by Jake Henry
Savage swallowed the lump in his throat. ‘Uh huh.’
Becky lowered her head and bit the inside of his thigh. Savage gasped and felt himself get harder yet again. Then he felt her breath on his knob. He closed his eyes and felt the rough tongue run around the end of it. Her mouth opened, and the Drifter felt his hips raise up off the bed.
‘Christ!’ he moaned.
Becky looked up at Savage and gave him a wanton smile. She then started to run her tongue up his torso until she reached his chest. Then Becky repositioned herself above his throbbing erection and lowered herself slowly down onto it.
With her eyes closed, Becky commenced slow, deliberate movements of her hips which grew in intensity until her breasts jiggled wildly and loud moans escaped her lips. Her head began to thrash about in wild circular motions when her eyes flew wide and she screamed, ‘Tlaloc, give me your child!’
Beneath Becky, Savage felt her muscles contract as she spasmed with her release. He in turn, felt the growing tingle in his groin and he tried to match her movements.
His own release seemed to set his body on fire and he couldn’t help but join her in her ecstasy.
Becky lay atop of him for a time, her body jerked and twitched as she came down from the heights of passion. The orange candlelight shimmered off the thin sheen of sweat which coated her lithe form.
Becky said, ‘We have to do it again.’
‘Yes,’ said Savage. ‘But proper this time.’
Becky raised up on her hands and looked down into his eyes. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Untie me.’
Her expression became skeptical.
Savage stared at the firm breast in front of his face and with extreme effort, because of his bonds, he raised his head and bit Becky’s nipple. Not too hard, just hard enough.’
Becky squirmed against him. ‘Oh, God yes.’
Savage’s head fell back to the mattress and he looked up at her again. Becky dropped her face close to his and then kissed him, her tongue exploring the inside of his mouth.
The Drifter broke away and said, ‘Untie me. I want to make love to you proper.’
Any reluctance Becky had felt was now gone. With swift movements she climbed off him and hurried to a small cupboard where she rummaged in a drawer and came back to the bed.
In Becky’s right hand was a knife and Savage immediately remembered the vague words he’d heard when coming awake. I’ll kill him when I’m done.
He braced himself but instead of plunging the razor-sharp blade into his chest, she cut his feet free. Then she climbed back on the bed which swayed with the violent motions, straddled him, and then leaned forward so that her breasts brushed against his face.
While she cut his hands free, Savage opened his mouth and sucked a hardened nipple into it. He locked it between his lips and ran his tongue over it, causing a moan to escape from her.
With his right hand free, the Drifter reached down and cupped a soft butt cheek. He gave it a firm squeeze and bit the breast that still hung in his face.
‘Oh, God,’ Becky moaned. ‘Just wait.’
Savage felt the last rope give and then she slid back down his body, her lips searched for, and found his.
The Drifter’s hands slipped up from the soft padding of her rear to her slender waist. His fingers bit deep into her flesh and Becky gasped.
Becky sat up and held the knife to his throat. She laughed and reached down. Becky grabbed his cock and found it to her liking.
‘Watch you don’t slip with that knife,’ Savage told her.
She ignored him and rose up, positioned herself, and slid down his shaft.
The Drifter’s response was instant as he rose to meet her downward thrust. Even with the knife at his throat, he couldn’t help it. In fact, it added a whole new dimension. One that sent shudders of pleasure down his spine.
‘You like that?’ Becky asked in a hoarse voice.
‘It’s different.’
As her pace quickened, Becky closed her eyes and her head started to loll to the right. Small gasps escaped her lips. With her free hand, she raked Savage’s chest with her nails, drawing blood from the shallow furrows.
The Drifter gritted his teeth against what resembled acute pleasure. He felt the burning pain as the knife split the skin of his throat and the blood began to run and mix with the sweat.
As they both neared their peak once more, Savage stared up at her face and saw Becky’s eyes were open, her jaw set firm. It dawned on him what she had in mind. She was going to leave it until the last moment and while they were in their final throes, the sadistic bitch was going to cut his throat.
