by Elle Marlow
Blackwaer Burning
Elle Marlow
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.
This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places, and events are the work of the author’s imagination.
Any resemblance to real persons, places, or events is coincidental.
Copyright 2017 Blackwater Burning by Elle Marlow
www.ElleMarlow.Blogspot.Com
Cover Art by Leah Hamrick [email protected]
Author’s Note
Blackwater Burning
touches upon actual history around the Tucson area during the early 1880’s. While the clash between Wyatt Earp and the Cowboys are mentioned within the pages, the months and dates are condensed in the interest of story-telling.
Visit my Youtube channel where I take my readers to locations around the state of Arizona that I write about. Thank you, EM
P.S. at the end of this novella, there is a bonus excerpt of my Amazon best seller, Yellow Rock.
Acknowledgements
I’d sincerely like to thank Leah Hamrick for her talents in creating the cover for this story. I also like to thank the authors of Solstice Publishing for their continued support.
Blackwater Burning
Prologue
San Antonio, Texas 1882
Sophia’s gaze followed the cigar smoke as it slowly snaked its way toward the ceiling. Ghostly ribbons tangled against the stamped copper tin, before rolling like an ocean wave over the gamblers focused on their cards, whiskey and piles of chips.
Turning herself around on the stool, she caught her reflection in the elaborate mirror secured behind the bar. She frowned at the ragged image looking back at her. Dressed in a man’s button-up shirt and a rancher’s hat that hid all her hair under its crown, it was hard to recognize herself.
“Haven’t you been here all day? That stool ain’t no damned park bench. If you sit, you drink,” the barkeep ordered. Embarrassment warmed her cheeks as she tapped a finger on the bar. Immediately, a glass of whiskey slid in front of her and the sour stench of cheap mash burned clear up to her nose.
“You have to pay for that!” he said, looming over her with his hands on his hips. Sighing, she reached into a shirt pocket to retrieve a coin. She tossed it at him. It was the last bit of her money, and it annoyed her to waste it on one shot of cheap whiskey that she’d have to choke to get down.
The barkeep walked away, and she stared down at the brown liquid. The last time she tried whiskey it set her belly on fire. She was already uncomfortable, with her drawers bunched under her trousers, and with tight fabric wrapped around her breasts.
She picked up the glass and gazed at her reflection as her father’s words repeated in her mind.
“Your looks are a downright sin, Sophia Merchant. I don’t know how you were born looking all fancy the way that you did, but it’s a pain in my ass, and I promised your mama I’d keep an eye on you. So, put on these clothes, be my good luck charm and don’t talk to nobody!”
The whiskey touched her lips. If her mama, god rest her soul, knew that her baby girl was sitting in a gambling parlor dressed like a man and drinking mash, she’d roll in her grave.
“The hell you say!”
Sophia turned in time to see her father raise his hands in the air, while a big, grotesquely scarred man pointed a revolver at his head.
“I played that hand straight, mister,” her father breathed.
“My dirty dog’s ass. You swindled me, Merchant!”
The hair on Sophia’s arms lifted. It wasn’t the stranger’s gun or his scar, or even the fact that he was threatening her father. It was his eyes. They were as dark as a demon’s soul, and as cold as death itself. A tremor dripped down up her spine. She’d never seen eyes like his. Did Maurice cheat the devil?
The big man shoved the gun forward, and her father jumped from his seat, tumbling his chair backwards. Startled, she hopped off her barstool and then lunged behind the bar, knocking her hat off when she did. The piano music stopped, and the parlor grew hauntingly still, until the cocking of a hammer echoed off the walls.
“We don’t need no trouble in here,” the barkeep declared, reaching a hand under the bar just inches away from her face. His plump fingers grasped the butt of his rifle. She looked up the length of his arm to discover that he was already looking down at her with his mouth gaped open wide enough that she could count every one of his rotted teeth.
