“She’s the White Flower spy.”
Twenty-Six
Juliette practically slammed into the two Scarlets guarding the door to the burlesque club, narrowly halting before a collision. Kathleen was close behind, her breath coming fast.
“Let me through.”
“Miss Cai.” The Scarlets exchanged a glance. “We can’t—”
“Stand aside. Now.”
One of them shifted out of her way, drawing a glare from the other, but that small gap was enough for Juliette. She squeezed past and pushed through the door, barging into the dark interior of the club, the smell of smoke bringing an immediate sting to her eyes.
And inside, all she could hear was screaming.
For a moment Juliette was frozen in shock, uncertain what she was witnessing. The club had been cleared out, the tables and bar emptied of patrons and workers. The only people present were her father’s men, seated around him and at the ready while he lounged at one of the largest tables, arms splayed across the velvet of the half-moon couch.
He was facing forward.
Facing the stage, where Rosalind was being whipped.
The lash came down again on her back, and Rosalind cried out, her whole body shuddering. They didn’t allow her to crumple to the floor: there were four Scarlets around her, two to hold her upright, one with the whip, and one standing just to the side.
“Oh my God,” Kathleen whispered. “Oh my—”
Juliette charged for the stage. “Stop it!” she demanded. She was upon the platform in three fast steps. When the Scarlet standing guard tried to stop her from lunging in Rosalind’s direction, Juliette was faster, pushing at the arms that tried to grab her. The guard tried again, and Juliette immediately struck her fist across his face. He stumbled away, finally letting Juliette throw herself before Rosalind, her own body a shield for the next lashing.
“Xiao Wang, stand down.”
At Lord Cai’s call, the Scarlet who held the whip frowned. Droplets of blood were splattered across the front of his shirt, but he seemed not to notice. He didn’t stand down. His arm pulled back, half-prepared to strike again, as if he would release the whip.
“Go ahead,” Juliette said, her words curling into a sneer. “Whip me, and see how many pieces I’ll cut you into afterward.”
“Xiao Wang.” That was Lord Cai again, his voice rising over Rosalind’s whimpers. “Stand down.”
The Scarlet listened. He lowered the whip, and Juliette spun around, hands outstretched for Rosalind. As soon as the Scarlets released their hold on her, she collapsed, and Juliette scrambled to catch her cousin, softening her fall onto the stage. By then Kathleen had reached them too, cursing and cursing under her breath.
The burlesque club was silent. Waiting.
“Rosalind,” Juliette said. “Rosalind, can you walk?”
Rosalind mumbled something beneath her breath. Juliette couldn’t hear what Rosalind was saying, but by Kathleen’s stricken expression, she had understood immediately.
“Deserve what?” Kathleen asked, her voice a mere rasp. “Why would you say that?”
It was only then that the mumble registered to Juliette. I deserve it, I deserve it.
“Because she does.”
Juliette’s head snapped up, seeking her father. He had spoken in such plain declaration, without room for dispute nor debate.
“Bàba,” she whispered, horrified. “You know Rosalind. You know who she is.”
“Indeed,” Lord Cai replied. “And so she should have known better. She should have had more loyalty, but instead she has been feeding Scarlet information out.”
Juliette felt her throat grow tight. When she shifted her hold on her cousin, her palm came back entirely slick with blood, the mangled gashes in Rosalind’s qipao weeping bright and red from her wounds. Juliette was torn between the same indignation that had dragged her father out here to make an example out of Rosalind and utter outrage that this was Rosalind—no matter what she did, where was her chance to explain herself?
“Is this about her lover?” Kathleen asked quietly. Her voice shook. “He is a mere merchant. She said he would soon leave the White Flowers.”
“He is no mere merchant,” Lord Cai replied. With disconcerting speed, he leaned off the couch, grabbing a stack of papers upon the table. In his hand, he flipped through them, then selected one to pass to a Scarlet beside him, indicating in Juliette’s direction. “He is no merchant at all. According to the letters we found, he is a White Flower through and through, and he has been siphoning our clientele lists through Lang Shalin for months.”