‘Christ,’ he moaned in realization.
Becky’s lips drew back from her clenched teeth and her eyes sparkled.
‘Yes,’ she hissed. ‘For Tlaloc.’
With a loud crash the door flew open. Startled, Becky’s head whipped around, and the knife came away from the Drifter’s throat. In the doorway stood Bannister, six-gun in his hand. He summed up the scene before him with one glance and before anything could happen, the weapon roared.
Savage felt Becky shudder under the impact of the slug before it erupted from her chest. Blood sprayed across his naked chest and before Becky could slump down across him, he gently rolled her to the side.
As she lay on her back, Becky looked up at him with wide eyes, mouth open as she tried to draw air into her lungs.
Savage looked down into her eyes. ‘Damn shame.’
‘I figure you got two minutes to get your clothes on and get the hell out of here,’ Bannister snapped.
Gunfire erupted from outside. ‘Make that not long at all.’
Hanson backed into the room. ‘We got trouble.’
He turned and stared at Savage and then at the dead woman. ‘Shit. Sorry to interrupt.’
‘Glad you did,’ the Drifter said as he searched the room for his clothes. ‘Where the hell are we anyway?’
‘Some kind of big hall,’ Bannister explained. ‘Was she going to kill you?’
Savage picked up his pants from where they’d been tossed in the corner. ‘Just as soon as she could.’
A voice sounded from outside. ‘Hey! You inside. Come on out, you ain’t going nowhere.’
It was Osborne.
Savage put the last of his clothes on and then looked for his weapons. ‘Christ, they’re not here.’
The kid held up a rifle in his hand. ‘Is this yours? Feller outside who was standing guard had it.’
The Drifter nodded. It was the Yellow Boy. ‘Six-gun?’
The kid shrugged.
‘No matter. Now we got to find a way out of here. Where are the horses?’
Bannister said, ‘Around back. Yours too. There’s only one way out. The way we came in.’
The sound of the lever being worked on the Yellow Boy echoed around the large room. Savage stared at the two men before him and said, ‘I’ve had enough of these crazies. They killed my man, and now they tried to kill me. It stops now.’
‘Did you hear me in there?’ Osborne shouted again.
Savage looked over at Bannister. ‘Talk to him. Hanson, give me a hand. Rip that sheet into some rags.’
Bannister crossed to the door and opened it a crack. ‘What do you want?’
‘First things, first. Is Becky all right?’
Bannister looked at the body on the bed. ‘Is that her name?’
‘Yeah.’
‘She’s resting.’
There was a moment of silence while Osborne contemplated what he was being told.
‘What do you mean, resting?’
Bannister suddenly smelled smoke and looked over at the far wall and saw orange flames licking at the dry plank-work. He could hear the crackle as it started to take hold.
‘Are you trying to kill us first?’ he asked Savage.
‘Not today. I just want to weaken this wall enough so I can break through it.’
The thick smoke was rapidly filling the room
and even Savage began to question the wisdom of his decision and wondered whether he had created their own funeral pyre. Heat was building, and it forced the Drifter back a few paces.
‘Might be a good time to try it now,’ the kid pointed out. ‘I’m starting to slow roast.’
Looking around, Savage found what he wanted and hurried across to the bed and ripped the blood-stained sheet from beneath Becky. He tossed the Yellow boy to Hanson and covered himself with the fabric. Then he ran at the wall.
There was a splintering crash as the wall-planks gave under the force of the impact and Savage disappeared through the flames.
Bannister and the kid looked at each other before the former shrugged his shoulders and said, ‘Follow me.’
The pair almost cannoned into Savage when they emerged from the flaming hole in the wall. He was standing, patting himself down to extinguish any embers that had attached themselves to his clothing.
‘The horses are over that way,’ Bannister said, pointing to a cottonwood tree that stood out in the glow of moonlight.
