by Ivy McAdams
Oscar was a vicious monster, and he had an affinity for violence.
She’d barely stepped off the train in Hollard, Wyoming when her intended was attacked. She’d found Mr. Moss around back of the train station surrounded by four outlaws. He’d been wearing the blue jacket with the silver buckles he’d mentioned in his letter, though it was already covered in dust and blood. He was being tortured and robbed. She’d screamed, but it was too late. The man she’d traveled across the country to marry was killed before her eyes, and the murderers had taken her prisoner.
It’d been an awful experience. Though not as bad as being taken as Oscar’s prisoner and mistress. Those were memories she never wanted to relive.
Her body jerked as she pulled herself out of her head and stared at Linda.
“I know. It was just a random stranger. I’ll be sure to steer clear of any others.”
Linda nodded and turned to lead the way back to camp. A knot of dread sat heavy in Bridget’s stomach as she followed.
She knew better than to anger Oscar. What had she been thinking? Talking to Mason in the first place had been stupid. But to see him again a second time? What had gotten into her?
Still the worst part? She couldn’t wait to see him again the next day.
She bit her lip, rolling her eyes with an irritated scowl. What was wrong with her? She couldn’t see him again. It was irresponsible and it was wrong. She should just not go down to the stream at all. Except their camp wasn’t all that far off from the water. Mason could easily stumble upon them if she didn’t show. That would be unbelievably worse.
She would go down to the stream just long enough to tell him she couldn’t see him anymore. Then she’d come back to camp.
Oscar and his group would be leaving in a couple days anyway, and she’d be going with them. They’d pack camp and return to the main campsite, and she’d be displaced by miles. She’d never see Mason again.
Even if her logic made perfect sense in her mind, her body didn’t react in kind.
Her stomach felt sick, and her hands grew clammy. By the time she stepped into the campsite and stopped to dump blankets outside the tents, she was even feeling a little queasy.
With the men still out and a couple hours of daylight left before dinner, she crawled into her tent and tucked herself into a ball to wait for the ill feeling to subside.
* * *
Thankfully, Linda had prepared a dinner that evening.
Bridget came out of her tent at the sound of the men gathering at the fire just outside. They were loud, laughing and discussing their latest task. Something about a delivery of whiskey crates, which had the men cheering and partaking in the alcohol.
“That man’s face when we showed up to take the load,” Oscar laughed. “Like he was expecting us to come help or something.”
Squirrel made a distraught, guttural noise as he pretended to flop on the ground like their target must have done. “Please don’t hurt me,” he squeaked.
Bridget grimaced. Nothing about torturing others appealed to her.
“He never saw us coming, that’s for sure,” Jonas said. Linda was propped up next to him, arm draped into his lap.
Bridget averted her eyes like she always did. She hated when Jonas and Linda even touched publicly. It always reminded her of how handsy Oscar was, and that it was usually in store for her once she went to bed.
Her body clenched and drew in on itself even more than normal.
After kissing Mason that afternoon, Oscar was even more revolting.
He bumped her in the arm, nodding at her untouched plate. “Eat your food.”
She set her jaw, frustration building within her. “I’m not hungry.”
Oscar lowered his plate to stare at her. She could feel his hot eyes on the side of her face, but she refused to face him. “I didn’t ask if you were hungry. I said eat.”
She poked at the slop of meat with her fork but made no move to lift it to her mouth.
It took only a few seconds of her silent refusal for his body to tense next to her. She could feel the heat radiating from it. Across the fire, Jonas and Linda stared, eyes moving back and forth between the two. Predator and prey.
It wasn’t anything new.
Bridget winced when Oscar’s hand closed over her arm.
She knew it was coming, but it didn’t lessen the blow. The back of his knuckles slammed into the side of her cheek. A searing heat exploded in her face, and she sprawled into the dirt, her vision flickering.
“Now pick up that food,” Oscar barked.
Bridget pushed herself up off the ground to sit again. Her cheek throbbed, but she didn’t make a sound. Just sat there, staring down at what she could only assume was supposed to be some sort of roasted bird, but it was a mess. No matter how unappetizing it looked, she had no desire to eat. Her stomach was tied in knots, having spent the entire day shaking in excitement, anxiety, or dread.
Oscar waited only a moment for her to comply, then he struck her again. Another blow to the cheek and jaw.
It hurt. A lot.
Bridget grabbed at her face but forced the threatening tears back. She wouldn’t cry for him. It was what he wanted.
She struggled up to her feet. She wanted to hide away and let the tears fall.
“Get in there,” Oscar scoffed, pointing at their tent.
Part of her wanted to run off somewhere else just to avoid following his order, but she wanted to hide more. She stomped over to the tent and lifted the flap.
“I’ll be in shortly to deal with you,” he said.
And the sense of comfort of hiding in there was shattered.
She disappeared without another word, and the speaking and toasting resumed. Loud boisterous laughter and retellings of their ridiculous missions. Bridget hid her head underneath the wool blanket, seriously wishing she’d taken the time to wash the thing.
