Sweet Savage Love

by Rosemary Rogers

  “By God, Lilas sure wan’t lyin’ to me this time! Plumb beautiful—a real little jewel you are! Come on, li’l babydoll, no reason to put on that innocent act for ole George. Come give me a big smack, huh?”

  Leering, the man lurched towards her and Ginny backed away from him fearfully, not daring to take her eyes off his face.

  “Please, mister—oh please, wait a minute! You have to listen to me, you must, please!”

  His eyes had a glazed, animal look in them, and she was aware that he had big, beefy red hands that stretched out towards her. Dear God, had he no shame? He was older even than her own father—a gray-haired, balding man with a paunch that hung over his belt, and watery blue eyes. He was smiling, cunningly, his eyes squinting under a low, bulging forehead.

  “C’mon, babydoll—George likes his young fillies wild and eager—no need to pretend, I tol’ you—gimme a kiss, a kiss first, huh?”

  He laughed, and Ginny went almost sick with terror as she realized that she could back away no farther, the edge of the bed caught her against the thighs and she almost screamed.

  “Mister! Will you listen to me a minute?” She licked her lips nervously, willing her voice to sound soft, wheedling. “What’s the hurry, sw-sweetheart? See, here I am, all yours, but you have to let me talk to you a little first—you have to be patient with me, you understand? Oh, please…!” He didn’t understand, she flung her hands out towards him in despair and tried again. “I—it’s my first time, please—don’t you understand that? That’s why she keeps me locked up here—so I won’t run away, but you—you look so kind, and you’re—you’re handsome—distinguished, you know?” He had stopped, swaying on his feet, to peer uncertainly at her, and Ginny felt a surge of hope. At least he was listening to her now! She put all the pleading she could muster into her voice, uncomfortably aware of the bed behind her.

  “You—I could tell right away you’re a gentleman—you’ll help me, won’t you? They—they keep me here by force, but you’re going to rescue me, you will, won’t you?” Her voice broke in spite of herself, and she saw his small eyes peering at her with a kind of doubt.

  “Now—now looky here! Lilas tol’ me you was a purty redheaded piece an’ would give me a ride fer my money—said you was a lot of fun. Don’t go gettin’ all teary-eyed on me now, I don’t wanna hear no problems, just came to git me some fucking…”

  She saw his eyes take her in—the way his tongue snaked out to moisten his thick lips, and felt her heart sink. Oh God, he had to listen to her!

  “Why don’ you shut up with that claptrap—come on here an’ gimme a kiss like I bin tellin’ yuh.”

  Ginny forced herself to smile at him and toss her head coquettishly.

  “You’re so big and so strong, why your arms would crush poor little me in a minute! Why don’t you…”

  Grinning, he started to fumble with his belt and she said quickly, leaning forward, “You—you have to go real slow now, promise? I—really I’m new to all this and I don’t know—”

  “Look, babydoll, I paid Lilas already. Don’t you try to pull no wool over George’s eyes. I know about you li’l whores, and the more innercent you look, the badder you are. No, don’t go givin’ me any more lies, now!”

  “But I’m not a whore! I don’t want to be! Listen—you look like a smart man, one who wouldn’t be fooled by outward appearances. Wouldn’t you like to earn yourself a reward? A whole lot of money? Maybe as much as ten thousand dollars, mister, you’ll be able to name your price if you take me back to my father.”

  Something in the frantic urgency of her voice, the fingers she kept twisting together got through to the man, as lecherous and fuddled as he was and he paused to stare at her.

  “You loco?” To her despair, she saw that his little piggy eyes had gone hard, and he was staring at her with anger starting to show on his face. “Now look, I didn’t come up here to play no games! I know the kind of gal Lilas keeps up here, and ain’t none of you tramps in this ’gainst your will.”

  “My name is Virginia Brandon. Brandon! For God’s sake, won’t you just listen? My father is a Senator from California, and he’ll have rewards posted for my return, I know it! If you’ll just take me with you, please!”

  “Uh—huh!” he was shaking his head, still leering at her, a cunning smile on his mouth. “Looky here, babydoll, you gimme some first, and then we’ll see, after that!”

