1933563060-Devils-Pact-Cruise

by Devil's Pact (lit)

  A befuddled look shadowed Webster’s face, as though it was a trick question. After a slight hesitation, he replied, “The main road.”

  “And if the law’s after you?”

  “The back road,” Toledo smugly jumped right in.

  “So if you were smart, knew the law was gunning for you down the back road, and not fool enough to venture along the open main road, which way would you go?”

  “Find my own trail,” Morrow answered, not wanting to be left out of the conversation.

  “Off the beaten path,” Sergeant Major suggested.

  “Ain’t nothin’ more beaten and rough than a canyon full of rocks amid pinon pines. Can’t maneuver loaded-down wagons ‘round trees, over earth softened by leaves and pine needles. Gives ‘em one way in and one way out. Where we’ll be, waiting to ambush ‘em.”

  “Seems like we oughta meet ‘em out in the open like honorable soldiers, stead of ambushing ‘em like a bunch of savage Injuns.”

  “Get within gun sight of them, and that blue uniform will be red before you ever break leather. Only live by one rule—my rule. If a man is out for my blood, I’ll fight him any damn way I please. I aim to win.”

  “We all know what to do tomorrow. Why don’t we try to get some rest?” Sergeant Major ignored Toledo’s comment, knowing Devin was correct. It left him wondering, if that was the case, why didn’t he shoot the old man at the saloon? “Devin, we have some beans ‘n beef left if you’re hungry.”

  “No thanks. I’m standing watch.”

  “They’re camped miles away. No reason for ya to go without sleep or eatin’.”

  “Yeah, you can pull up your gear by the fire, keep the coyotes away,” Morrow offered.

  “Also ruins your night vision. If I get hungry, I have jerky in my saddle bag.” Devin started back toward the trees.

  “Spawn,” Toledo called out, and Devin turned with a huff.

  Sergeant Major glared at Toledo, praying the lad developed sweet reason within the last hour and took their advice to heart.

  “Thought we could chew the fat a little?” He held out his cigarette makings, and Devin shook his head. “Seeing how this will all be over after tomorrow, I got to thinking.”

  Major covered his eyes with his hand and slowly shook his head in disbelief.

  Toledo continued. “Perhaps you and I can get to know one another.”

  “Why?”

  Webster shot him a ‘shut the fuck up’ look that Toledo answered with a wide-tooth grin and kept right on talking.

  “So when you head back home, I thought I’d ride with you. So’s to keep you company.”

  “Why?”

  “Got a hanker to learn ranchin’.”

  “Don’t need tagalongs and don’t know a damn thing ‘bout ranching.”

  “Sorta hoping you’d do the honors of introducing me to your stepma, Mrs. Spawn. Seeing she’s a wi—”

  Reflexes quicker than the eye could follow, Devin lunged over the fire while he slipped the hammer on the pistol in one hand and the bowie knife sheathed at his waist in the other. A reflexive move Sergeant Major suspected was repeated dozens of times throughout Devin’s ill-famed life. The razor-sharp knife held against Toledo’s jugular sliced through the top layer of skin, drawing blood, as Toledo laid flat on his back, eyes bulging and face ghost-white. Devin loomed over him, his knee deeply ground in the man’s chest.

  Major, Morrow, and Webster made sure their hands were in plain sight in response to the gun pointed at them, making no quick moves.

  “Listen up. If so much as a flicker of interest sparks your eye, I’ll cut out your gizzards and feed ‘em to the coyotes and have your worthless heart for breakfast.” Devin glanced over his shoulders. “And if the rest of you try to stop me, you’ll meet the same fate.”

  “We’re government soldiers. You can’t shoot us,” muttered Morrow.

  “No one will ever know what happened to ya,” he replied in a voice as cold and dangerous as the fury burning in his eyes as they cut to Morrow, then back to Toledo. “Take it as a warning. I’ll spare your plug ugly face, only ‘cause I need you alive.”

  Major released the breath caught in his throat, thankful Devin was man enough to admit he needed the extra gun power.

  “I don’t haul no wagons. Don’t matter who they’re for,” Devin added gruffly.

  Major frowned.

