Demanding Satisfaction [Bride Train 9] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting) (31 page)

Sophie McLeod had been a thorn in his side since the beginning. She thought she could unpin her hair, bare her breasts like the whore she was, and hide in plain sight? He was far more intelligent than any whore. She thought she could entice him, did she?

He lit his cigar and inhaled the taste of home. No one else could make cigars like this. He paced as he puffed, four steps each way. Four. Two and two. One and one and one and one. Four.

He’d polished his masks and chosen the perfect one. It was smaller than the others, revealing more of his face. But he was confident Sophie would not recognize him. If she did, there was an easy remedy. The woman could read and write, so cutting out her tongue was not enough punishment. It would have to be something more. Her eyes as well as her tongue?

“It must be excruciating.” He said the word slowly, letting it roll off his tongue. “Agonizing. Searing. A violent, savage stabbing. No, that’s not quite right.” He frowned as he took a deep puff. “Piercing?” He nodded. “Yes, that’s the word.”

He inhaled, lowering his voice like a villain on the stage.

“A violent, savage piercing, tormenting the whore’s lurid flesh.”

He smiled, thinking of how it would happen. Abby would drug Sophie so that she couldn’t move but would feel every touch of exquisite pain. She would watch as he put his brand in the fire. Abby hadn’t said to mark her, but he’d been looking forward to it since he realized who Queenie was.

He’d not mark her just once, either. He’d brand her hips, of course, but this time he could be thorough. Each breast would bear his mark. Each buttock. Her shoulders and thighs. Even her palms and the bottom of her feet. There would be no place a man could look without seeing proof of his ownership.

If, that is, he let her live. If she guessed his identity, he had a thin blade that would slip between her ribs to cut into her heart. The wound would close behind it, ensuring none of her blood would stain his hands. With the gold in Abby’s purse he could travel far from this place. They’d never find him in California. There were many men with special tastes who enjoyed a master of pain. They would pay well for his expertise.

He would rise like the Phoenix from the ashes of despair!

Willy Wright slipped out of the Golden Nugget into the late-afternoon gloom. It was a dull day which brought the cold and dark so much faster. He hated the weather, but it was better than what could have been. If he hadn’t hauled Casey away from those Southern mountains, they’d both be long dead. He would never let anyone hurt his sister, even if it killed both of them.

He automatically noted that the man he followed had a right foot that turned out. Buford Hames set it down with more of a slap than the left. Since everyone knew he was the man who worked for that big newspaper in Helena, it wasn’t important to identify him.

He pulled his hat over his ears and shivered. Hames was from the South, even further down than Willy. How could he walk without even a coat over his suit? The bright green-and-black lines did make it easier to follow him. Trace said the newspaperman wanted to be seen so people could find him and tell him things. Hames walked like he owned the street. He smiled and waved at people, so friendly and all.

Willy held back when Hames got near his rooming house. He wanted something from the man but wasn’t sure how to ask. He was almost eighteen, yet he was only learning to read. It was going well thanks to Beth’s patient teaching, but writing was something else. His big hand was not made to hold a pencil. It wiggled all over the paper, marking it up and scratching holes. No one would want to look at the hen scratches that it took him ages to write. He could barely figure out what it said and he was the idiot writing the words.

But if he had one of them fancy typing machines he could send crisp, clear letters to Meggie. Trace knew he had his eye on her and she boldly returned his glances. Willy figured Trace was looking to send her somewhere for the winter so they couldn’t share long kisses.

He lived for those kisses, and her bright smile.

Meggie would be impressed if he sent a letter along when anyone visited her. But Hames had the only typing machine anyone had heard about. Willy wanted to see it and maybe ask how much one cost and where he could get it. For the first time in his life he had lots of money, but it wouldn’t matter a damn if he couldn’t have Meggie.