  Wild with fear she saw him loosen his belt and suspenders, still grinning at her. “Come on now, you be real nice to me an’ I’ll see whut I kin do, hear?”

  He reached for her with his pants still around his ankles, and his hands brushed at her breasts.

  With a cry of mingled fear and desperation, Ginny rolled sideways and backwards, across the bed, and he came after her, his hands already tearing at the wrapper.

  “No—no! Take your dirty hands off me!”

  “You’re the kind wants to fight, huh? Want a man to give it to you rough? Ol’ George is goin’ to get what he paid for.”

  She tried to roll off the bed on the other side, but his hands, clawing for her, caught her leg and she heard him chortle. His other hand grabbed for her crotch, fingers splayed, and now, at last, she cried out. Her hands went out, and she touched the night stand—the clock!

  Hardly capable of thought by now, Ginny curled her fingers around it and brought it down on the man’s head, as hard as she could.

  He gave a sound that was like a croaking grunt, and she thought his heavy body jerked horribly before he lay still—fingers still clutching at her.

  Sobbing, shaking with terror still, Ginny looked down at him. The dirty, greasy old bastard! He deserved it. Even if she had killed him, he deserved it. He stank of sweat and unwashed clothes, and it struck her suddenly that all this time—even while he was undressing in anticipation of having her, he had not bothered to take off his boots nor his filthy underwear.

  She scrambled from the bed, tearing what remained of her wrapper off her body, and ran for the armoire. Thank God that at least she had some clothes—Lorena, taking pity on her, had brought her two dresses just two days ago. All that Steve had thought to get her so far was a cotton shirt and a riding skirt!

  No time to search—Ginny took the first gown that came to hand, a green flouncy garment of lace and satin, cut very low at the neck, and dragged it over her head. Her fingers trembled as she forced herself to take the time to fasten the tiny buttons that held its bodice together. Panic—a dry fear that left her shaking like a leaf, drove her on now.

  Pushing her feet into high-heeled, unsuitable slippers, Ginny rushed to the mirror and pinned her hair up carelessly, swirling some of it on the top of her head and letting the rest hang down her back. A touch of lip salve—if anyone saw her she must not look different from any of the “girls”—and then she was away from the mirror, stumbling towards the door, pausing for the merest instant to make sure the man was till unconscious. He was stirring—God, he moved! And groaned. Not wanting to see more, Ginny ran from the room, only stopping to make sure that the door was locked behind her.

  She had escaped from her room, at least, but in the narrow, silent passageway outside it Ginny gave a small, despairing sob as she wondered how she would ever contrive to escape from the building itself. The back door was out of the question with Manuel stationed there, but the staircase she was facing now led downstairs—no doubt to the saloon itself.

  Her ears straining, Ginny heard a door open and close somewhere downstairs—the tinkling of a piano—a woman’s voice, singing, and the sound of male laughter. Down there, there were people—bright lights and talking. Surely, among all the men who must frequent Lilas’ saloon there might be one or two with enough decency to help her? And surely downstairs and in public, they would not try to make a prisoner of her again?

  Quickly, before she could think about all the risks she was about to take, Ginny walked hurriedly past the closed doors and to the head of the stairs, thankful for the dim, rose shad
ed lamps that Lilas kept up here.

  The staircase curved slightly, and as she came downstairs as quietly as possible, her hands clinging to the railing, Ginny could see a small foyer, with swinging doors at one end that obviously led into the saloon. Her breathing quickened as she almost ran down the last few stair-treads. There had to be another door here, there just had to! But on reaching the bottom of the stairs she could have cried with disappointment, for there was only a full length mirror on one wall, reflecting her own scared-looking face back at her, and against the other wall a carved wooden stand with a bowl of wilted looking flowers on it.

  She stood hesitating, and as she did the door swung open and a man and a woman, both laughing, came through it. The man was a Mexican or Spaniard, tall and slender, with dark hair and mustachios, and the girl was Lorena. He had his arm around Lorena’s waist, and they were still laughing together at some joke until Lorena saw Ginny, who stood rooted to the floor, and her mouth fell open.

