“How the hell was I supposed to know he hooked up with the law?”
“Who you think shot me and your brother from a cliff over five hundred yards away? Those army fellas in blue can’t pick a flea off a tick like he can.” Dutch’s face cringed into a fierce scowl as he rubbed his crudely bandaged arm.
“We gotta find him,” said Big Louie, crudely wiping the yellowish liquid dripping from the corners of his mouth down his chin.
“It ain’t gonna make up for when the red-skinned savages hang our scalps on their poles for goin’ back on our deal,” Chewy reminded them.
“Sure as hell make me feel a shitload better knowing he’s kissing dirt,” added Rico.
“Hey boys.” Cheri sauntered over to their table and draped a slender arm around Rico and Dutch’s shoulders. “Tejas is sure becoming popular lately.”
“Whoa, Cheri,” Rico called out in shock as he tilted his head around, running his eyes up and down the womanly figure bent over his shoulder. “Whatcha doin’ here in these parts? Last I seen you, you wuz working Montana.” He glanced around the table. The other men who knew her were just as surprised to see her, and the two who didn’t know her sure looked like they wanted to.
“A girl needs different scenery now and then. Seems no matter where I go, I can’t get away from you boys. Ya’ll here doing business with Devin?”
“Devin?” Rico shot Dutch a telling glance. Dutch looked over at the other fellows around the table, who were all staring at Cheri. Some of their glances were appreciative, some questioning. For a moment, she appeared alarmed at mentioning his name and seemed to notice their surprise at hearing Devin was in Tejas.
“Oh, you mean Spawn,” Rico corrected quickly with broken laughter. “Yeah, we’re early. Ain’t expecting us till ‘morrow. Maybe you can tell us where we can find ‘em. Save ‘em the trip of coming into town.”
The wrinkle crinkling her forehead eased as Cheri smiled. “How about we go upstairs and make a little deal?”
There was nothing Rico wanted more. He felt her full breasts rub against his shoulders as she stood behind him, gliding the palms of her hands down his arms.
Oh, yeah. He wanted to jam his cock into Devin’s favorite whore every which way and then some. He recalled how she climbed on a gambling table one night in front of everyone so he could mount her. The bitch’s pussy was so greedy for Devin, she didn’t care who watched as he shoved that fence pole between his legs into her dripping cunt. Rico wanted to shove his fist up her greedy little twat. Force her to scream for Devin’s as he fist-fucked her good and hard.
“I recall you used to be his favorite. Sure he ain’t upstairs waitin’ on us?” Dutch asked, raising a speculative eyebrow as his eyes narrowed on her. Rico understood his unease. Where Devin was concerned, nothing was left to chance. That is, if a fellow wanted to live.
“Since his pa passed, he hasn’t been ‘round much. A girl needs some lovin’. Helps keep me in silk.”
“I didn’t know he had a real pa. Always thought the earth just opened up and spit the son of a bitch out,” Chewy joked as he spit another wad of tobacco. The others laughed.
“We ain’t got too much money. You takin’ us all on for old times sake?” Rico grinned.
Her eyes roamed over the five men seated around the table. She smiled faintly. “Pick one. He can come back and tell ya’ll all about it. For a dollar more, one of you can watch.”
* * * *
“Girls, time to wash up for supper,” Megan called out to them from the end of the gravel path that led to the porch, her hand resting on the hitching post. Shelby looked up from where she sat in the grass playing with her doll as Emma swung back and forth on the tree swing nearby.
Megan moved both hands to her hip, a deliberate act to promote obedience. She waited for the girls to show a sign they were going to do as instructed. Emma dragged her feet in the dirt to slow the swing down. Shelby stood up and twirled round with her doll, as though they were dancing.
Confident they would soon make their way inside, she strolled up the path. Pausing on the steps, she swirled around when she heard the sound of approaching horses.
There were five of them. She counted the riders through the cloud of dust as they galloped toward her. As soon as they neared the barn, her heart began to race. They didn’t look friendly. In fact, they looked like the most filthy, despicable characters she had ever seen.
