Passion's Wicked Torment

by Melissa Hepburne

  “What’s your relationship to Hunter?” Rooney demanded, towering over her at the side of the bed. “Why was he so keen on getting you back?”

  “I . . . I’m nothing to him.” Her voice was low and almost like a whisper. She was terrified. “Cover me. Cover me with the towel.”

  Rooney slapped her, making her cry out. “Don’t give me any bull! Hunter nearly got himself killed trying to save you, coming down that alley like that. What are you to him? Tell me.”

  “I . . . I’m just someone who he . . . who he went to bed with.”

  “How many times?”

  She didn’t like talking about what she and Hunter had done. But if she didn’t answer, he would beat her. “Just once,” she lied. 999 TO HERE

  Rooney frowned. “Don’t make sense. He risked his life. I want to know why.” He threatened to slap her again.

  “I don’t know why!”

  Rooney said nothing, just stared at her. Her breasts rose and fell with her frightened breathing. “I’ll find out soon enough,” he said. “You might be useful to me if I can get Hunter to come for you.” He looked at his henchmen and nodded sharply toward the door. They left quickly, shutting the door behind them. Rooney began undressing.

  “No,” pleaded Kristin. “Please, don’t.” No one had ever . . . raped her. Even just thinking the word chilled her to her very soul.

  “Shut up. You’re lucky I don’t feed you to my men, after what you cost me. Seven men dead. Four more hurt too bad to be any good. Thirty grand in Irish whiskey soaking into the dirt and ashes.”

  Rooney had a stocky frame and was very compactly built, with strongly muscled shoulders and arms. He was a rough man, and he took her roughly, slapping her when she tried to resist him. He took a long time, and he seemed to enjoy the look of revulsion on her face as he thrust into her.

  She writhed about wildly, her wrists hurting as they pulled against the ropes binding them to the headboard posts. Rooney grunted deep in his throat. Then, after a moment, he stood up from the bed. He went into the bathroom and came but, toweling himself dry. And then he dressed.

  “I’m almost ready to believe a man would risk his life for you after making love to you just once. But not quite. There’s more to it than that. There’s got to be. I’ll find out what it is. You better pray I can use it, whatever it is. If I can’t, if you’re useless to me I’ll make you pay for what you cost me. ” He ran his finger down between her breasts, along her stomach and down to her thigh. She tried to turn away from him, but he continued touching her.

  “I’m going to make you pay regardless,” he threatened. “The only question for you is, when’s it going to end. You’ll be wishing it was soon.”

  “What are you going to do to me?”

  “I got big plans for you. You heard of my ship, the Paradise, out beyond the three-mile limit off New York? Well, belowdecks I’ve got a little house of pleasure for some paying clientele. Oh, it’s not as grand as the house your friend Ironman runs out in the Canadian Yukon. But it does a good business. With you on board, it should do even better.”

  “You’re not going to put me on a ... a whore ship?”

  “Who’s going to stop me?” He untied her wrists, then left the room. Kristin rushed to the door to try to pull it open after he had gone, but it was locked again. Oh, God, she thought with burning horror, turning her back against the door. Was this what the future had in store for her? As she stared blankly against the far wall, her eyes became glazed and saw nothing.

  Rooney’s men transported Kristin across country in the back of a van, till they reached New York. Rooney did not come along. For several nights they stayed in hotels along the way where Rooney had connections. This trip had been planned for business purposes long ago. Now that Kristin was a prisoner, there was an added reason for making the trip.

  When they reached the waterfront after several days, she was transported to a seagoing skiff late at night, still bound. She had been bound almost half the time she had been traveling. Other girls were on the yacht that she was transferred to—the Paradise—but Kristin didn’t see them. The henchmen immediately put her into a room by herself, which was locked.

  The other girls didn’t know she was aboard and was being held against her will. But even if they had known, Kristin was not at all sure they would try to help her.

  They were here voluntarily, working as prostitutes for whomever ran the ship for Rooney.