“Settle down, Comanche Crow. I’ll tell you what, I’ll make this right. You go ahead and gather up that jackpot. It’s all yours, no harm done,” Maurice told him. Sophia squeezed her eyes closed. If that big monster took all that money, she’d find herself sleeping on the streets tonight. The air crackled and thinned as she waited for Maurice to get himself good and shot.
“What the hell! You’re a girl!” the barkeep announced over her head. His hand grasped her hair into a fist. He pulled, until she had no choice but to rise to avoid the pain.
“Is this your woman, mister?” the barkeep snapped.
“My daughter,” Maurice gritted through his teeth as the man shoved the tip of his revolver deeper into his temple. “Just what the hell are the two of you trying to pull? You know damn well women are not allowed in this parlor.”
Her father’s expression grimed. “I had no idea she’d snuck herself in here,” Maurice declared, closing his eyes. Comanche Crow’s upper lip raised to look like a snarl. “Your daughter?” he repeated slowly, his gaze darkening as it swept over her. “I’ll tell you what, Merchant, you keep the money, and I’ll take the girl.”
Sophia inhaled sharply. Comanche Crow never took his eyes off her as he continued to screw the tip of the gun back and forth against her father’s head. “The girl,” he snarled. Slowly, father nodded in agreement. “She’s yours, she’s yours, please, just don’t kill me.”
“Dammit, no!” she cried out, twisting her body to get free of the barkeep’s grip. When that didn’t work, she balled up her fist and punched him in the gut. “Let me go!”
“Ouch! You, filthy little whore!” he cried, yanking on her hair once more. The struggle stopped when a bullet blasted the mirror, sending shards of glass over them both.
“Let her go,” Comanche Crow demanded. “You heard him, the girl is mine.”
“No!” she screamed again, her hair ripping from her scalp as she finally freed herself from the barkeeps grip. She scrambled over the bar and was stopped by Comanche Crow.
“Just where do you think you’re going, Little One? You belong to me now.”
“Like hell. You lay one hand on me mister, and I promise, you won’t piss right for a month.”
Comanche Crow leaned his head back and let out a deep chuckle. Her skin crawled with contempt. Her father tried to make a run for the door, but Crow turned his attention back toward him. “I’ll kill you anyway,” he said, shooting Maurice square in the back.
Sophia covered her ears and screamed. Maurice fell to his knees and then face-forward onto the floor.
“Father!”
“And now you?” Crow threatened, holstering his gun to draw a knife from its sheath.
The afternoon sun spilling through the window, reflected off the blade and shot light straight her eyes. Crow waved the knife between their faces. Sophia didn’t move. He then turned the knife sideways and slid the blade across her cheek. “I think I’ll spare your pretty face—for now,” he smiled, before lowering the knife. He then took the tip, and with quick m
otion, he cut the thread between her button and her shirt.
“What have you got hidden in there, Little One?”
Disgust over-ruled her common sense as she balled up a spit and shot it into his face. He only grinned as saliva rolled down the crevice of a deep scar that ran along his cheekbone.
“I bet you’re all warm and pink in there,” he crooned, never removing his gaze from hers as the knife worked its way down, cutting away each button allowing the shirt to give way. Bile burned her throat at how the man’s eyes darkened as each button was cut free. An animal-like grunt rumbled in his throat as he took the tip to the wrapped leather that kept her breasts from being exposed. In pure desperation, she moved to get past him and met with a fist to the side of her head, that sent her hard to the floor.
A gun blasted, then two more. Stars exploded in her vision as someone grabbed her by her boots. Sophia tried, but couldn’t lift her head. Instead, the side of her face slid along the rough wooden floor as her father’s body, nothing more than a heap in a pool of his own blood, floated past her vision. Comanche Crow held her by the ankles and drug her out the door, roughly tossing her face down over the back of a horse.
