“No tellin’ how long we gonna be waiting. A man needs to beat the beast with two backs, amigo. Ain’t got no goat or sheep round these parts. Whatcha ‘spect us to do?” the Mexican complained.
Megan held onto her breakfast.
“I said no. We keep the bitch in one piece. When Spawn rides up—” he tilted his head toward the girls crouched together in the corner of the sofa, “and they ain’t round, he’ll burn the place down. We’ll never get us a chance to kill ‘em.”
“Hell. You talk like you’re scared of the man. There’s five of us. We can take ‘em.”
“You jackass. There was over thirty, and now, we’re down to five on account of him. Dutch gots a bullet in the arm. You never rode with the sorry-assed bastard.”
Rico looked around the table at the other men who rode with Devin when he was the leader of the Laredo Gang. “Tell ‘em,” he shouted.
A couple of the men grimaced, as if they recalled Devin’s misdeeds, of which they did not seem in any rush to discuss.
The Mexican shook his head and muttered gravely, “They no call him La Diablo for nada.” His eyes darted to Megan as she brought the pot of stew and sat it in the middle of table and left. “He goes crazy if you tryin’ hurt a woman or kids in front of him. Cut your heart out and eat it for breakfast.”
“Likes the sight of blood. Would bathe in it if there was enough.”
Megan felt herself turning cold as her eyes widened. She caught hold of the sideboard as she felt her legs go weak at the bloodcurdling comment.
“And you’re gonna tell me he has a warm spot for dogs too, I bet.” Big Lou dipped his hand in the stew, drew out a carrot, and plopped it in his mouth.
“Hell, I don’t know ‘bout no damned dogs, but I’ve seen ‘em shoot a man for leaning on his fucking horse.”
The plate Megan just pulled off the shelf crashed on the floor and the men all turned to look at her.
“Dammit, woman,” Rico growled. “We’re starving. What’s taking so long?”
“You act like savages. Eat with your hands for all I care,” she snapped, afraid to hear another ill word against the man she loved.
“Best keep your mouth shut. There’s things we can do to ya under that there dress can be hidden from Spawn’s sight. I’ll let the boys have at ‘cha if ya keep it up.”
The men jeered and laughed at her expense. Doing her best to ignore them, she picked up the broken pieces and threw them away. Taking a deep, calming breath, she gathered a stack of bowls and spoons. They couldn’t be talking about her Devin Spawn. Devin wouldn’t. He couldn’t possibly be capable. Sadly, she knew it was hard to separate fact from fiction.
“I’ll sleep better knowing we got one up on his ass, long as we got them.”
She watched with rising contempt as Rico, who appeared to be the leader, spoke to Dutch.
“After we shoot him,” he continued, “you can have first crack. I don’t give a shit what ya do to her after.”
Dutch grinned, a most vile sort of sneer, as she approached the table. Her stomach heaved. Turning as she felt his blatant gaze roam over her, she tried not to be obvious as she swallowed down the acidic fluid finding its way up her throat.
“I just wanna see him dead for stealing our gold out from under us. Till then, leave ‘em be. And that goes for the rest of you’s.” Rico shot a challenging glance around the table.
As she scooped out a heaping spoonful of stew into a bowl and sat it in front of the Mexican, she took some comfort knowing they were safe for the moment. At least, until Devin showed up, and who knew when that would be?
Chapter 27
The house was eerily quiet. Too quiet. It was late, well past midnight. Megan was exhausted, but refused to give in to sleep. She and the girls were on her bed, fully clothed. Outside, the faint footsteps of the large, round man everyone openly referred to as Big Lou could be heard as he kept watch, pacing up and down the porch. Her eyelids grew heavy as the cadence of his steps lulled her. She fought her weariness to stay awake and keep a safe eye on the sleeping girls beside her.
Rico, the leader of the wild bunch of heathens, was asleep in the girls room, along with the one they called Dutch. Upstairs in the loft slept the other two.
In the wee hours of the morning, her body was emotionally drained and plain worn out. Submitting, she nodded in and out of consciousness, sitting with her back against the headboard.