What Oscar had described as “shortly” turned into hours, and Bridget dozed. She wanted to be prepared for him, ready to do anything in her power to thwart his advances. But when he’d stumbled in, reeking of whiskey, and flopped down next to her, she wasn’t sure all her worrying had been for good reason.
His hand rested on her hip, and he grumbled. “I have words for you. In the morning, we talk.”
With a long breath, she gave thanks for his successful mission and new haul of alcohol.
Chapter 7
On the edge of consciousness, Bridget's mind wandered to her afternoon with Mason. His lips on hers. His large, hard hand on her soft skin. Sliding over her leg. Up to her knee. She couldn't deny she'd wanted him to go higher. While awake, the idea had shocked and embarrassed her. In the dreamy haze she found in the depths of sleep, however, she stretched her leg out and begged for him to keep going. To touch her knee. Her thigh. Higher still. To slide up to the throbbing center of her. The smallest tilt of his handsome smile made the junction between her legs come to life, to weep for him. Any thoughts of embarrassment were pushed aside, and she grabbed for him, pulling him closer. She wanted to feel him too. To slide her hand down…
A heavy grunt next to her infiltrated her haze. She frowned against it, pushing the noises away. But the guttural sound was relentless, pushing in on her consciousness. The weight of a hand heavy on her leg. It was all encroaching on her dreamscape.
The fingers resting against her thigh clenched, digging into her leg. Her eyes flew open, staring at the inside of her tent in sudden horror.
She was in camp. Wrapped in the blanket she shared with Oscar.
His rough hand moved along her leg and hip, and she sat upright as if she’d been stung. She shucked the blanket off and sprang up.
Oscar grunted and his fingers closed around a handful of her dress. She slapped at him, tugging against his hold.
“What the―?” he grunted, looking up at her through fogged, narrowed eyes, the aftermath of his drinking she suspected.
“Let go!” she shrieked, twisting out of his grip.
; Her sharp demand seemed to pull him out of his stupor.
“Are you mad, woman?” he barked, grabbing for her again, but she avoided him and stumbled out the tent flaps.
The fire was low. No one else was yet awake in the dim morning light.
Oscar fell out of the tent on his hands and knees, glaring after her.
She leapt to the other side of the fire pit and hurried out past the edge of the campsite.
“Get back here!” he roared. “Don’t make me get my gun!”
There was no way she could stomach another session of him touching her. Putting his disgusting whiskey and tobacco mouth on her. Stealing her air and her soul.
Life wasn’t meant to be lived that way. Her trip out West was supposed to be filled with exciting adventure, and maybe if she was lucky, a man that was sweet on her and made her feel like an angel.
She may have gotten horribly off course in that dream, but she was damned if she was going to live that way forever.
“I’ll be back when I feel up for it,” she shouted back.
His brows lifted, and he sat back, obviously confused by her retort. It wasn’t like her to talk back. He’d broken that spirit out of her weeks ago. When she’d realized her fighting was fruitless, and she’d given up.
She might not be able to escape without him gunning her down, but she’d be damned if she was going to just sit there and let him have his way with her. She needed to get away.
“Where the hell are you going?” he barked.
A glance over her shoulder told her he was on his feet, muscles tense and ready to chase her.
“I’m going down to the water. Leave me alone!”
“You be back here in ten minutes. If I have to come looking for you, I’m bringing my rifle!”
Her blood boiled in her ears, rushing like fire through her veins. With every step, her feet hit the ground harder. It rattled up her legs and into her body, but she didn't slow down. She marched across the knoll, counting the seconds before she could duck into the shade of the trees at the stream.
What she wanted to do was to run to Mason. She knew it the moment her feet turned toward the water.
But she had no way of contacting him. She’d asked him to meet her again, but he’d been coming in the afternoon.
She only had ten minutes before Oscar came after her. Despite finding the bravery she needed to walk away from him, she knew better than to cross him. She’d seen him kill people. For much less than yelling in his face and blatantly defying him.
She was going to be in some serious trouble when she got back.
Rather than dwell on it, she hopped over the ridge and scurried down the embankment. She needed her time alone regardless of what might come after.
What she found in the cool morning shade pulled her up to a stop so fast she nearly rolled down the hill.
The white hat turned, and when Mason’s bright green eyes landed on her, her insides broke.
His smile was warm and friendly, surprised to see her. Though not as shocked as she was to find him there.
She hurried down the slope, her feet moving much too fast for a lady proper, but she didn’t care. The fear and anxiety within her disappeared. In its place was only Mason.
A warmth that had been so foreign to her. She’d become quite addicted to it.
Mason stood from the rock he’d been sitting on and turned toward her, a wide, bright smile on his face that wrapped her in an embrace and left her breathless.
She ran to him.
Just a few steps away, his face changed. His gaze flew over her body, eyes sharp and searching. They lingered the most on the left side of her face, her cheek and temple. His hands clenched at his sides, and she could have sworn she saw them shake.
"What is this?" he murmured, his voice straining.
His long legs carried him the remaining two strides to her, and his hands closed over her arms, holding her steady and staring at her.
She hadn’t had a moment to look at herself that morning, but the skin was tight in her left cheek and sore when she blinked. From the look on his face, it probably didn’t look good. A heat flamed so hot in his eyes that she was afraid he’d burn her.