Chapter One
Six months later, outside of Tucson, Arizona territory 1882
A real Colt Dragoon. Sophia couldn’t believe she was holding a real gun. The barrel of the revolver shone like a diamond, as she turned the weapon over in her hand. Her gaze swept over the smooth steel, and then over the wooden grain of the handle. She worried about its weight, but she figured that with time, she’d get used to it. For sure, the gun gave her a sense of peace she hadn’t known in a while. In fact, Crow must be starting to trust her to allow her any kind of self-defense.
She sucked in her lips with doubt. This wasn’t for self-defense, she thought again. She’d been trapped with Comanche Crow for six months and not once had he allowed her own anything to protect herself, let alone an actual gun. The reasons why pricked goosebumps down her arm. This gun will come with a price. Two of his Hellfire gang just lost their lives in a surprise shoot-out, so no doubt, Crow probably gave this to her with the expectations that she’d use it to assist him in the next stage robbery. She’d rather help him cheat at cards, but since he was as crappy as a gambler as he was a human being, he and his bunch began ruthlessly robbing stagecoaches, showing no mercy for those in his path. She’d been able to avoid aiding in the attacks since she didn’t have a weapon, but now that she did, he surely would demand that she use it.
Sophia wiped a stray hair out of her eyes trying to imagine the act of killing a man for his money—or for her freedom. The surprised and soulless look on her father’s face he laid dying on the parlor floor, burned a hole into her memory, and she never wanted to see anything like that again.
Facing the mountain range for off in the distance, she held the gun out and pointed it straight at the orange globe rising beyond the ragged peaks. If Crow expected her to kill, he might as well ask her to shoot the sun. She’d never be able to take a life. And just like the sex Crow was always after, she wondered if she could use her wits to avoid it. Maybe she could buy herself some time by playing stupid. Of course, she knew how to shoot. Maurice had worked as a gun maker in Italy before they came to America. She knew exactly how to handle a weapon. But it wouldn’t hurt for her to kiss Crow’s ass for a spell if it meant she could keep the gun. Trying not to over think this sudden change in her luck, Sophia kissed the barrel and then slid it into the holster she hid in the back of her trousers.
“Did you brew the coffee we found in the trunk?” Crow’s sleepy voice asked, startling her. She turned to find him sitting up in his sleeping roll. He’d drank himself into a drunken stupor the night before, and when he stood, the aroma of sour mash carried over to her. She took a step backwards.
“It’s right here,” she assured him, quickly walking to the fire to do his bidding. A pang of guilt teased her for Crow’s wrecked condition, but from the moment she found herself as part of his gang, she’d been pouring the whiskey down his neck night after night to keep herself from his bedroll. Every morning she’d fill him full of compliments on how good he was the night before, much to his pleasure. A few times Crow would question his drunken memories, but she’d gotten so good at convincing him, that Crow would simply rub his crotch in satisfaction, happily believing that he’d bedded her.
Pasting on her best sultry smile, she waited for him to gather his thick mass of black hair into a leather thong, and then she held out tin cup full of the hot liquid. His eyes warmed as he regarded her, ignoring the cup to reach out and touch her face. He began to rub his thumb across her jaw.
“You are very pretty, Little One,” he said thickly. “I enjoy the darkness of your hair, gold that is buried within your eyes. I do not get enough fill of touching the smooth skin of your face.” A shadow darkened his eyes sending hot nerves to fester under her skin. His caresses deepened to the point of becoming painful. “I once had a velvet smooth face like yours. I once was a handsome boy,” he said with a touch of sadness, as his strokes continued.
Sophia bit inside her cheek as painful memories poured out of him. Sophia’s pity argued with Colt behind her, begging her to end his miserable life. The haunting of his eyes as he remembered himself before he was maimed, both saddened and terrified her. But there was more than just that, more than just him reminiscing. His willingness to be so vulnerable, brought on the startling realization that somewhere along the line, he had fallen in love with her.