The forceful hand on her mouth jolted every nerve into extreme panic mode as her eyes flew open. Dawn was hours away, and the single candle on the side table had burned out long ago, making it nearly impossible to distinguish her assailant. Directly, she was dragged off the bed. Her head slammed into the floor as she landed on her back with a thud. Her mouth opened to scream. The pressure of his rough, calloused hand was firm, hindering all sound. She scratched and clawed at his face. She felt his hand under her skirt, on her knee, then her thigh as she twisted and turned. She saw the whites of his eyes widen as he discovered she wasn’t wearing pantalets.
“Fight me, bitch. I like it.” Dutch’s hot breath was clammy on her skin as the most evil of voices rustled at her ear. The hand on his good arm forced her legs apart as he tried to push his way between her thighs. Her nails tore into his skin, gathering flesh and blood beneath her fingernails. Still, he proceeded, dragging his hand toward her mound. As he inched closer, her heart pumped furiously, her eyes bulged in their sockets as her mind raced for answers.
She bent her leg to knee him in the groin. Dutch must have sensed her intent and moved over her, trapping her legs apart as his thighs straddled hers. The weight of his body, heavy on hers, barred her from moving. His hand went from between her thighs to his belt buckle. “Before I kill him, I’m gonna let him know how I fucked his ma.”
That would never happen. She’d rather die first than allow him to have his way with her. Pulling her hand back as far as she could, with sheer force of will, she rammed his nose with the hard edge of her palm. At the same time, she opened her mouth and clamped her teeth down hard on the fleshy pad of his palm. Megan tasted blood on her tongue and felt it smear against her hand.
“Shit,” he yelled out, doubling over on his side, his thigh lying across her hips. With all the might she could afforded, she pushed him off her body the rest of the way.
Megan quickly scrambled out from under him, rushing to her feet.
She stepped out of his grasp quickly as he reached out to grab her. Nervously, she searched her pocket and drew out her palm-sized pistol. Holding it with both hands as she shook from the fright, terror beyond comprehension gripping her, she pulled the trigger.
“Dammit,” he roared clutching his shoulder, the same side as his wounded arm. The blood gushed between his fingers.
The girls woke up screaming, their frantic gazes soaking up the situation in the poorly lit room. They looked from Megan standing at the foot of the bed holding a gun to the man coming to his feet next to the bed.
Rico rushed into the room, bringing the faint light from the kitchen as he opened the door. He was dressed only in jeans, and his bare chest and most of his back was covered in black, wiry hair. He grabbed the pistol out of her hand and struck her across the face with his other hand.
Megan fell to the floor with a grunt as a striking bolt of pain assailed her senses. White sparks flashed before her eyes. She fought the urge to scream and show how afraid she truly was.
By then, the other three men were gawking through the open doorway.
“Damn bitch shot me.”
“Shit, look what you made me do.” Rico pointed the pistol at Megan who lay on the floor.
Shooting him an insolent glance, she ignored their squabble as she went back to surveying the damage. Lightly touching her throbbing cheekbone, she felt the swelling starting to set in. Running her tongue along her gumlines, she checked for loosened teeth. Determining there were none, she thanked her lucky star. The other stars—surely a person required more than one—must have bee
n busy shining over someone else this particular night.
“Why didn’t you fucking stay away?” Rico raged on, sounding as though he was ready to take his partner out for crossing him.
“The bitch shot me. Why you screaming at me?”
“What you want me to do about it? Hell, I ain’t no fuckin’ doctor. You got one bullet in ya. What’s one more? We need her alive, not you.”
“So it’s like that?”
“Hell, yes.” He looked down at her again. Megan could feel his eyes on her as she sat up. She was aware he was concerned the faint beginnings of a bruise were starting to show. The man was afraid of Devin. “Try it again, and you’ll find yourself tied up.”
He glanced over his shoulder at the girls as they held onto one another, crying uncontrollably.
“Shut the fuck up.” He turned and walked out of the room. Entering the kitchen, he muttered, “Since you’re awake, fix us some grub. I’m hungry.”
