1933563060-Devils-Pact-Cruise

by Devil's Pact (lit)

“Back to Jazelle’s,” she bit out and chided herself silently for showing the remote hint of jealously. She held no claim over him. He could do what he pleased. Apparently, he had, visiting Jazelle’s twice in two days and returning smelling like he’d bathed in cheap perfume. Horny toad bastard.

  “Don’t try my patience,” he replied instantly. “I guarantee you’ll regret the consequences. I won’t ask you again.” His deep voice resonated with warning.

  Further backward she sank, her backside butted tightly against the tub. She stared at her trembling kneecaps and took a deep breath. There was no getting around it—she either answered him or else turned into a prune. Only specifics. Don’t offer more than necessary.

  “After Reed’s second stroke, he wasn’t able to get around much. The field hands started to ask questions about the outlook of the ranch. I tried to assure them things would work out.”

  “Go on. Tell me, what happened to the cattle?”

  “I rode out to the fields every now and then to check on things and noticed the cattle weren’t being branded properly. I brought it up with the foreman. He said he would take care of it. They stalled with excuses. Insisted the hands wanted to be paid up front. I paid what I could, but they said it wasn’t enough. I didn’t have any more money. One day, they were gone.”

  “Who was gone?” His questioning gaze turned to annoyance, as if she wasn’t providing answers fast enough.

  “Everything. The foreman, the field hands, the cattle, pigs, everything.”

  “What happened?” His jaw tensed

  “They took them.”

  “The hands?” he asked with a cold finality, and her pulse raced.

  “They took every last head of cattle and supplies and everything else they could carry.”

  “Where did they go?” Devin’s face turned to stone.

  A vision of a tombstone flashed before her eyes. If she read the look in his eye correctly, whomever she mentioned would be dead before tomorrow’s sunrise. A chill ran down her spine.

  “It doesn’t matter. It’s too late now. Don’t you see? You’ll never get them back. They won’t let you.” Fear and remembrance shrouded her eyes.

  “Who, Megan? Who?” he growled.

  “He won’t let you. They’ll kill you as soon as you set foot on his property. It’s no use. Don’t even ask. They’re gone.”

  “I’ll be the judge of that. This ranch is mine now. No one cheats a Spawn. Tell me, what is his name?”

  “Devin, he has hired guns for hands. He owns the Sheriff. It’ll do no good. You’ll only start more trouble for me and the girls. Please, let it go.”

  “I’ll not ask you again. Either you tell me, or I’ll drag you out of that tub as-is. We’ll ride all over town till we find every last damn head of cattle and the sorry-assed bastard who was fool enough to think he could cheat a Spawn and get away with it.”

  “Hardin. Leroy Hardin.” The name rolled off her tongue as though it was the most contemptuous, tainted, hated name to ever pass her lips. “Owns the ranch budding ours.”

  In a flash, he grabbed his rifle off the rack and headed for the door.

  “Devin,” she cried out, terrified, jumping to her feet. “They’ll kill you.”

  “They’ll try.” He turned and faced her. His brows arched in surprise.

  “Even if you survive, what will happen after you leave? The girls and I will still be here. Hardin will still be our neighbor.” Her voice filled with concern and fear for not only him, but herself and the girls.

  “What are you willing to offer to keep me here?” His darkening gaze roamed openly over her body, causing her to look down at herself. She gasped, suddenly realizing she was naked. She plopped back in the tub, sending water splashing over the sides in big waves as her body burned with humiliation.

  “That’s what I thought.” His voice turned cold as he stormed into the darkness.

  * * * *

  Like a moonless phantom, he would creep in silently and kill them. Slaughter ‘em one by one as they slept. Fifty, one hundred, the number was unimportant. He wanted to murder every one of the bastards. Moreover, he could.

  If it weren’t for Megan’s tormented face haunting him. She’d just stood there with a pleading, worried look on her face, arms by her sides, completely nude and dripping wet. Water streamed down the peaks of her round breasts, the sparse thatch of dark blond curls matted, dribbled water between the hollow of her trim thighs and trickles of droplets slid down her smooth belly and slender legs.