“Girls,” she screamed, running down the steps and over the grass, skipping the path altogether as she attempted to dash around the corner of the house to where the girls were playing.
A large, black horse blocked her path. The bearded rider aimed his gun at her, freezing her where she stood for several seconds. She noticed another rider take off behind the house, one left to check the barn, one headed for the bunkhouse, and the biggest one rode to where Shelby and Emma were.
Her eyes widened, and her heart leapt in her throat as she saw Emma kick the man in his shin. Unfazed, he sneered at the small child’s effort.
“Where is he?” The bearded man’s voice carried an intense edge of what she could only describe as hell-bent on killing. His arms were crossed casually over his thigh as he shifted in his saddle to stare down at her, but the gun in his hand pointed inches from her head was every bit deadly.
Instantly, she knew who “he” was. Outwardly, she tried to remain calm, but she could feel her hands and knees shaking. Looking past the lethal steel, she held his dark, steady gaze. His beady eyes were barely visible from under the dark hat and thick facial hair that seemed to hide all but his nose and the top half of his grimy cheeks. Relax. She took a deep breath. “I don’t know.”
She heard Shelby and Emma scream and flashed her attention in their direction. Incredible fear ripped through her body. The big man had picked them up, each precious, blond-headed child tucked under a sweaty armpit. He was of average height and packed a barrel for a belly. All that excess flesh strained the buttons on the front of his grimy shirt. Absolutely disgusting. He possessed a big, wide face with sweat dripping from his thickly creased forehead. His fat cheeks were already red from the little effort he expended thus far.
“Leave them alone,” she demanded at the top of her lungs as she ran around the horse blocking her path. She screamed shocked when the bearded nab jumped off his horse and yanked her by the hair, flinging her to the ground.
With one large hand, he grabbed her by her shoulder and pulled her to her feet. “Where’s Spawn?” he snarled, fisting the material tightly in his grip, drawing her close enough to distinguish the rough lines etched in his face, caked with sweat and dirt, his strong, crooked nose and thick, black, bushy eyebrows over squinty brown eyes.
“I told you, I don’t know,” she bit back insistently, taking her chances she wouldn’t be tossed again, or worse.
“Megan,” cried both girls helplessly as the big man came around the corner. He grinned as he carried them in his tight grip, their small feet kicking in the air. Dear God, she prayed, keep them safe.
“Don’t hurt them, please,” she begged the bearded man as he restrained her. For her humbling effort, she received a blank stare. Squirming, she tried to worm out of the man’s tight-fisted grasp. He held her in place easily, exerting little physical effort. She felt utterly useless, inconsequential.
“We only want him. Tell me where he’s at, and I’ll let ya’ll go.” His voice was cold and determined, but it held no truth, Megan decided.
“I already told you I don’t know where he is or when he’s coming back.”
“His horse ain’t here,” hollered the third man as he returned from the barn, his horse trailing behind.
The other two riders rejoined them. She sighed with relief the focus was no longer on her. She took a good look at the men as they approached. When—and that was a huge “when”—they came out of this alive, she wanted to be able to give detailed descriptions to the authorities. Sheriff Tucker may not come to her rescue, but surely she could find
a Marshall in a neighboring town to tail after them and hang ‘em high.
“Not in the back,” said the fourth man, a Mexican.
“Ain’t in the bunkhouse,” added the fifth man as he shook his head, as though disappointed they didn’t find Devin.
“What about the house?” asked the big man with the barrel belly as Shelby and Emma wiggled and fussed within his grip.
“He ain’t there, or we woulda heard him by now,” the bearded man replied flatly.
“Don’t hurt none to check.” The big man shrugged his huge shoulders. The girls’ blond curls bounced up and down in the process.
The bearded man looked at the squirming girls. “Stand over yonder where he can see iffin he’s in the house.” He indicated the gravel path leading up the porch with a jerk of his head. “They’s our insurance we get out of this alive.”
Megan’s gut wrenched at the thought they’d use children as shields. She wanted to use the gun in her pocket. If they were half as fast as Devin, she wouldn’t stand a chance. She would be dead and the girls left to their mercy. And they weren’t exactly the hospitable sort.