  Kristin had never been in a situation before where she felt so totally unable to help herself. She was at the mercy of these hoodlums. She knew she could not expect help from any quarter. The only people who cared about her were from her old life, back as a teacher in Chicago—and that seemed so far away now. And Chad, whom she had always been able to turn to in times of need, was now unable to help her, and might even be depending on her to help him, if he were even still alive. What a horrible situation, Kristin thought dejectedly as she stalked the confines of the ship’s cabin, looking at the blue sea beyond the small porthole.

  She had been so secretive about her original plan to become Dallas Hunter’s moll that she had told no one about it. No one from her old life knew where she was or what she had intended to do. She could expect no help from any of her friends. As far as anyone who knew her was aware, she had just packed up and left for her grandparents’ home in California. She had deliberately planted this false story so her friends would not worry about her during the time that she was “missing”—in reality, living with Dallas Hunter. Filled with despair, she threw herself down on the cabin bed. No one would help her! She was all alone, and there was nothing she could do to save herself.

  A key rattled, and the door came open. Kristin considered finding something to smash down on the head of whomever was entering, but she realized that that would only make her situation worse. She couldn’t escape even if she did manage to gain freedom from this cabin. What was she going to do, swim the three miles back to shore?

  The man entering wore a jaunty, dress blues nautical uniform, not the sort that anyone in the Navy would wear, but the kind a Sunday yachtsman might don to look impressive. He was a thin man and had a weatherbeaten face.

  “I’m the captain here, and I’m going to lay down the rules to you,” the stranger said. “Rooney told me you’d be giving me trouble. I’m here to see to it that you don’t. You’ll only make it worse on yourself if you disobey me.”

  “I'm a prisoner here. You know that, don’t you? It’s illegal to hold me against my will. I have friends who are trying to find me at this very moment. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll let me go.”

  He sat down on the edge of the bunk and continued, as if she had not spoken at all. “Here’s the rules. The water taxi comes from the mainland every two hours, usually with a load of Johns. You can either cooperate freely in giving your favors, or we’ll tie you down and gag you. Either way, it don’t make no never mind to me. We’ve got clients who prefer to have their ladies tied; so it won’t hurt business none.”

  She was so frustrated and scared that she screamed at him: “Didn’t you hear what I said?! You can’t hold me against my will! It’s—”

  “If you don’t shut your face,” he said calmly, “I’ll tie you down and gag you. It’s as simple as that. I don’t know how Rooney handles things in Chi town, but out here on the high seas it’s my operation. He owns it, that’s a fact, but I handle it the way I want. And the way I want is, I don’t take no nonsense from the ladies. You hear me, girl?”

  She glared at him, but stopped protesting. She could see it would only get her into worse trouble.

  “You handle the Johns proper, there won’t be no need to tie you down. During meals and other times we’ll let you out to roam around on the deck. Then you’ll have to be cuffed. Now, I don’t take kindly to beatin’ on the ladies, but I got a sailor who does. I keep him around just to keep women like you in line. So you do as I say. Now, let’s see some skin to start.”

  She wa
s wearing a blue bathrobe they had dressed her in when she came on the ship. There was nothing on underneath it. She stared at the captain, who returned her stare coldly. Then, shutting her eyes, Kristin undid the robe and let it fall open. She knew this was a test. If she didn’t do as he asked, he would have her tied down to the bed . . . and then she would end up stripped anyway, only she would be more helpless than she was now.

  “Good girl. You know how to take orders.” He slapped his knees then stood up. “The first water taxi with the Johns will be here in the evening. can relax till then. I’ll have hot food sent in to you. It’s good, nourishing fare. We treat our girls real well here.”

  Kristin was apprehensive of what was to happen. The hours crept by, and then finally it was nighttime, and the dreaded moment arrived. She heard the water taxi pull alongside, carrying the laughing Johns. A minute later there were heavy footsteps beyond her cabin door, and then the door banged open.