  At the sight, his cock had grown hard instantly. With the way he felt, it wouldn’t have done either of them any good if he stayed. The only thing on his mind now was red. Blood red. His wrath would be directed at those deserving.

  He understood all too well range wars between neighboring ranches could get pretty ugly, especially with cattle rustling involved. But to cheat a defenseless woman! A Spawn, no less. There was hell to pay, and it was up to him to collect.

  The truth of her words burned in his ears. Tomorrow after Reed was laid to rest, she and the girls would remain to face the aftermath alone. It wouldn’t be right.

  Hell, when did he grow a fucking conscious?

  His sight was set for the most grandiose spread nearby. He found the large, two-story adobe ranch house easily. It was lit enough to give off the impression activity was still taking place inside. Outside the home and around the outlying parameter, several lowlife ruffians patrolled, armed and alert.

  Though not alert enough to spot him as he crawled through an upstairs window. With a whispered instruction and quick nod from his master, Deuce sauntered off into the night’s blackened shadows.

  Once inside, Devin acclimated to the darkness rather well. As he suspected, judging from the size and amount of windows on the outside, this had to be Leroy Hardin’s bedroom. It was large, took up an entire end of the second floor. It was decorated rather comfortably with dark, masculine furniture and a huge bed butted up against the windows.

  Devin opened the bedroom door a crack and concentrated for a minute on the jumble of male voices coming from downstairs. Satisfied he was at the right place, he closed the door. There was nothing else to do but wait for his host.

  He positioned himself in the far left corner of the room, opposite the direction light would fall from the opened doorway.

  His wait was not long. Keenly, he listened to the advance of footsteps over the carpeted hallway and the soft muttering of voices, one male and one female. He heard the distinct male voice wish someone a goodnight and then a rustle of skirts, as though the female leaned over to kiss him farewell.

  Accustomed to execution of his duties at night, he eased a bowie knife from a sheath strapped to his calf. He waited, not moving a muscle, for the right moment as the knob turned and the door opened. From the hallway light, he could distinguish a, tall, slender, balding man step into the room and close the door behind him as he reached for the oil sconce.

  With a resounding thud, the knife pierced the red plaid wallpaper inches from Leroy Hardin’s hand, just before he touched the wall sconce.

  “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” Devin’s deep voice warned instantaneously as Hardin reached for his gun. Another knife pierced the door inches away from his now stilled hand above the six-shooter strapped to the man’s hip.

  “Wouldn’t do that, either.” His tone was now a vicious warning.

  Mr. Hardin raised both hands in the air, squinting as if trying to make out the dark figure and voice coming from the darkness while he stood in the faint ambient light shining through the windows.

  “My boys will—” he started arrogantly.

  “Find your throat slashed,” Devin finished for him, guessing the gutless man was ready to shout for backup. He hired gunslingers to do the dirty work he was either incapable of doing or didn’t want to dirty his hands with.

  “What do you want?” Hardin bit out.

  “Make amends amongst neighbors.”

  “Neighbor
s use the front door.” Hardin’s tone was quick and sarcastic.

  “Backdoor’s more to my liking.”

  “Do you mind if I sit?” He nodded in the direction of the plush side chair near the window closest to the lamp outside. “My legs are tiring out.”

  “Nice chair. Wouldn’t want you to stain it.” Devin could hear the man’s deep exhalation at the implicit threat.

  “Start talking,” Hardin said bluntly, standing absolutely still.

  “I’m here on behalf of the Spawn Ranch.”

  “I have no beef with Reed,” he snapped back.

  “I say you do.”

  “Look here, mister. Don’t know what you heard—”

  “Heard you took some cattle didn’t belong to you from an ailing old man and his wife,” Devin interrupted.

  “Whatever yarn she wove is a lie. No one round here listens to a two-bit whor—” The knife slicing the top of his ear off halted the ending of his sentence. Instinctively, Hardin’s hand went to what was left of his bloodied ear, and he grunted.

