Gideon looked up. Not that way. He looked down at the window and the not-insubstantial drop below.
    Neither path was desirable, but out of all his options, being popped was the least desirable. With a muffled curse, Gideon released the piece of wood and slid down until his feet balanced on the window ledge. The woman had ducked back inside when the next pistol shot rang out, and he swung inside before the slug hit, right where his head had been a moment before.
    “Hey!” From the safety of the room, he shook his fist at the thugs.
    The blow to his head came from nowhere. Gideon staggered back and closed his eyes to stop the spinning.
    “Get out!” the woman screamed, slapping at him.
    Gideon held up his hands and danced around her.
    “Just show me the door.”
    Still avoiding her blows, he reached the door, threw it open, and fell into the corridor.
    “There’s got to be an easier way,” he muttered as he stumbled to his feet and down the stairs. He burst into the street outside the building, paused to find his bearings, and started west. He took off at a light run, ignoring his leaden legs. There’d be time to inventory his injuries later. He turned down a side street and smacked into a tall, lanky form.
    Beezle stepped into the light. “Going somewhere?”
    Gideon fell backward, recovered his balance. “I was looking for you.”
    He spread his hands in a gesture of surrender.
    “Of course you were.” Beezle held out a hand.