  “Ginny! Oh, cherie, how could you….”

  “So—another pretty new one? But where does madame Lilas find you all?”

  The man smiled, showing white, even teeth. “Perhaps, Lorena, this one would join us too? You know I have the money, I’ll make it all right with Madame.”

  Before Lorena could say anything else, or the grinning man elaborate on his suggestion, Ginny brushed past them and ran swiftly into the saloon, driven by blind panic and desperation she was beyond controlling.

  Her frightened, seeking eyes moved quickly to the right and left and noticed that there were not many people in the large room. A bartender wiped glasses behind the long, curving bar, and of the “girls,” Susie, sat on the piano with her legs defiantly crossed to show her mesh-stockinged calves and ankles as she sang some saucy new ballad.

  The saloon was not as wide as it was long, and as soon as she had seen the location of the front door, Ginny picked up her skirts and fled towards it, running faster than she had ever run before.

  She heard Lorena call out behind her, “Ginny, stop! You must not…” and then she had burst through the big double doors and was running blindly, hardly knowing or caring where she was fleeing—aware only that she had to run and keep running now, to escape from whatever Steve might do to her if he’d seen her.

  Ginny heard the clattering of her own heels sounding monstrously loud on the uneven boardwalk, and then as other footsteps sounded behind her she turned and ran like a hunted animal out into the street, noticing only vaguely, the sound of her panting echoing in her ears, that it was narrow and dusty.

  Her hair came loose and fell down over her face and shoulders, blinding her, and still she ran. She could feel the sweat pouring down her body, her breath rasped in her throat and she knew with a kind of utter despair that she was tiring, her steps starting to drag already.

  Oh, God! Had she really hoped to escape? Where could she run to? One of her shoes came off and she stumbled; trying to save herself she spread out her arms and fell, sprawling ignominiously in the dust and dirt of the street.

  She lay there sobbing hopelessly, feeling that all strength had left her and she could not move. What further degradation was there left?

  Opening her eyes, she saw his boots, standing astraddle before her face. It would have to be him—who else would have come after her? His voice drawled mockingly from somewhere above her.

  “Really, my love! You might have told me you wanted a stroll in the fresh air. Or could it be that you were pining for my company?”

  Without giving her a chance to answer his gibes, he bent down, grasping her arms, and pulled her roughly to her feet.

  She was still sobbing breathlessly, despairingly, and with a muffled, angry exclamation he tugged the neckerchief from around his throat and began wiping her face with it while his fingers, still holding her arm in a painful vice, held her motionless.

  “You had better look a little more presentable than you do now when I take you back inside,” he said coldly.

  Ginny looked around wildly and saw that in spite of her feeling that she had run for miles they were only a short distance from the lighted doorway of Lilas’ saloon. A liquid, hazy-looking half-moon hung low in the sky and by its diffused light she could see how angry he looked—the black brows meeting in a frown, lips thinned and compressed with annoyance.

  “Come along now,” he said, shaking her. “You wanted an outing—some amusement, and you shall have it. But first bend down and pick up your slipper—put it on—it won’t do for you to walk in barefoot like some common Indian peasant girl, would it?”

  “Please—” she murmured incoherently, but even as she began to plead with him she fell silent again, biting her lip, knowing that it was no use.

  Anger, panic, hope—everything evaporated, leaving her cold with utter despair. Silently she walked beside him, hardly feeling the painful grip of his fingers on her arm, just above the elbow.

  21

  Ginny had no remembrance, afterwards, of how many hours she was forced to endure in the brightly lighted, smoke-filled saloon. It seemed to her that an almost forced gaiety had seized everyone there after Steve had brought her back inside, seating her too politely at one of the small tables that were scattered throughout the room.

  Lorena and her partner joined them, and she whispered to Ginny that Lilas had gone upstairs to soothe the man she had “entertained” shortly before. His aching head attended to he had been sent on his way to redheaded Patti, the girl he had been supposed to visit, with Lilas’ reassurance that it was “on the house” this time.