  The man was impossible. It made sense now why he’d requested only four soldiers to drive back four wagons. Devin intended to kill the members of the Laredo gang himself, and if he, Toledo, Morrow or Webster got in his way, he’d kill them, also. The Colonel, along with everyone else, would suspect they died in the skirmish.

  He swallowed hard and cursed Toledo’s untamed libido under his breath.

  Chapter 14

  The radiant yellow, pink and blue hues of dawn revealed the rocky shadows of the cliffs and valley below as Devin rode to the top of the canyon. He listened for clues of what lay ahead but heard only birds, scrambling iguanas, and other small wildlife scurrying about as he reached the level ground above.

  Morning’s first burst of sunlight filtered over the mountain peaks to the east in a brilliant display of burnt red and fiery gold. From here, he could see the countryside, miles of open prairie land, sloping mountaintops, and the lush pine forest below, where Major and the others were finishing their coffee and breakfast of bacon and biscuits. The bright morning gave him a clear view of the serene calm soon to be disturbed. When Bush and his bunch rode up, Devin would know.

  He sought a nice shady spot under a tree and he securely tied Deuce, an act seldom required. “Sorry, fella, you might get spooked when the gunpowder goes off,” he explained, running a gentle hand through the horse’s golden mane.

  Deuce whickered, shook his head, and kicked up a puff of dust, as if in protest.

  “It’s for your own damn good.” Devin walked away, grinning. “Don’t need to hear shit from you too.”

  The men assigned to him needed reassurance and coddling, ever since he found the Laredo Gang’s trail a few days ago. Hell. That was a woman’s job, not his. If they asked one more stupid-assed question, he swore he’d kill them all and finish the task himself.

  Several hours of waiting were ahead. He tried not to think about almond-shaped, hazel-brown eyes gazing up at him, darkened with arousal, as he peered over the edge of the cliff. He grimaced as the soft whispers of please and don’t stop clouded his memory and stirred his loins.

  He picked up a rock and hurled it over the side of the cliff, just to have something to do. Seldom did he ever play a fool’s game, lived in the past, or allow his mind to ponder the future. What was that scrawny girl doing to him? He shook his head, tried to ignore the images of pink lips clenched around his cock, tight mouth suckling on the head, and moist tongue licking it just right. He recalled her hands stroking his shaft, gripping his balls, or her swollen red pussy lips slick with juice that tasted sweeter then the finest honey or the way the …

  Shit, he grumbled. It wasn’t working. No matter how hard he tried to forget the image of the head of his cock filling Megan’s greedy mouth, pink lips stretched to the limit by his thick stalk, he couldn’t. The erotic scent and taste of her honeyed cream as he licked and sucked her sweet cunt lingered with him. His breath ragged, cock pulsing, aching at the memory of her tight vaginal muscles clamped on his embedded finger as her body trembled with climax after climax. He shuddered at the harsh, fiery need to be inside her. The highly erotic memories enveloped him, made his raging lust heighten to the point his hardened cock was painfully unbearable.

  Devin moved away from the cliff’s edge. Tugging anxiously at the buckskin laces, he freed his aching, stone-hard erection.

  His entire body tensed as he gripped his cock and stroked it roughly. He closed his eyes, went with the image that plagued his mind since the evening they met. Megan’s pale body spread out on a bed of grass, her wanton gaze looking up at him, opened for him, accepting him freely
. Only this time, he buried his cock into her tight, wet, hot flesh to the hilt, drove into her over and over again as her tiny, fragile body writhed beneath his, until she begged him to fuck her harder, plunge deeper, make her come.

  Devin, he remembered her frail voice breathing his name as he ate the endless supply of her cream from her throbbing pussy. He stroked quicker and harder, tightened his grip. He imagined her pussy spasm around his cock and heard her climactic cries. Pressure built deep at the base of his spine. He gritted his teeth to suppress the ferocious wail rising from his gut as his cock exploded, spurting his release several feet in front of him. The intense sensation rocked him.

  With his clean hand, he wiped the sweat off his brow, then stared at the other hand coated with his sticky seed. Spewing obscenities, he stuffed his cock into his buckskins, still hard and yearning for the real thing.

  What did she do to him?