Sound from other men waking up, also reminded her of something else; Crow’s twisted love, not only saved her from having her face from becoming carved like the rest of his men, it also anchored her to him. She suddenly found it hard to breathe as he leaned in, brushing her face with the stench of his whiskey. He lightly kissed the tip of her nose, while running a hand down her arm.
The Colt pressed against her spine, and her mind scrambled for her to do something to stop Crow’s advances, but even if she managed to draw quick enough to kill Crow, she’d be no match for the rest of the men. The peace the gun had given her earlier, shattered the more Crow touched. His rancid breath, his endearment toward her, rolled her stomach from both guilt and loathing, but she was absolutely afraid to move.
The rest of the Hellfire gang emerged from their sleeping rolls. Crow reluctantly dropped his hand and quickly masked his feelings in front of his men.
“I’ll get you some food,” she said, stepping away and turning to see what kind of provisions might have been placed inside the trunk he stole from his latest raid. Sophia hated surviving on the things Crow and the Hellfire gang stole. The only time she ate without guilt was when they would come across an ox left behind on the trail, or a wild animal.
As she continued to dig inside the trunk, she came across a family bible. When she lifted it and then put in on the ground, Crow marched over to pick it up. “Do not handle this book so roughly,” he snapped.
“I didn’t. What’s wrong? You look upset.”
“That book holds powerful magic. Unearthly magic that woven by a man in a black robe and white collar. He saved my life. Do not disturb this book,” he repeated, dropping the bible back into the trunk. “Do not do anything to anger their god,” he explained again tightly.
“Of course not,” she replied, wondering what brought about his strange reaction. Her hand then landed on a can of food. “Here, I found canned peaches,” she said, holding up the can.
“I’m not hungry for food,” he stated, his tone taking a dark turn. He took the can from her and then tossed it toward his men who started to dress. Sophia stiffened. She knew what that tone meant. Surely, with the other men awake, he wouldn’t try and have his way with her now. Still, the hair on her arms raised like usual.
“Don’t be silly. A man needs to eat. The sun is up.”
“A man needs more than just food to sustain him,” he said, reaching out toward her once more.
With practiced care, Sophia forc
ed her heart to slow down by exhaling her breath. She willed herself not to panic as she stood and turned to face him. She tilted her head and lifted a corner of her mouth into a half-smile. She’d become an expert at not giving her true feelings away. “Didn’t you get enough of me last night? My legs still ache from opening so wide for you.”
Crow’s mouth stretched into grin. “Then why the hell am I so hard watching you bend over that trunk?”
She swallowed down a lump in her throat as she shrugged a shoulder, wishing like hell the other men would hurry up and complain about breakfast.
“Come closer, sad, sad, Sophia. Come over here and kiss me.”
Sophia’s mouth went dry. She balled her fingers into a fist to keep her hands from shaking. Comanche Crow wasn’t one for kissing, the act itself an unfamiliar form of affection, so she’d never had to endure much of it, but his request bolted a shock right through her. That he was acting this way within eye reach of the other men was new, and something about it made her think twice about defying him.
Thinking about the gun, and how she’d need to keep it, Sophia forced herself to take a few steps toward him. The moment she was close enough, Crow reached out and grasped her arm and pulled her roughly against his body. His growth pressed against her belly, birthing a violent repulsive action inside of her, but she never batted an eye.
“Kiss me,” he demanded again.
Swallowing down the acid that arose in her throat, Sophia gingerly placed her mouth on his.
Comanche Crow’s lips were tight and hard and pushed against her with enough force, she tasted blood. Stale whiskey blew from his nose and when his hands began to roam down her back, she thought the world would give way beneath her. He might have given her the gun, but she worried that if he discovered it hidden behind her, he’d take it back.
“I said, kiss me. Open your mouth for me,” he breathed against her lips. She dug her nails into the pad of her hands, praying that somehow, someway she wouldn’t have to stick her tongue in his mouth.