  “Speak out of line again, and the next will cut out your fool tongue.” Devin spewed pure hatred, and Leroy Hardin’s eyes widened as he swallowed harshly, blood gushing from the gash in his ear, spilling down his arm.

  “Where’s the cattle?”

  “Done drove ’em to Louisiana.”

  “Mighty neighborly of you to go through the trouble. Mrs. Spawn will appreciate the money from the bill of sale you made on her behalf.”

  “Why, I—” Hardin stammered.

  “You have a problem with that?”

  “No. No, of course not. Don’t have that kind of money lying around.”

  “Bank’s open tomorrow. She’ll wait till then.”

  “Look here, she doesn’t know what’s owed her. We can make some sort of deal. I like how you handle things. Ride for me. I’ll pay you well.”

  “Wouldn’t you like to know who you’re hiring?”

  “Doesn’t matter. I could use a fella like you ‘round.” Hardin’s tone grew in confidence.

  “Turn on the light,” Devin instructed in a throaty whisper, smoldering in the darkness.

  Steadily, Hardin reached for the oil sconce ensuring no moves were misjudged. As the light filled the room, his face went pale when he faced Devin.

  Devin had leaned casually in the corner with a foot planted on the wall behind him. He nudged the brim of his hat off his forehead to give Leroy a good, long look.

  “Name’s Spawn…Devin Spawn,” he drawled.

  Leroy Hardin’s face turned a nasty shade of green, and his eyes bulged in their sockets.

  No doubt, Leroy Hardin had heard a story or two. Within gun sight of the devil himself, Hardin should be guessing right about now he was damned lucky to still be alive.

  Across the room, Devin moved but kept his eyes on the other man. He extracted the knife near the wall sconce. Hardin flinched.

  “Seeing as how I own the ranch,” Devin stated matter-of-factly in his deep, calculated tone as he reclaimed the knife near Hardin’s hip and returned both to their sheaths, “don’t think I’ll be able to take…” He pulled the blooded knife that sliced through the man’s ear from the door and wiped it on Hardin’s upper arm. “You up on your generous offer.”

  Devin stepped back, and returned the bowie knife to the sheath strapped to his waist. “You have till noon tomorrow to make amends.”

  Chapter 10

  Devin chose the cover of the pecan trees to the right of the ranch house, a position to give him a clear view, unrestricted shot and cover from approaching riders from different angles. The small hill behind the barn and larger hills behind the house meant riders had to travel over the hills, or take the dirt trail leading to the house and risk detection. A bigger risk to anyone sneaking up tonight would be to angle across the open land to the left of the house or cut through the pecan trees, where he could easily hear them. Whichever way they chose, he could see them, yet they couldn’t see him. Thanks to his Comanche friends, he was a master at blending into his surroundings and moving about undetected.

  He didn’t bother to go inside and inform Megan of the situation. She’d find out soon enough when the fireworks began if Mr. Hardin didn’t take kindly to Devin’s suggestion.

  There was nothing else for him to do but wait.

  When the stars dimmed and the blackened sky turned to gentle hues of yellow and blue, he couldn’t help but bemoan his annoyance. If Hardin started in on him, as Devin hoped he would, then he could finish off the no-account scum.

  Appears Mrs. Megan Spawn was coming into some money.

  “Lucky bastard gets another day,” he grumbled as he drifted silently into the house, bearing an armload of firewood for the hearth and a bucket of water to make a pot of coffee before Megan woke up. Since he wasn’t able to get any sleep, he needed the jolt a hot cup of black coffee supplied.

  His sense of hearing was acute. The squeak of the mattress told him she’d climbed out of bed. Moreover, the shuffling of tiny feet slipping into her house slippers and rustle of clothing as she donned her robe lent an intimacy to his mind's eye. The light patter over the wooden planks moving toward the bedroom door made him more anxious than he had a right to be. He sat in the chair positioned near the parlor window, his gaze focused on the landscape before him.

  He gathered from her startled gasp when she opened the bedroom door that she was very surprised to see him alive. With his back to her, she couldn’t see the smirk on his face.

  “Morning,” he offered quietly without turning around.