  “He thinks you are crazy, cherie—and of course it’s just as well, hein? It was a crazy thing you tried to do…”

  No one understood—not even Lorena!

  Her color high, her eyes bright with unshed tears, Ginny sat stiffly at the table, sipping the drink that Steve had ordered for her. And he, on his part, proceeded to ignore her, except to remind her sharply to finish her drink—there was already another one set before her.

  “Enjoy yourself, baby,” he said sarcastically, “it’s what you wanted, isn’t it? And be sure and act normally—flirt, if you like—you’re good at that, as I remember!”

  The piano player had been joined by one of the guests who fancied himself a fiddler, and some of the girls who were still downstairs had begun to dance, laughing shrilly as they were whirled around by their partners.

  A young cowboy, his hair slicked down unnaturally, his clothes obviously new, asked Ginny to dance. She would have refused, but when Steve nodded grimly towards the space they had cleared for dancing, she was forced to rise from her chair like a puppet on strings—to dance with the young man who held her too closely and listen dumbly to his clumsy compliments. She could not help noticing that Susie had slipped into the chair she had just vacated and was now leaning against Steve, whispering to him, her hand clutching possessively at his arm.

  The young cowboy told her his name was Dan and said she was the prettiest girl he had ever seen at Lilas’ place. The sickly sweet smell of his hair oil made Ginny want to retch.

  “I guess that lucky hombre back there has already booked you up for the night? Maybe next time I’m in town I’ll be just as lucky.” He paused and looked down at her. “Hey, you don’t say much, do you? You new at this?”

  “Yes—” she murmured, “very new.”

  Dare she tell him anything more? Would he help her, or would he be like the man George? It wouldn’t be any use—she knew that! And Steve would only think of some worse way in which to punish her.

  Steve and Susie were kissing when Dan took her back to the table after buying her a drink she didn’t want. She drank it fast, trying not to notice the way that Steve was playing with the narrow bands of lace that were all that held Susie’s dress up. Why should she care? She was relieved when he got up to dance with Susie, who obviously had designs on him, judging from the way she molded her body against his as they danced. Maybe he’d take Susie upstairs tonight…but then, what wo
uld become of her?

  Lorena, taking pity on Ginny’s white-faced misery, came to sit beside her.

  “Poor Rafael—he is always so quick—lot of talk, but then, just like a rabbit, phhtt!”

  She glanced at Ginny and her voice softened.

  “Cherie—cherie you must not look like that! He is angry now, but later, he will forget it. And that Susie—he only acts so with her to make you jealous. Smile, petite! Pretend that you do not care.”

  “But I don’t care! Oh, God, Lorena, I wish he would keep her instead of me! Why couldn’t he let me go?”

  Ginny felt hysteria bubbling up inside her, but Lorena, leaning forward, put her hands up and pinched Ginny’s cheeks hard, startling her into silence.

  “There! I did not mean to hurt you, cherie, but you must not make him more angry, not now. And you need some color in your cheeks. Afterwards, you will see, it will be all right.”

  Lorena was wrong, but it was only much later, in the privacy of the room upstairs, that Ginny learned the full extent of Steve Morgan’s anger.

  By this time she was so tired, and half-drunk, in the bargain, that she could barely walk straight. Evading Susie, who had started drinking much earlier in the evening and now lay draped in a semi-stupor across the piano, Steve carried Ginny up the last flight of stairs; but there was no tenderness or consideration in the way he held her in his arms.

  He slung her onto the bed as if she had been a sack of potatoes, and stood looking down at her with his thumbs hooked into his belt.

  Ginny lay there sobbing, hearing his voice coming at her from what seemed like a great distance away.

  “Don’t ever try it again, Ginny! I don’t intend to let you get away from me until I’m good and ready!”

  “I didn’t—I didn’t do anything!” she heard herself sobbing. “I only wanted to escape, that’s all…”

  Ginny raised herself on her elbows and looked over her shoulder at him, her eyes still blurred with tears, and he was still standing there, looking down at her with a strange, withdrawn expression on his face.