  He never wanted a woman so badly in his life, especially one so unripe. Voluptuous women with curves to grab on to so that he could ride for hours were more his style. Not soft, creamy skin firm over sharp bones, pert, round breasts with nipples no bigger than a raindrop, and an intoxicating smile of white pearls beneath luscious pink velvet ribbons with deep dimples under the apples of her cheeks. It was enough to rattle a man’s stirrups—and those eyes. At first glance, sweet and innocent. Yet those hazel depths reached beyond a man’s soul, deep into his darkest desires.

  There was only one other way to temporarily assuage the dark demons, the barbarous need within—blood. He could taste it, smell it, and he felt it in his marrow. His hands clenched into tight fists, itching, ready, waiting eagerly for what was to come. Like a man possessed, his silver gaze turned cold and deadly at the realization that in a couple of hours, at least one dark desire would be satisfied.

  Today, he would kill.

  * * * *

  The sun dipped mid-way along the western skyline as Devin calculated, mid-afternoon when the three ruffians rode ahead of the others. They made their way through the canyon, peering hard, scouring the cliffs toward a narrow canyon with steep walls—the perfect stop to make a stand. Devin knew it well. As did members of the gang. They often used it after their lawlessness, the rocky carpet made it nearly impossible for a posse to trail them.

  It lay on a direct course into Cheyenne-infested country. Men with any brains steered clear of the area. After Devin stepped down, Bush became the self-proclaimed leader. They intended to exchange the weapons for gold. The Colonel didn’t have to tell him that. He already knew the only logical explanation why so many rustlers would take up with Bush to swindle the federal government.

  He’d introduced Zach Bush and a few others to the Cheyenne Chief years ago after they robbed a bank and needed a place to hole up. They hunted, ate and drank with the warriors, and even screwed their women. The Cheyenne never mentioned gold around outsiders. It was a closely guarded secret. They knew what would happen if word ever leaked that gold was buried on their land.

  Small gold pockets existed in the Black Hills, smack dab in the middle of Comanche territory. Ol’ John, the man who’d snatched him from the train, married a Comanche woman. They spent winters living amongst them. After Ol’ John died, Devin returned her to her people and continued to visit, even after she passed years later. Considered family, the Comanche allowed him to take what he needed as long as he didn’t reveal its place of origin. To this day, he kept his word, only taking enough when he ventured into town for food, drink, women, a hot bath, and close shave. It had been a fluke that he’d hauled more than enough to pay off Megan’s debt.

  He harbored no ill will against the Indians and he counted many his friends. Even so, he couldn’t idly stand by while rifles and ammunition fell into their hands. Hundreds of women and children would lose their lives on both sides. That was something he’d never allow.

  The look in Megan’s eyes as she recounted the tragic circumstances of her parents’ deaths strongly reiterated he was doing the right thing. Not for honor, because he damn well knew there wasn’t a shred of honor in his bones. He was a cold-blooded murderer and no-account thief, and if there was a holy man above, only he and Lucifer below knew all Devin had done.

  It sure wasn’t for the bounty or to save his skin. Ten thousand or ten million, he didn’t give a damn one way or the other. Let the vultures come after him. More call to perfect his accuracy and speed.

  His two aunties taught him it was inexcusable and unforgivable to harm an innocent, even one he didn’t know. Now, all he could think of was Shelby and Emma. Two of the littlest mops of blond curls, big eyes, and button noses he’d ever seen. They were his blood, and he’d go to hell and back to protect them.

  Then there was Megan. Sweet-smelling, smooth, creamy skin, warm and firm petite body scarcely curved in the right places, slick, open, and aching eagerly just for him. Damn, he was getting hard again just thinking about her. With a stiff shake of his head, he tamped down the arousal creeping into his lust-starved blood, and turned his attention below.

  It was a matter of patience and timing. Devin kept his head low, rifle tucked under his belly as he lay on the ground. He instructed the other men to do the same, no chance for sunlight to reflect off silver parts, alerting anyone to their presence. He looked to his right at Sergeant Major lying low, some forty feet away.

  Major gave him an acknowledging nod.