  CHAPTER 9

  The captain entered first, laughing as if something were hilariously funny. Kristin soon saw what he was laughing at when the John followed him into the room. The man appeared to be a real hick, with a big bow tie, ill-fitting plaid coat, and cap pulled down low. His head was bowed, and he appeared nervous. Kristin saw what the captain was really laughing at: The out-of-place man carried a big bouquet of flowers in his hand.

  “I ... I never done this before,” he said. “You sure my wife won’t find out.”

  “No!” gasped the captain through his laughter. “She won’t, I promise you. And you asked for a blonde with blue eyes and thick lips; so here you go.”

  The John’s voice was strangely familiar, even though it was deliberately low and muffled. When he raised his head and grinned at her, Kristin was shocked: It was Dallas Hunter. Her eyes went wide, but she tried to recover quickly, so as not to let the captain see that she recognized this man.

  Hunter held out the flowers. “For you, ma’am. I’m pleased to meetcha.”

  The captain doubled over with laughter, holding his stomach, slapping his knee. “She’s likewise, I’m sure.” He started to leave the room, but turned back in the doorway for a last word to his customer. “I know you’re not too familiar with this kind of thing; so let me warn you. These girls like to tell tall tales sometimes, to stimulate you.” He winked. “Take it with a grain of salt.” Then he left. The door was not locked after him, but Kristin knew there would be someone outside it, watching to make sure that when it was time to leave, no one but the John walked out.

  “Dallas!” She went to him and flung her arms around him. She almost felt like weeping with relief. “Hey,” he said, “you’re crushing my flowers.” “What’s your plan, Dallas? Are your men going to take over the ship? Is that it?”

  “It’d be a hard thing to do.” He went over to the porthole and cautiously peered out. “Seeing as how they’re still in Chicago.”

  “You came onto the ship alone?” she asked with a sinking heart.

  “Babe, I had a hard enough time coming by myself. Ironman is totally against this. As far as he’s concerned, you’re as expendable as an ice cube in a steam bath. He doesn’t know I’m here. I couldn’t bring my men without his finding out. And there wasn’t any time to try to recruit here in New York. Besides, my credit’s not so good down here. I’m out of my territory. New York mobs don’t like Chi-town hoods, not even coming down on ‘pleasure.’ ”

  He was glancing around the room, looking at everything, getting a feel for the place, trying to figure out some way of using the materials at hand. He looked resolute and determined, which seemed very much at odds with the hayseed outfit he was wearing.

  “Why did you come?” she asked softly but with a challenging edge. “If your boss is so against it. And if your life is in such great danger.”

  He stared at her, his brown eyes deeply penetrating. “I’ll tell you, babe. That is what you call a real mystery.”

  It was because he did feel deeply about her, she thought. That had to be it! Why else would he be here risking his life? “You’re pretty soft for a supposedly tough hood,” she said gently, affectionately.

  “Maybe I’m here because I think there’s something fishy about you, and I want to find out what it is.” His voice was hard, but she suspected it was a false hardness. “I don’t go for this bit you’re handing me, about you being an amoral, adventure seeking Sheba. If I have to come on board to try to save your neck, to find out what the truth is, maybe I don’t have much choice.

  Do I?”

  “Sure you do. You could have forgotten about the whole thing and not risked your life.”

  There were footsteps outside the door. Hunter went to her quickly and put his arms around her, bent her half backward and kissed her passionately. But the ruse was not necessary. The door did not open. The footsteps moved away. He pulled his head back slightly, but still held her in his arms.

  Looking at his expression, she could not help saying something that she knew was not what he wanted to hear. “You’re not so hard-boiled as you make out. That wasn’t an impersonal kiss.”

  His voice was harsh and cutting. He clearly wanted to preserve his image as a tough gangster, though Kristin could not imagine why. “You’re a lady with a lot of experience in that area, are you?” he said.

  She pushed away from him and stared at him.

  “Look, babe. This is not the time for any psychological analyzing or for you trying to convince yourself that I might . . . care about you. We need to get you out of here. Now, I brought a rod, but shooting our way out isn’t going to work. There are too many of them, and once we got on a skiff, they’d have the advantage with their rifles and Tommys.”