“Who did this?” he growled.
She stared at him, wanting to tell him everything, but also too ashamed to open her mouth. The truth would bury her. He’d want nothing to do with her when he realized how ruined she was.
Her hands trembled when she reached for his shirt, rubbing the clean cotton in her fingers and using him to ground her. As long as she could stare into his eyes, she could block out the rest.
He slid a hand across her uninjured cheek and tilted his head a fraction as he gazed at her. His fingers on her skin were gentle, and his thumb whispered over her lips.
“Who did this to you?”
“It doesn’t matter,” she whispered, lowering her gaze.
He shifted her head back just enough to draw her eyes back to him. “Of course it matters. I want to know who’s put his hands on you, so I can put my hands on him.”
Despite the promise of violence, a sense of validation filled her. In all her fantasies of escaping Oscar and finding her vengeance, never had she imagined a hero coming to her aid. It had been difficult to think of men as anything but monsters while trying to escape from one.
But Mason was different, and the idea of letting him protect her was about the best she’d ever heard.
She might be strong and intelligent enough to outwit Oscar, but she was also smart enough to know not to go toe-to-toe with a man with a gun.
“He’s a lowlife,” she said. “Worthless man wasting our air. No one to worry about.”
Mason gave an exasperated laugh. "No one to worry about? Bridget, a man that lays his hands on a woman is worse than worthless. And I'm going to show it to him."
She shook her head quickly. Stealing her away from her horrible situation and chasing after a madman were two very different dangers. “We can’t go up there.”
“It’ll be fine. I can protect us. We’ll just―”
“No!” The word burst from her mouth before she could stop it. “No, we can’t. Please, Mason.”
One of his eyebrows lifted a fraction as he stared at her. She could see the skepticism in his eyes, and it weighed heavy on her.
“But he needs to realize beating on others is wrong, especially a soft, beautiful woman like you.”
More words clogged in her throat, pushing to escape, but the thumb moving on her lip was a huge distraction. His finger brushed over her mouth, then curled under her chin to tilt it up.
“That may be so,” she whispered, gazing into his eyes, “but he’s too dangerous for us to fight”
“I’ll handle it.”
“No.” Her fingers fisted in his shirt, drawing him closer. “He’s a murderer.”
His eyes widened. “What? Who―?”
“It doesn’t matter who he is. I’ve seen him kill people. Especially people…” Her eyes pinched closed, and she lowered her forehead to his chest.
“Bridget…?”
“Especially people around me,” she said before the emotion choked her again. She lifted her head. “He killed my betrothed.”
Mason’s mouth opened, a mixture of hurt and horror playing over his eyes.
“I didn’t know him. I came over to marry him.”
A new realization settled behind Mason’s eyes, and for a moment Bridget couldn’t deny the satisfaction at seeing a little jealousy in him.
“Then about a week after I’d been abducted, I met a man on the road who wanted to help me. He didn’t know me, but he was a gentle soul. He spent time talking to me, assuring me that everything would be okay. Though when Oscar came along and caught us talking, he…” Her eyes rolled closed as she shook her head. “He killed him.”
Her shoulders shook, and Mason’s hand on her face pressed in closer to comfort her. His fingers dipped into her hair, curling behind her head to pull her close. She leaned into him
as he wrapped his arms around her, pressing his lips onto the top of her head.
“I’m sorry he took those people from you,” he whispered into her hair.
The relief his strong body had given her vanished, and she pushed against him. “I don’t care about those people, Mason. I won’t let him do it to me again. Not to you.”
She could feel the ferocity in her eyes, and the surprised face he gave her in return said he could see it just as well.
Then he reached for her and drew her in. His mouth found hers as his hands slid down her back, pressing her in tight against his body. She jumped at the opportunity to feel him again. His lips electric on hers, the heat and hunger between them. It made her feel so alive, awoken from the chaos her life had become.
Her fingers dipped into the soft brown hair beneath his hat, reaching to explore every bit of him she could. He was like a raw energy she needed to consume. She loved how his body drew her in closer, and the deep satisfaction she felt when he kissed her.
Her body begged her to wrap herself around him and ask for more, but there wasn't time for more. There wasn't time for what she'd already gotten herself into.
Oscar had said he’d come for her in ten minutes. With his gun.
She had to get out of there.
She pushed against his chest, breaking the kiss she’d dreamt of since she’d last seen him, and leaned away.
“I have to go,” she murmured.
“What?” Mason coughed. “Back to him?”
“Please, don’t,” she begged, pushing off of him and slipping away.
But he snagged her arm. Walking away from him was already horrible. Having him pull back was so agonizing that tears sprang to her eyes.
“You can’t go back to him. Look what he’s done to you.”
“Mason, please. If he catches me down here…”
“Then I’ll take care of him.”
“No.”
She jostled when he took her by both arms again. His eyes were sharp, solid, bearing down on hers in earnest.
“Bridget, I can protect us.”
She melted into his hands as tears slid down both cheeks. “Mason, we’re not alone out here. You’re outnumbered, and it’s too dangerous.”