Cursing, Dutch stormed out of the room. He shot a dangerous glare in her direction.
Megan raced behind him on her way to provide what comfort she could to Shelby and Emma. She felt a sense of triumph glimpsing the scratches across his cheeks, his bloody, busted nose, and his shirt soaked in red as he held onto his shoulder. Unfortunately, the shot only grazed him. She felt no remorse in wishing the damage could have been worse.
* * * *
“Megan, I’m scared.” Shelby’s soft voice trembled with fear as she gripped Megan’s hand tightly on her lap.
“I’m hungry. They didn’t let us have no lunch,” Emma said curtly, arms crossed over her chest, scowling at the three men seated at the table. They were drinking Reed’s leftover whiskey they’d found in the sideboard.
“Girls, we have to be strong,” she whispered with conviction. “For now, we’ll do as they say until I can come up with a way to get out of this.” If only she believed it was that simple.
Patting Shelby’s hand, Megan rose from the sofa. “The girls need to eat. I’ll start supper,” she announced decisively, hoping her conviction held some weight in the matter.
“I say when it’s time to eat.” Rico shifted in his chair and looked over at her, as if angered by the interruption.
With the greatest of difficulties, she stood her ground and held his gaze.
His cold eyes flashed to the girls, then back to Megan. “Boys, ya hungry?”
One grumbled something about how he could use a little food. The other shrugged his shoulders flippantly, and she could have slapped away his indifference right then and there.
Turning back to his drink and the cards in his hand, Rico ordered gruffly, “My men are hungry. Cook ‘em something.”
* * * *
Pablo barreled through the front door. “Rider comin’.”
Megan swung around from the pot of chicken stew she was stirring on the stove and stretched her neck to look out the window. Her heart raced. Devin was the first dreadful thought that filled her mind.
Rico ran to the kitchen window, and the other three rushed to look out of the parlor window.
“Who is it?” Rico asked, pistol already directed at whomever it was riding up to the house.
Pablo dragged her by the arm to the parlor window. She couldn’t hide her grimace as his fingers bit down hard on her flesh, pinching the skin of her upper arm.
Casting a glance out the window, she gasped in terror as Caleb dismounted. Taking the reins in his hand, he tied his horse to the hitching post at the end of the walkway. A habitual practice repeated dozens of times, only now, she dreaded his familiarity. She prayed he would change his mind about visiting and ride away.
“Who is he?” Rico repeated in a hushed, insistent voice. His grip tightened on her arm, twisted, urging her to speak up.
“Devin’s brother,” she lied quickly. If they believed he was related, hopefully, just hopefully, it would be enough to keep him alive. Shelby and Emma already called him “uncle”, so the lie wasn’t too farfetched.
Rico and his men passed questioning glances. Wordlessly, Rico gestured to the others. From the signals, Megan knew it wasn’t good.
Forced to sit on the sofa with the girls, she flung her arms around them and held them to her bosom as her blood raced and her body trembled. Closing her eyes, she prayed silently for Caleb’s life to be spared.
Her eyes darted open as soon as she heard the mundane sound of a hand touching the wooden door handle. Unable to breathe or move, she stared as the door was abruptly snatched from Caleb’s hand and swung open. The rifle pointed at his chest brought his hands up automatically as he was ordered inside.
“Who the hell are you? Where’s Megan?”
Caleb’s questions went unanswered.
Once he stepped a foot inside, the man hiding behind the door struck him behind the head with his gun.
* * * *
Groaning, Caleb gradually regained consciousness. Instinctively, he wanted to reach behind his head where the throbbing was the worse. His eyes snapped open when he realized his hands were tied behind his back. The rope tight around his chest kept him firmly planted in a wooden chair, while the restraints at his ankles prohibited the last of his freedom. The reality of the situation began to sink in as he started to remember two gruesome characters greeting him at the door before everything faded to black.
“Caleb,” Megan whispered as he continued to test the strength of his restraints. Her faint voice captured his attention.
