by Reece Butler
So could women.
Isaac had killed many, and tortured more, but he was not going to add her to the list. A faint light appeared in the doorway from down the short hall. She heard labored breathing. She peered between strands of hair as the light, the shuffled steps, and the heavy breathing came closer.
An old woman dressed in black, a shawl over her head and shoulders, stopped in the doorway. Sophie almost called out to her until the woman straightened. She pushed off the shawl and Sophie saw the mask. It was made of dark leather. Darker drops—of blood?—dripped on each cheek. It was hideous, terrifying even. But she would not let herself give in to fear. She could do that later, with Josh’s, Sam’s, and Max’s arms around her.
Was Mr. Isaac a woman? No wonder no one had ever caught her! But who? She was tall for a woman, about the same height as Tess.
Sophie’s mind raced at the possibilities. If she died and Isaac got away, no one would ever know. Had this woman been attacked, and therefore wanted to attack others in the same way in an odd form of revenge?
The white hands slowly unbuttoned the loose dress. It only took three before it fell. Sophie clenched her teeth to keep from gasping. This was no woman!
He stepped into the room, leaving the dress and shawl where they fell. His dark hair could be dyed, but his size could not be hidden. Isaac was on the shorter side for a man. The hands weren’t callused, either. He did not labor for his food, like so many here. That would rule out any talk of crazed miners or ranchers.
He didn’t speak, which matched what Molly and Sarah had said. He took three steps into the room, stopping at the foot of the bed. He didn’t stride like most men, almost mincing as he walked. But perhaps that was part of his disguise. He wore a dark suit and white shirt. Nothing any different from a hundred men. But the shirt was clean and crisp, the suit also. If he was a dandy, that would make it easier to catch him. He would need money for cleaning as well as buying the fairly new set of clothing. It fit him well, so was not a hand-me-down.
His tongue darted out as he looked at her. It was pointed, like that of a lizard. It struck a familiar chord. Did she know the man? Had she served him in her hotel?
Oh, God, did he know her?
No. He couldn’t. No one would associate the owner of a respectable hotel with the naked, slatternly woman sprawled on a bed in the cellar of a brothel.
“I knew there was a slut under those tight clothes,” he whispered.
It took everything she had not to scream and fight to escape. Maybe he meant the clothes she wore in Ruby’s Saloon. The periwinkle-blue dress had been tight, though the flame was less so.
“You thought you could treat me with disdain. I knew I would get an opportunity to submit evidence to the contrary. Evidence that will permanently be part of your sneering face.”
He knew her! What little she had in her stomach congealed. He looked around the room as if surveying his personal dungeon. She took the chance to open her mouth to get air. She panted too fast to breathe normally. Would he notice the sheet rising and falling so quickly?
“Abby said not to mark you permanently, but I will not allow such an alluring circumstance pass me by.”
He walked past the bed and placed something in the brazier. Its handle stuck out, but not as far as the poker. Was it the brand he’d used on Sarah’s hip?
He turned and reached for her. She tried to shrink back but stopped herself. His hand grasped the sheet. One tug and it was tossed onto the floor. That tongue darted out again.
“You whores are all disgusting,” he said, curling his lip. “So much flesh that it perverts the image God made of Eve. But you couldn’t keep your hands off things that don’t belong to you, either.”
The corners of his mouth dropped to his chin. With the brazier’s red light he looked like a devil.
“Because of a whore, I was banished from the Garden!” He pushed the poker farther into the hot coals. “Only the pure and unblemished can enter Heaven.”
He startled at the sound of distant shouts and screams. He listened for a moment.
“I shall have to see who wins,” he whispered. “After I finish with you.”
He stepped close. Too close. He stood between her knees. She cringed, her most tender parts in his view. But he didn’t look there. He checked her feet and legs without touching her. He leaned over to check her torso and arms. Her face was covered, but he didn’t move her hair. Was he afraid to touch her for fear of being contaminated? She’d heard of those who were so fearful of disease that they wouldn’t allow anyone near.