Hames went inside the boardinghouse, so Willy moved closer. He faded back into the gloom when he heard the heavy tread of feet going upstairs. He found a spot across and down the street where he could watch the front windows. A light came on the one in the corner. He settled down patiently to watch. He had nothing else to do and nowhere he needed to be. Watching people pass by, wondering who they were or what they were doing, would give him lots to think about when he was riding out alone on the Elliott’s Rocking E ranch.

Patience, he’d recently discovered, was far easier when your belly and backbone weren’t rubbing together.

* * * *

“Smythe is still celebrating with Potts and Stickley.”

Max didn’t move at the quiet words. He sat in the dim area behind the stairs, near Ruby’s kitchen. He was close enough to the stairs if necessary, but he was hidden from curious eyes. Not from Ross, of course. Nobody could hide from Ross for long.

“It’s early yet,” he said, hiding his lips with his half-empty glass. He’d brought a bottle of cold tea with him. It looked like the whiskey he couldn’t drink at a time like this. He couldn’t eat anything either as his stomach was in knots. He pretended to drink and lowered his arm.

“Josh looks like he hasn’t cut his hair or beard or bathed in a couple of years. You sure he’s your brother?”

Max knew Ross poked him because he couldn’t retaliate with anything but words. “Do you and Gillis look alike?”

A soft chuckle reached him. “No, but we’ve got different mothers. Josh said he’s going to shave, cut his hair, and put on clean clothes tonight, no matter what. Think on that for a while.”

There was barely a drift of a shadow, but Max knew Ross had gone. He sat back, making sure he was just a bit unsteady.

When Josh said something in a certain tone of voice he would do it. The only thing that would stop him would be taking care of Sophie if she was hurt. But that was not going to happen. Not on his watch. Max had a plan, but often plans fell apart due to actions by others. He didn’t really care what happened as long as the ones he was responsible for were safe.

He’d already kicked himself for not insisting Sam take his place. But his twin had set in his heels and refused to switch. Baird’s words had reminded Max of the danger Sam faced. His grand plans had not left space for the possibility of Sophie being taken out of Ruby’s Saloon, rather than Mr. Isaac coming in.

He was too twitchy to sit still and wait for others to act. He rose to his feet, staggering a bit, and made his way to the back door, clutching his bottle like a lifeline. As far as he was aware, no one but Hames and Baird knew he was a Pinkerton. Baird would tell no one, and Hames had good reason to keep the information to himself.

Yet one never knew with a man like that. Hames could call himself whatever he wanted, but the truth was he bought and sold dirty secrets. That made him worse than a snitch. If he took pleasure in it, something Max was beginning to suspect, it made him beneath contempt. At least Hames wasn’t dangerous. He was just a petty bully, shaking his finger at his betters like a nursery matron.

Max found the privy, his excuse to look around. It stunk so bad he did the same as too many others. Someone had drawn a bull’s-eye on one of the three walls so he used it as a target. No one else was around so he went back in.

Hammer, the bouncer, recognized him and let him through. Josh, slouched in the corner, twitched his hand, signaling he was aware. Max looked for Sophie. He hadn’t seen her from where he sat, but she was still serving tables, her dress glowing like a flame. He swerved toward her, leering like he knew what was under her dress, or would soon find out.

“Queenie, you ready to go upstairs with me?”

“No!” She yelled in return, scuttling nervously behind a table. “I’ll never let you touch me!”

The men near her gave him threatening looks. They liked her and might fight if he started something, but only to get her for themselves. They’d been drinking and alcohol enhanced their lust. If Abby allowed it, they’d be on her like locusts.

“I bought you, girlie,” Max yelled back, pretending to weave drunkenly. “Soon’s I finish this bottle, you’re mine!”

“No!”

“Queenie!” roared Hammer. She jerked around to face him. She might be mad at Max, but she looked terrified of the bouncer. “You listen, girlie, and you listen good. When y’er told, you’d best haul your ass up them stairs and spread your legs or you’ll get worse!”