“You two go in and take a gander.” The bearded man gestured toward the Mexican and the fifth man, still sitting atop their horses. Guns drawn, the two men followed orders. “If you see him, tell ‘em we got his ma and sisters keepin’ us company. Sure hope you’re tellin’ the truth, or you’ll be the first to go.” He grinned and stuck his gun in her ribs as if she required further persuasion.
She flicked her face from his, fought back her tears as unfathomable fear turned her blood to ice. Her insides were void of all warmth, causing the hair on her arms and neck to perk up. Looking back at the girls, she thought it was good at least they stopped crying for the time being. But they were still very much afraid. How was she going to help them when it appeared there was no way to help herself? A woman and two children against five vicious outlaws didn’t leave many alternatives.
It seemed like an eternity passed as the men searched the house, as opposed to the reality of a couple of minutes until they reappeared back on the porch.
“Ain’t no one inside,” the fifth man grumbled.
The bearded man’s grip tightened on her shoulder as he shook her with forceful emphasis. “How long he’s been gone?” Impatience thundered loud in his voice.
“Uh.” She contemplated telling them the truth. They might leave if they found out he might not be back for weeks. The chance was slim, but it was all she had. “Several weeks. He didn’t say where he was going or when he’d return. That’s the truth.”
“We know he ain’t been to see Cheri,” the fifth man announced as he and the Mexican laughed, nudging each other as they exchanged telling glances.
Megan cringed on the inside. Cheri was more than a passing fancy, clearly a long-standing business acquaintance. With her and the girls’ lives at stake, now was not the time for petty jealousy to rear its ugly head. She found a twinge of relief learning he hadn’t been to see her recently. When Devin left, he’d apparently left them both.
The third man gave a short laugh, then muttered to no one in particular. “Just like the bastard. Never stays in one place long enough for his crap to dry.”
“Told you this was a stupid idea. We wastin’ time.” The Mexican shook his head, grimacing as he took off his hat to wipe the sweat off his brow.
“Ain’t got nothing better to do.” The third man stuffed his mouth with a wad of tobacco and chewed away. He was tall, slender and wiry with a pinched weasel-like face covered with brown stubble. Megan noticed the scraggly hair poking out from under his faded gray hat. If it ever saw the sight of soap, he may just as well be blond. Then again, it may be the tobacco turning his hair and skin a tatty shade of brownish-orange.
“Shoulda been holdin’ up a bank,” griped the Mexican.
“We can do that later. For now, we owe him for screwing us. Don’t forget, he shot Dutch and killed Big Lou’s brother.”
“Yeah, I want the sunuvabitch,” the fifth man, probably Dutch, growled furiously.
Megan listened in horror, her heart thundering in her chest. Her legs were shaking so violently, if the bearded man holding her up let go, she would be a puddle on the grass. She glanced at the girls once more, aware they’d heard the men’s intentions. They renewed their struggling under their confinement, dreadful comprehension and alarm blazing in their eyes. She bit back the tears welling in her eyes, determined no to succumb to her own vulnerability.
“What of me cousin Jorge? He kill ‘em, too,” the Mexican reminded them.
“Ah, I never liked the damned idiot,” the bearded man confided, which made the Mexican curse in Spanish. No one paid much attention, except for her. She didn’t have to speak the language to realize the man sought revenge. Each man seemed to seek vengeance for Devin’s past transgressions.
Though the Mexican had a toothy grin, his small brown eyes were sharp, quick to flare with anger. His hair was dark and straight. It hung past his shoulders and his sun-burned skin was almost red. The short, pudgy man could easily be mistaken for an Apache. In particular, he was older than the others. She estimated near his forties. The rest were probably in their thirties. Only the round one looked to be in his twenties.
“I say we stay and wait. There’s food in the house. We got here in time for supper.” Dutch rubbed his wounded arm and stared at Megan. The look was nothing nice. It sent an alarming sense of panic through her body. Her nerves tensed with dread. He continued to scrutinize her with his lewd gaze, letting her know there was more on his mind than twisting his thumbs waiting for Devin to show.