‘Not frigging likely,’ Savage growled and took the Winchester from Hanson.
He started to walk back towards the street, blood-spattered and angry.
Bannister called after him, ‘What on earth are you doing?’
‘I’m going to disrespect some Elders.’
By the time Savage hit the street, the building they’d left was burning fiercely. Flames were starting to shoot from its roof and into the night sky.
The “Elders”, as they were called, began yelling at each other to get buckets of water. A large crowd was gathering, and they too involved themselves with fighting the fire. With the effort required in hauling water, and the distraction of the fire, they never saw the Drifter emerge from the alley until it was too late.
Savage stood in the middle of the street with the Yellow boy canted across his body.
‘Hey! Osborne, you asshole!’
The Elder turned and stared at the figure in the main street. He frowned and then realization set in. He opened his mouth to shout a warning to the others. That was when Savage shot him.
The gunshot rolled along the street, the sound of the report funneled by the buildings. The .44 Henry slug ripped through the lapel of the man’s frockcoat and slammed him back, even as he tried to bring his own gun up.
Savage jacked another round into the breech and targeted another of the elders. This time when the rifle fired, the slug took him in the right shoulder. The Drifter cursed when the man only staggered, so he worked the lever and fired again.
This time the bullet blew a hole in the elder’s chest. He screamed and fell to the street, writhing in pain.
The crack of a six-gun sounded, and Savage felt the passage of a bullet when it whizzed close to his face. He shifted his aim, levered, and then shot the next frock-coated figure in the guts.
That should have left one more, especially after Bannister and the kid had killed the one outside the door. Should have!
When Savage shifted his aim to find that last target, he was surprised to see another four frock-coated men standing before him.
This ain’t good, he thought.
More gunfire ripped through the night as Savage worked the Yellow boy with all the speed he could muster. When the hammer fell on an empty chamber there were still two of them standing.
The drifter braced himself for the lead to tear into his body and when the shots came he pitched forward involuntarily. However, it wasn’t him that fell dead on the street. The two elders before him jerked like marionettes as bullets from the six-guns of both Bannister and the kid slammed home.
With loud cries, the two frock-coated men fell to the street with their brethren.
As the last echoes of gunfire were swept away, the only sound on the street was that of the roaring fire. The Drifter moved forward through the dead and wounded elders until he found Osborne. As he did, he scooped up a fallen six-gun from one of the dead. It was a Colt Army model, chambered for a .44 caliber slug.
The head elder was gasping for breath and the orange fire-glow showed a thin trickle of blood at the corner of his mouth. When he saw Savage standing over him, his eyes widened, and he tried to grasp his fallen weapon.
Before he could grip the gun, Savage raised the Colt in his fist and pointed it at the wounded man.
One last gunshot crashed out and Osborne’s head was hammered into the street surface when the .44 slug punched into his skull a fraction above the bridge of his nose.
It wasn’t long before a murmuring crowd started to gather and a tall man with a thick beard stepped forward and stared at the Drifter with contempt.
‘You murdered them, you heathen bastard!’ he accused.
The Drifter’s voice was laced with venom. ‘They were the murderers here. In fact, you’re all frigging murderers.’
‘We did as the Gods bade us.’
‘Human sacrifice? What God on this whole damned earth tells you to sacrifice another human being. None that I’ve heard of.’
There was movement at Savage’s side and Bannister stepped forward.
‘The kid’s getting the horses.’
‘We got one more thing to do before we’re done here,’ Savage told him. ‘We’re going to burn this evil place to the ground.’
The tall man stepped forward to protest. ‘You can’t do that. It ain’t lawful.’
‘And killing people the way you do, is?’
‘We will just find another place to build and start again,’ the man said defiantly.
Savage’s gaze hardened, and he lifted the Colt to eye level. The tall man blanched and stared down the gaping muzzle of the gun.
‘Maybe, but you won’t,’ Savage hissed and squeezed the trigger.