  Devin smiled inwardly, recalling his final words before Toledo took his spot at the end of the canyon near the gunpowder, Morrow across to his left and Webster on the other side toward the center of the canyon, where the trap was set.

  When the last hoof passes the mark, light the fuse and count to ten slowly. On seven, take aim. Eight, fire. Nine, Webster pulls the rope, triggering the trap—a fence high enough to stop a horse from jumping over made out of sharpened branches that Webster and Morrow built and buried under the rocky terrain to trap them in. On ten, the fireworks go off, and the dance begins.

  Choose your partner well, he’d instructed, and they looked at him foolishly. He explained one free shot was all they were getting. The task of facing over thirty skilled gunslicks wasn’t for the faint at heart. Each man below could detect a shooters whereabouts by the direction of the bullets flying, and the shooters’ accuracy and deadly potential by the men falling. They’d be firing back with a single intent on their mind—survival.

  Every sense heightened. He listened to the horses ride up one end of the canyon and back again. Soon after, the wagons and other riders descended upon the narrow. Once they passed the center point, a wide-open canyon, they were sure to lower their guard. Their eyes were focused on the exit, toward the gold just beyond death’s door. At that point their life was no longer in their hands.

  Devin fed off his adrenaline, blood racing as the final horse’s leg stepped over the mark. Like a well-oiled machine with the fuse lit, they each started counting. On six, they pulled out their rifles, took aim on seven, and on eight, five shots rang out. Five men below toppled from their saddles, dead before they hit the rocks.

  Devin took out Bush with a shot right between the eyes. “Stinkin’ bastard,” he muttered. “Never did like you.” The man had an aversion for baths, and Devin hated the smell of him.

  On nine, Webster triggered the fence, which sprang up at a sixty-degree angle while the horses buckled. The outlaws, in a confused fray, bolted for cover behind the wagons as the gunpowder went off on ten.

  The jarring blasts ricocheted through the narrow canyon, ending the way to freedom as the walls tumbled down, forever blocking the exit.

  Devin capitalized on the tumult and waylay, picked out Gil, the best shot in the bunch. Gil, cinched up tight as though trying to get his horse under control, more than likely had no clue what hit him a moment later. He was dead before the projectile exited his brain.

  Shot after shot rang out as the echoes reverberated, and the canyon filled with dust from the panicked horses’ hooves, and the gunpowder mingled in the c
louds. The lowlifes below were felled like flies with deadly accuracy.

  Frank, the next sure shot, met Devin’s deadly fate while the Major and his men took two men each. It was then they pulled off the fifth wagon’s tarp.

  Devin’s eyes flared at the distinct shape of three small cannons filtered through the smoky haze. He recognized Creed, a sorry excuse for a human, harmful to every living creature, including beast, as he loaded the iron ball down the barrel.

  Creed went down, and Earl, a back-shooting scoundrel, took his place. Devin only had seconds to reload before the cannon now aimed at him fired. Why in the hell, he wondered, did someone name him after a deadly weapon? Where was the resemblance?

  The bullet struck Earl in the right eye just before the fiery cannonball barreled toward Devin. With not a moment to spare, he scrambled from the edge of the cliff. Shards of rocks raised by the impact peppered his face.

  Seconds later, by the time Devin reached the edge of the cliff, the cannon was reloaded. He took aim and downed the nuisance. A scant second passed before Bruno climbed the wagon and kicked the dead man aside as he lit the charge. Bruno received the same lot, but held on long enough to direct the cannon toward Devin before his limp body tumbled off the wagon.

  Devin reloaded, knew his position was made once again. He rolled several feet before the second blast tore away the earth he’d warmed moments ago. Gunslingers worth a lick stayed alive by intuitively sensing an opponent’s mastery and ingenuity. He was certain the surviving men below knew who was about to send them to hell.

  Dead, dying and wounded sprawled on the rocks as the tiny red rivers flowing through the cracks grew in number. The cries and moans rose through the dust and heat of the sun-filled sky as the assault continued.

  Outlaw after outlaw collapsed. Devin kept up the ruthless pace, downing a man with each blast, until the number dwindled to just over a handful. They pulled back. The first rider galloped at full speed and sailed over the barricade with ease.