  She rushed to his side, a white eyelet robe wrapped tightly around her small frame. Underneath, an oversized, long-sleeved eyelet nightgown buttoned to the neck dragged on the floor.

  Did none of her clothes fit properly? he wondered. Her long, honey-colored ringlets tousled down her back and over her shoulders. Her face was drawn, and there were dark shadows under her eyes. From the looks of it, he could tell she’d had a rough night.

  “Devin,” she breathed. Her eyes seemed to absorb him like a venerated apparition. As if requiring reassurance he was real and not a dream, she laid a hand on his shoulder

  He stared at the dainty hand resting on his shoulder and followed it up to her eyes. The heat of that one little unexpected touch burned right through his clothes and stirred his groin. Covered from neck to her toes, she looked damned sexier than any naked, sprawled-out, highfalutin whore he’d ever laid eyes on.

  “Made coffee,” he offered, dropping his gaze once again to the small hand searing his flesh through his clothing because he couldn’t bare to look at her a moment longer without touching her.

  * * * *

  Megan looked where he did, withdrawing her hand from his shoulder quickly. She tucked the robe tightly under her neck, suddenly feeling as exposed as last night when she stood in the washtub. The intensity of his silvery eyes washed over like heated waves, seeping through her pores and ignited what she could only name as forbidden arousal.

  The only fate worse than Devin Spawn’s death would be his continued existence on the Reed Ranch.

  Dear God, how would she manage to ignore this man when she could scarcely breathe whenever he was near?

  “What happened?” she asked uneasily, afraid to acknowledge last night’s vexing exchange had truly transpired, but she had to know. She held her breath, and waited.

  “Son-of-a-bitch is still alive.” His voice weighed heavily with distaste. “He’ll pony up.”

  A miserable dread filled her soul at his declaration. Her tightening heart gripped her. Hardin is alive. She wanted to get away from Devin’s searching eyes, but he followed her to the kitchen,

  “Since he hasn’t done so by now, I doubt he’ll trouble you again.”

  Since he hasn’t done so by now. She paused mid-motion, reaching for one of the cups stacked on the shelf. Her body stiffened.

  “Whether I’m here or not, he’s aware the ranch is mine.”

  His voice
brought her out of her reverie. She swung to face him, cup clutched in a death grip to her chest, and practically shrieked, “Are you certain?”

  “Only way to be certain is to return and kill the slimy snake.” Devin leaned his hip against the counter, arms crossed over his chest. He tilted his head, his silver eyes studying her. As though he could read her thoughts and see the fear gripping her soul, he goaded, “A nod will do.”

  Briefly closing her eyes, she shook her head. Though she didn’t want anything more than to see Leroy Hardin get what he deserved, if she said yes, that would make her no better than him.

  “No, if you scared him well enough to leave me—the ranch alone, that suffices.” She breathed a sigh of relief.

  Reputation alone could ward off a lesser man. Face to face with solid-muscled, six-foot-nine Devin Spawn was menacing to all others. Truly, she wanted to know what he’d done to the morally reprehensible man, but held her tongue.

  “Sure?” he asked.

  “Quite,” she replied, pouring a cup of coffee. “I’ll start breakfast as soon as I change,” she added quickly to change the subject. To avoid further discussion, she took a sip of coffee while hurrying to her room. She really meant to visit the chamber pot, but those silvery eyes followed her everywhere. The last thing she wanted to do was give him any ideas of watching her in the most compromising of positions. The man had seen her do everything else. She needed some element of mystery.

  * * * *

  After breakfast, he heard them in the distance, felt the faint rumble beneath his feet. Riders, seventy or more, approached fast from the north at least five miles away.

  Hardin’s ranch was to the east. Without question, Devin knew it wasn’t him. There was only one other possibility. On intuition alone, he finished hitching the wagon for Megan and the girls, who were inside dressing for the funeral. When that was done, he made his way to the barn.

  Deuce was clamoring in his stall, seemingly aware of the impending situation.

  “You’re ready to fly.” He walked over to his horse and stroked his nose, calming him down. “Not this time, fella. Best if you stay behind.”