Turning to Bannister, Savage said, ‘Let’s get to burning.’
Bannister watched him walk off and spun around to see the kid approaching with the horses. The kid looked at him and asked, ‘What happened?’
‘Remember when we first started out you said to me you were going to kill him?’
‘Yeah, so? That was a long time ago. Why?’
‘Be glad you didn’t try.’
When they left Paradise thirty minutes later, the town behind them resembled Hades, a conflagration of gigantic, orange flames leaping into the sky. Come morning, there would be nothing left except a smoldering ruin.
The Kingdom of Kane
Dobson
Josiah Breen had a momentary thought to shoot Tag Morris where he stood once he’d finished telling him about the herd. Breen stood in an enraged silence, his body trembling, his face red.
‘Christ. Why didn’t that bastard Savage, die?’
‘Beats me,’ said Morris.
‘Where’s Trent?’ he hissed.
Morris shrugged. ‘Last we saw of him he was off to chase Comanches.’
‘Son of a bitch. We needed that herd.’
Milt said, ‘I got me a feeling that we’ll see Savage again before we’re through.’
‘Why would you say that?’
‘Well, he hired himself a crew of misfits, like us, and he trailed us all that way. It wasn’t just to get the herd back. Remember, you shot him. I’d bet a week of Sundays he’s coming after you.’
Breen considered the issue and agreed that Milt could be right. ‘If that’s the case, then we’ll get the cattle back.’
Morris chuckled. ‘I don’t know much about this feller you’ve got trouble with. But I do know Bannister and those who ride with him. They’re all tough. If they get this far, then you’re going to have your hands full.’
‘Good thing I found us a few more guns then, ain’t it?’ Milt said.
‘Damn it, I forgot about that. That’s the last thing we need. French and Savage knocking down our door.’
Morris had a puzzled expression on his face and then his eyes widened. ‘Are you talking about Barnaby French, from Cheyenne?’
Breen’s eyes narrowed. ‘What if I am?’
Morris laughed out loud. ‘Son of a bitch. He’s got a crazy bastard rides for him called Brit. Loves to kill folks for something to do. Came out of the war like it. Was in a Reb prison camp. They said it sent him a bit funny in the head.’
Breen shot a concerned look at Milt.
Recognition came across Morris’ face. ‘The crazy bastard’s been here, hasn’t he?’
Breen nodded. ‘He killed my business partner.’
Morris threw his hands up in the air. ‘I’m out. I ain’t hanging around waiting to die. I should’ve realized what would happen when I found out you were trying to undercut Cheyenne.’
‘You’ll do what you’re told to do,’ Milt hissed and dropped his hand to the butt of his six-gun.
‘Let him go, Milt.’
‘What?’
‘Let him go,’ Breen said again. His gaze fixed on Morris. ‘When you go, you’ll do so with nothing. Not one cent will come to you.’
‘I’ll be alive. That’s enough for me.’
Morris left, and Milt grumbled, ‘You should’ve killed him for running out on you.’
‘It’s nothing. If what he says is true, then we’ve bigger troubles than someone quitting.’
At that same time in Cheyenne, Barnaby French was receiving his own bad news.
Cheyenne
The whiskey glass shattered against the wall. Small slivers of glass along with the contents sprayed outward across the room.
His roar was loud and venomous. ‘Christ Jesus! Is it so hard to do something you’re asked to do? I hired them for a job, damn it, and what happens?’
Welsh said nothing.
‘What was his name again?’
‘Savage. Jeff Savage. Some call him the Drifter.’
Brit frowned. ‘Did you say Jeff Savage?’
Welsh looked at the killer. ‘Yeah.’
‘You know him?’ asked French.
Brit thought for a moment and dismissed whatever he was thinking. ‘No.’
French’s gaze settled back onto Welsh. ‘And you said he hung Beck?’
‘He was going to. Killed Milo too. All the money we took, still there. He also said that if you want him, he’ll be going to Dobson, that new place on the South Platte.’