“Sounds like a damn good idea to me,” the bearded one said, climbing up the stairs. He dragged Megan along as the men followed them into the house. Tossing glances over her shoulder, she noticed the man, presumably Big Lou, let the girls down and grabbed them by their arms as he led them inside. Her captor took her along as he walked to the middle of the parlor area, looking around in undisguised repulsion as if knowing everything he saw, the comforts of a real home, all belonged to Devin.
Megan heard the girls’ small shouts of protests, and her stomach tightened. She tried to turn toward the door, but turned into another hard body, instead. With a small gasp, she braced herself, and her eyes lifted as if in slow motion, settling eye-level on the dried blood which seeped through the tattered rags wrapped around his upper arm.
“What we gonna do with her, Rico?” Dutch picked up a misplaced lock of hair from Megan’s shoulder and twirled it around his finger. Clenching her teeth, she winced automatically. She glanced downward. Suddenly dissatisfied, she revealed the slight weakness as he callously snorted. Men like these thrived on intimidation, the fear of others, and the thought only deepened her determination not to show her fear.
Like Devin, he wore a bowie knife on his hip. Unlike Devin, his knife wasn’t as long, nor was the bulge tenting his denim trousers as big. The very idea of him made her want to vomit. He was, however, about six foot, rather stocky and muscular with ruthless blue eyes and dirty blond hair. At his left thigh was a six-shooter tied down low. He looked like one of those menaces perfectly at home in a bar brawl or clearing Main street at sun-up. If not for his arm, compliments of Devin, she would have pictured him on the winning side, no matter the venue.
Megan turned up her eyes at him, saw the wicked intent beaming in the darkness of his heated gaze. And for once, she wanted Devin here, to shoot the bastard dead where he stood. Finish the job he started. Lord help her, she almost didn’t recognize herself.
The bearded man, Rico, released her, and she wasted no time removing herself from the vicinity of Dutch. She gave him a bold stare as she moved toward the table where the girls were standing next to the big fellow. She willed herself not show him, any of them, an ounce of her emotions.
“She’ll be our dessert. Seeing how it was Spawn’s fault we ain’t got ‘nough money for sporting with Cheri and the other whores.” The tobacco-chewing one drop
ped his hand to his crotch as he sat on the edge of the table, his eyes boldly roving up and down her body.
Judging from the bulging crease he stroked over his faded trail pants, Megan could tell he was already hard. A harsh shiver of disgust and loathing began deep in her belly. On their own volition, her trembling thighs clamped together. Her hands went to her belly as her stomach churned. Before the day was out, she was sure her breakfast would see the light of day once more.
Did outlaws stay hard? Was horniness a result of or prerequisite for the violent trades of life? They were just gonna have to satisfy their sweet tooth elsewhere. She’d not be a substitute for a cheap whore.
If money was what they lacked, she would gladly give them every cent she had, if it meant leaving her and the girls alone. Somehow, she doubted lust and money were their greatest needs. If they asked her, she’d tell them what they needed. Every last one of the scum looked like they hadn’t seen a bar of soap in ages. They smelled like it, too.
Big Lou instructed Emma and Shelby to sit quietly on the sofa. They clutched one another in silence, but the shadows in their eyes spoke volumes. Megan was ordered to serve as they took a seat around the table. She offered the girls soothing looks of encouragement as she moved around the kitchen, the only means of comforting them at the moment.
The gunmen apparently didn’t feel a necessity to hold back their brazen appraisal of her while they joked about what they wanted for dessert. She thought for sure she was going to throw up as her stomach continued to turn inside out at the lewd details. All the while, she prayed the girls didn’t know what they were discussing. From the looks in their shocked expressions, she suspected they had a clue.
“Not until Spawn is good and dead,” informed Rico after several minutes of their raunchy discussion.
“What the hell you talkin’ ‘bout?” shouted Dutch bitterly.
“It ain’t fair seein’ how you gotsta fuck Cheri and we didn’t.” Tobacco spat a big wad of it over his shoulder and roughly wiped the dark dribble from his chin with the cuff of his soiled shirt.
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