Did he think she had something to do with Adam and Eve? Or was he saying all women, as daughters of Eve, were unworthy? It didn’t matter what he thought since he was deranged. She set her concentration on keeping still even though it felt like her flesh wanted to crawl away.
“She has no blemishes on this side.” He wrung his hands and pressed his lips together. “She must have some on the other. The mark of the witch whore. But how can I turn her without contaminating myself?”
Sophie was lying on a sheet. If he pulled up one side, he could use it to roll her over. If she cooperated, that is. And that was something she would never do. He paced back and forth, four steps each way, counting them out under his breath. There was something so familiar about him. If he spoke out loud, rather than in a whisper, she might figure it out. She moaned as if in great pain. He backed away, hands pressed away as a fearful child would.
“No!”
His shouted word wasn’t enough to bring help. He crept closer, nearing the end of the bed.
“It doesn’t matter if you are not already blemished,” he whispered. He giggled. “Once I brand you, you will be marked for eternity as unfit for heaven. Sophie McLeod will go to Hell!”
He knew her! She had to attack before he did. She screamed as loud as she could. She pushed off with her feet. She rolled to her left and stood. She grabbed the end of the poker and whirled around.
She ran at him, screaming, poker held high with both hands. He gaped at her, unmoving. She jabbed the red-hot poker at his face. It hit the hard leather mask and slid down to touch the hollow of his cheek. She pushed on it with all her strength.
His scream mingled with the stench of burning meat. He grabbed the poker handle with his hands, screamed again, then wrenched it from her grasp. It flew across the room. She dropped to the floor and reached for the knife. She had to scrabble to find the hilt. She found it and rose to one knee, knife blade pointed at his belly.
He still screamed. She’d burned a hole deep into his cheek. He stared at his shaking hands. Burns were already blistering where he’d grabbed the hot metal.
“You’re the one who’ll roast in Hell!” She roared to be heard over his screams. “The devil will poke you with red-hot iron, just like I just did. Every night you will heal. And every day you will be burned again. For eternity!”
“No!”
He turned and ran from the room. He tripped over the dress and shawl, grabbing the doorway to stay upright. He screamed again when his hands touched the wood. He kicked the clothes out of the way and ran. The whole thing had only taken a moment. A moment that lasted forever.
She stood there, knife in hand, shaking. If he came back, she would kill him. She didn’t care who he was under that mask. He would be dead.
Chapter 35
Josh found a spot under the kitchen table where he’d be almost invisible. He grimaced when his palm touched the sticky floor. He did not want to know what it was. As soon as he knew Sophie was safe, that Isaac was locked up tighter than a rich man’s daughter, he’d scrub every inch of his body. He’d get his hair cut and face shaved.
Then he’d put Sophie in a tub of clean, hot water and wash every inch of her from the top of her head to the tips of her dainty toes. He’d scrub the fingerprints and scent of every other man off her. No man other than his brothers would ever touch his woman again.
He thought of what Sophie’s reaction would be, and grumbled
. She’d want to dance with other men at their wedding. Fine, no man would touch her without his permission. And he’d only say yes to the married ones.
He hunched his shoulders when the wall behind him boomed from one hefty body slamming another against it. If he’d known about the fight, he’d have put money down on it. Deciding between Ranger or Zach would be difficult, though. Zach had more to prove, being new to the area.
An agonized scream came from nowhere. He scrambled out from under the table. The saloon? He pushed open the door. The only ones screaming were the women, and that was for show. Another scream brought him back to the kitchen. He heard a sound and climbed halfway up the back stairs. Sam, looking the worse for wear, limped down.
“Did you scream?”
Sam scowled, refusing to reply to the insult. “It didn’t sound like Sophie.”
Someone rushed into the kitchen, coming through a doorway at the side. It was a man in a black suit. A hole had been burned in his cheek, below a leather mask. He stopped, looked around, and headed for the back door.