He looked over his shoulder and noticed Megan, Shelby, and Emma huddled together on the sofa. He looked them over intently as he blinked away the haze. Pure, unchecked fury seized him as he took in the black bruise marring Megan’s beautiful cheek. All sense of right and wrong took a drastic, sharp turn toward the worst kind of wrong. The wrong there was no turning back from.
“We’re fine. No damage. But you’ve been out for almost an hour,” she continued to whisper. Her eyes darted occasionally to the four men seated at the table drinking and playing cards. “They’re looking for Devin. I told them you are his brother.”
He blinked away the haze and ignored the misery behind his head to listen to her.
“It was the only thing I could think of to keep you alive. Apparently, the only thing murderers fear is another murderer. If we’re not alive when he returns,” she paused and seemed to contemplate the last of that sentence before she finished. “They’re afraid of what he might do to them.”
Speculatively, his eyes roamed from man to man. At least he could sympathize with their thought process from firsthand experience. Devin wasn’t the sort of man to be taken lightly. Judging from the fierce looks of these brutes, they, too, probably went unchallenged. What did that indubitably say about Devin?
“How long have they been here?” he whispered, biting back the rage surging through his veins.
“Since yesterday afternoon.”
“Dear, Lord,” he muttered fiercely. “How long are they planning to wait?”
“As long as it takes. I told them—” Megan stopped speaking immediately when she heard the men talking.
“What are we gonna do with ‘em?” Chewy glanced in their direction.
“Sure as heck don’t look like Spawn,” Dutch observed, staring at Caleb over the top of his cards.
“Kinda looks like them little girls. They’s all got the same yella’ hair.” Big Lou ran a hand over his own balding head.
Crinkling his eyes, Pablo rubbed his whiskered chin. “I smell a rat.”
“Ah, what you smell is your own stink. I can smell your dirty brown ass from here.” Dutch gathered the cards in his hands and tossed them in the center of the table as he rocked on the back legs of his chair.
Pablo stood abruptly, the chair legs screeching back across the wooden floor. He flicked his cigarette at him, causing the other man’s eyes to darken as they rose to meet the unspoken challenge in his.
Dropping his hands to his sides as if ready to reach, Dutch made a move to stand up. He stopped m
idway when Chewy barked loud enough to garner the attention of everyone in the room. “I wanna listen to what he’s got to say.” Dutch grunted offhandedly, then lowered back in his chair.
* * * *
Megan swallowed down her unease as she watched Chewy make his way toward them. Pablo took his seat, talking to the other men still seated around the table. “Past hour, I’ve been keeping my eye on her. There’s something not right with them two. If he’s Devin brother, how in the hell can she be Devin’s ma?”
“Stupid ass, different ma’s. Cheri said she was young.” Rico bit off the end of a cigar and spit it out. He struck a match on the bottom of his dusty black boot and lit the cigar.
Chewy stood in front of her, hands on his hips. He tapped the butt of the pistol holstered at his waist. Looking away, she tried to appear oblivious to his presence. He seemed to be scrutinizing every inch of her body, from the lopsided bun of her hair to the wrinkled hem of the dress she’d worn for the past two days.
“Who the hell you call stupid? I know that. What riles me is the way she looks at him. Like she sweet on him or something.”
Frowning, Dutch rose from his seat. “What’s wrong? Your ma never paid no ‘tention to ya?” He didn’t wait for a response as he moved away.
Rico and Big Lou laughed. Pablo fumed.
Chewy’s eyes shifted, narrowed on Dutch as he came to a halt by his side.
Dutch stared at Megan, grinning all the while. She was quite familiar with that crude smirk, and it made her blood boil with contempt. “I might’ve not beaten on my ma if she looked half as good as her.”
Megan shrugged back as Dutch picked up a loose ringlet off her shoulder. She glared up at him as he twirled the naturally spiral lock of hair around his finger. He seemed to derive pleasure watching her hair wrap tightly around his finger, as though it were a phallic symbol to sate his disturbingly sick needs.
1933563060-Devils-Pact-Cruise Page 47