  “What are we going to do?”

  “Well, I can take credit for planning ahead a little bit.” He picked up the bouquet of flowers that had been laid on the bed and ripped off the colored wrapping paper enclosing the base. This revealed a cylindrical metal tube with a handle attached and a trigger.

  “What is it?”

  “Signal flare gun. The flare’s already inside, and it’s primed. Guaranteed to create an A number one diversion.”

  So that was why he had been checking out the porthole. To make sure it was unobservable enough from the outside so he could stick his hand out and fire off the flare.

  “We try to run for one of the skiff boats when the flare goes off?” she asked.

  “No.” He opened the porthole and peered out, then stuck his hand out. “The flare itself won’t cause much of a diversion. It’s the Coast Guard cutter it’ll summon that will do that.”

  Kristin heard a loud popping sound, like that of an air gun going off, and then an even louder “whoosh,” as the flare shot up into the black nighttime sky. Hunter pulled his arm back in quickly and hid the flare gun under the bedcover. Kristin looked out the porthole and saw the black sky suddenly light up in bright ruby red as the flare exploded and drifted slowly down on its tiny parachute. Immediately a commotion broke out on the deck outside the doorway and above the porthole.

  “Get into the bed, quick. Pull the cover up to your neck and jam the pillow down next to you so it looks like I’m in there with you.” He moved to the hinged side of the doorway and flattened himself against the wall so he would be hidden from view when the door opened. “That flare will last thirty seconds. The Coast Guard should be here within a couple of minutes after it’s down.”

  “But we’re beyond the three-mile limit,” Kristin protested worriedly.

  “Doesn’t matter with a ruby-red. A ruby-red is a distress flare, a summons for help. They may not be granted permission to board, but they’ll sure as hell come alongside.”

  He stopped speaking as the door handle turned and the door came open. One of the ship’s hoodlum’s looked in and saw Kristin in bed as Hunter had instructed her. He came in fully and shut the door. “Don’t make a sound, lady.” He had a gun in his hand, pointed down, and his voice was businesslike. He went up to the bed. “And you, m
ister. Don’t worry about a thing. Sorry to barge in on you like this. But we got’s us a little problem, and we got to make sure everybody keeps nice and quiet and doesn’t yell for help when the Coast Guard comes.”

  Kristin stared up at him, pretending fright. The man ignored her and gazed down at the lump of pillows next to her, covered by the blanket. He smirked. “Real cozy in there, are you, fella? Don’t worry. We don’t make a habit of interrupting our customers like this. But someone shot off a signal flare, and we can’t figure out who. The Coast Guard is coming soon, and we want you to keep quiet for your own good. Wouldn’t want your name in any papers, would we?”

  There was no response from the form on the bed. He nudged it, his finger poking into the unresisting pillows. “Hey? What the hell!” He swiveled around just in time to catch Hunter’s gun barrel as it swung down to the side of his head, knocking him unconscious instantly.

  Hunter grabbed him under the arms and dragged him to the bed. Kristin was out and by his side now. “Get his gun,” Hunter told her as he put the hood into the bed next to the pillows, then pulled the cover up over him. He inspected his handiwork, shaking his head pessimistically. He turned to Kristin, who was now holding the gun. “You carry that with you. You may have to use it.”

  “Use it? I’ve never even held one before.”

  “It’s simple.” He pointed. “This here is what we call the trigger. This here is what we call your finger. You put your finger on the trigger, point it at somebody and squeeze.”

  “You better hope I don’t have to use this thing.”

  “I hope, babe. I really do hope that.” He grinned at her, a very self-assured grin that excited her.

  Hunter went to the door and opened it a crack. He peered out. He shut it quickly. Kristin could hear footsteps outside. There was the sound of a sea siren now, which grew louder as the Coast Guard cutter neared. The commotion on deck became frantic. Kristin could decipher the confused, nervous voices of the other Johns, mingling with the reassuring voices of the captain and crew. There were frequent hurried footsteps as crew members scurried about, trying to figure out where the flare had been shot from.