“It’s him!” Sam shoved Josh out of the way. “I’m gonna get that son of a bitch!”
Isaac saw them coming down the stairs. He changed direction, racing for the door into the saloon.
“Sophie must be downstairs. I’m going after her,” shouted Josh.
He ran across the room and rumbled down the stairs, barely managing to keep his feet under him. His heart felt like it would jump out of his chest. He held his breath. She couldn’t be hurt. Couldn’t be dead. He needed her in his life. Dammit, he loved her!
“Sophie?” he yelled.
If she replied, it was too faint to be heard over the roaring of blood in his ears. She had to be near the dim pool of light across the cellar. He dashed down the narrow hall. There was only one doorway, at the end. The light came from there. He stopped, looking into the room. Sophie, gloriously naked, faced him. Knife in hand, she knelt on one knee by the end of the bed. A sweeping glance showed no blood, no bruises, no raw wounds.
He hauled air into his starved lungs. His woman was safe. Life could go on.
He hunkered down to be less of a threat. He wasn’t sure she knew who he was. He shoved aside a pile of rags and slowly moved into the room. She held the knife poised to slice open his belly. She snarled at him like a wildcat, her hair in such a mess it would take him hours to comb out. Days.
No, he prayed, let it take weeks. We’ll lie in bed the whole time.
“I love my warrior woman,” he said. His hoarse voice filled the room. Sophie blinked.
“Josh?”
The frightened little girl voice was so at odds to the ferocious woman that he had to smile. He moved, slow and sure, to crouch before her.
“Give me the knife, baby,” he crooned. “I’ve got you now. Nobody’s going to hurt you. Never, ever. You’re mine.”
She looked up and met his eyes. At first she couldn’t focus. Then she saw him. Really saw him.
“You came.” Her voice trembled, as did her chin.
“Always. Did you get him good?”
She nodded, chin wobbling. He waited, showing his approval of her with his eyes and smile.
“Tess put a poker in the fire. I grabbed it and stabbed him in the face. It sizzled and burned a hole.”
“That’s my woman. Where did the poker go?”
He didn’t want either of them to step on it. She waved the knife toward the far wall. The hot end of the poker had singed the floor, but nothing more had happened.
“We got him, Sophie. Thanks to you.” He held out his hand, palm up, fingers loose. “You can give me the knife now.”
“Knife?” Her eyebrows tried to touch.
“The one in your hand.”
She looked down. Her eyes widened. It clattered to the floor. He swept it under the bed. He sat on the floor, leaned his back against the corner of the bed, and hauled her into his arms. He held her as close as he could, inhaling the scent of her. He kissed her head, about the only part he could reach with her curled in his lap. He held her, needing to know she was safe. Never, ever again would he allow her to be put in danger.
“I’m glad you hurt him,” he murmured into her hair. “You hurt him bad. Everyone will see the hole in his cheek and know why it’s there. He’ll never be able to hide.” He kissed her head again. “Thanks to you, Molly and Sarah and all the other women will be able to sleep.”
“He hurt Tess. A lot.” She looked up. Though her chin trembled she glared with vengeance. “I hope he takes a long, long time to die. And that there’s pieces of him missing when his heart finally stops.”
“Any parts in particular?” he joked, proud of her reaction.
Her smile started slowly but ended up wide. He winced, making her laugh. His tension eased. She’d been through something terrifying, but she’d done well. She was alive, unhurt, and feisty. Dang, she was fine!
“I love you, Sophie McLeod. Marry me.”
She tilted her head and frowned. “Marry? Why?”
“Because I can’t live without you.” He closed his eyes, unwilling to see if she still frowned. “Yes, I want you in our bed and in our home. You’re part of me. Here.” He guided her hand to where his heart beat like the pounding of a longhorn stampede.
He’d been in hell all that time she was gone, pretending to be drunk while his woman waited, helpless, for a monster to attack her. He was proud at her determination, but she was never, ever, going to do something so dangerous again!