She dropped her head as if agreeing, but Max could see her hands fist in rebellion. He turned away as if satisfied and headed back to his table. The plot was set. They only waited for the next scene. Sam would have entered through the window by now and hid under Sophie’s bed. It was a tight squeeze, but it was the only place. Once they brought Sophie in Sam would slide out and get ready to grab whoever next came in the door.

All Max had to do was wait. It was the hardest part of any operation. He poured another drink. He cupped his hands around it and stared, thinking.

Smythe had to be Isaac. A number of sources suggested he bought and sold boys, girls, and young women. He didn’t touch the children, preferring young, naive women. Rumors said he often used them badly, though not enough to stop them working. He was too much a businessman to ruin their value.

Max had already asked the ranchers to watch for the young girl working at the Golden Nugget. They were to make sure she got out safely. If she wanted to get free of that life, he’d find a place for her. She was a pretty thing and would easily find a husband if she wanted to. Some, however, refused to marry and take on the burden of hard physical work from before sunup to long after sundown. They preferred the life they saw as being easier, serving drinks while they found a rich miner husband. Most never found one.

Smythe was a problem, but on the surface, Potts was another story. He seemed to be dangerous only when he had money to spend. Unless he was flush, no one paid him much attention. Max turned his glass, using action to help focus on the problem. Was Potts really a nobody, or was he a go-between, serving a higher master? Did he have clients other than Smythe, men that Max and his brothers could haul to justice?

It rankled him that he was unable to target those who really paid the piper and set the tune. They’d stolen fortunes, murdering to do so, but were now respected pillars of the community. They would be the men who led Montana Territory into the future. He knew that beneath their polished surfaces was a cesspit. Someday in the future the truth might come out, but he would not be part of it.

He took his rage at the futility of hitting the real target and aimed it at Mr. Isaac. If the man touched Sophie, or even frightened her, he would pay.

* * * *

Sophie saw Hammer shove his way outside to break up a fight. She took the opportunity to lean her back against a dark corner for a few minutes of rest. In spite of Sam’s massage last night her feet hurt all the way to her waist. She hadn’t danced, but she felt like she’d walked all the way to Helena and back. It was so busy she couldn’t stop for a moment with the bouncer glaring at her. With winter on its way men had flocked to Bannack City for a last chance to drink whiskey, play cards, and maybe find a woman before huddling alone in their cabins for the next few months.

Hammer, called that because someone had taken one to his forehead, frightened her. He used his fists almost without thinking, easily backhanding women because of something trivial. The huge bouncer had a high, squeaky voice to go with the silver-dollar-size dent in his forehead. He hated anyone making fun of either. When he’d yelled at her just now, a couple of men had laughed. She knew he’d hurt her if he had the chance.

She pressed her hand against her empty belly. She was hungry, but Abby had punished her by refusing to let her eat. The success of her hotel meant she’d forgotten what it felt like to go without food for a day. Josh, ever thoughtful, had made sure she ate some of his porridge before she put on her beautiful dress. She’d begged Tess for an apron to protect it so she could wear it later. Tess said the dress was a pretty color, but unless she showed her breasts she’d not get enough business to pay for a train ticket home.

That was when Tess told her that Abby and Ruby would split the money Josh had paid. Because forcing her to take Josh to her bed was a punishment, Sophie wouldn’t get one penny. If she was really in this fix, she’d be out of pocket for room and board for the days she was forced to endure Josh. She’d also lose the dancing fees she could have earned instead of having to serve drinks. No one slipped her an extra coin because they knew she belonged to someone else and he’d just take it from her. It made her even more determined to stop Isaac in his tracks.

Her chest tightened. A cold shiver ran down her spine. Tonight she, Sophie McLeod, would stop a man who’d tortured and killed more women than she could imagine. Her stomach cramped, then heaved. She swallowed, breathing with her mouth open, grateful there was nothing in her belly.