What if he’d lost her? He jammed his eyes closed. It didn’t stop the tears from leaking onto his cheeks. He bowed his head.
“Waiting for that sick bastard to go to you nearly killed me.”
A soft touch on his cheek made him open his eyes. She sucked her tear-covered finger into her mouth. She gave him a look that had his cock harder than wood in seconds.
“I knew you’d come, no matter what,” she said. “You, and Max, and Sam.”
“Never again.” He emphasized his words by staring deep in her eyes. “You will never, ever, put yourself in danger again.”
“I needed to do this, Josh,” she replied. Her words were quiet but intense. “I needed to do it for myself, and for the other women that never had a chance to fight back.”
“Why, Sophie?” She frowned, worrying her bottom lip. “I love you. You can tell me anything.” He tilted her chin up to look directly into her eyes. “Whatever is in our pasts helped create who we are. It’s not something to be ashamed of.” He kissed her forehead, telling her with his gentle touch that nothing would change his mind about her.
“I was seventeen when my stepfather killed my mother,” she whispered. She hesitated, so he gave her a gentle squeeze of encouragement. “He told everyone she tripped over her skirts and fell, hitting her head on the stove. But I saw him smash her head against the corner of it. Then he smiled.”
“There’s more, isn’t there?” She was so tense she could hardly breathe. “You survived that, and this. Best to let it all out.” Though his heart pounded, he waited patiently. He would do anything for her.
“My father owned a hotel. We had a few small rooms behind the kitchen. Though he worked hard, he was always there. He made my mother and me laugh, and was a favorite with the customers.”
Her fingers tightened on his shirt.
“I was sixteen when he died. Three men jumped him on the street. My mother and I did what we could to keep our hotel going, but my mother said she needed a man to help. Mr. Spencer was a guest who’d moved in shortly after the funeral. He took an interest in my mother, and the hotel. She decided he would do. I didn’t like the way he looked at me, but she refused to listen to my fears. She said a woman wasn’t safe alone.
“The day after my mother’s funeral I was outside when I heard his voice through the open window. He was telling someone about his plans to sell me to the highest bidder. He’d made a special room in the cellar just for me.” She shuddered. “I hate cellars.”
J
osh winced, realizing just how much courage it had taken her to wait for Isaac in the dark, damp room.
“He said the room had a bed and a thick door with a lock on the outside. No one would hear my screams. If anyone asked where I’d gone, he’d say I was so upset at my mother’s death that I’d gone to stay with relatives.”
“Is that when you got married?”
“Yes. Amos McLeod was a kindly older man living at the hotel. He’d been there a few weeks. We’d play checkers now and then. I ran to him, blubbering. He married me that night. A few words transferred the ownership of my body from my stepfather, to my husband.”
“And he brought you to Tanner’s Ford, where you were safe.”
Her chin wobbled. “I think Mr. Spencer arranged my father’s death so he could get hotel. I loved my father. He died and we were left alone.” Tears formed behind her lashes.
“I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you. But if you marry me, and something happens, you’ll still have two men to protect you and our children.” He kissed her tears. She looked up. “Thanks to you, Sophie, I know what love feels like. I will cherish you with my heart, my soul, and my body. I will protect you and our children, and provide for our family. And I will love you forever, no matter what.”
He waited. New tears glistened on the brown eyes a few inches from his own.
“You love me?” she whispered.
“If it means wanting to be boiled in oil rather than have a hair on your head harmed, then yes.”
He kissed that precious head. He hoped Sophie’s wide eyes and quivering chin meant she wanted him as much. But he didn’t want her tears. He wanted her laughter, and her lust.
“What about Sam and Max?” she asked.
He grimaced. “I guess I love them since they’re my brothers, but don’t tell them that. It might make them uppity.”
It took her a moment to see he was joking. Then she punched his chest. He pretended it hurt. She glowered, but he saw how her eyes sparkled and the corners of her mouth twitched.