Demanding Satisfaction [Bride Train 9] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting) (33 page)

Did Isaac know anything about Tanner’s Ford or the people in it? Was he a sniveling coward who hid in a hole until a whoremaster found him?

Max shook his head. No, a man who could travel across the country, leaving a trail of broken and dead women without being caught or identified, had to have some intelligence. Max had charted everything. He’d listed reports of murdered women that other agents had discovered. He’d cross-checked them against Smythe’s travels. Not all were near the railroad. At first that confused him. Everyone knew Smythe was scared of horses. To travel one had to either walk, ride a horse, or be pulled behind one.

But what if it was a ruse? What if Smythe only pretended so that he could ride out and no one would know?

The front door slammed opened. Ranger Elliott and Zach McInnes, both bare above the waist, erupted into the saloon. They grappled with each other, turning as if they were dancing. Light bounced off Zach’s smooth back and the lumpy scars that crisscrossed Ranger from shoulder to waist. A man would be lucky to have survived a flogging that severe. Another turn and Max realized the scars had stretched over time. Max had been beaten, but never with such viciousness. Who would flog a boy that badly?

They broke apart, roaring threats, as the rest of the ranchers pushed through. The whores squealed in excitement and jumped on chairs. The eager crowd cheered when they lifted their skirts.

“That the signal to go upstairs to Sophie?” asked Josh, standing at Max’s back.

“Sam’s tied up in Sophie’s room. She’s somewhere else. Tess knows, but didn’t say. But we can’t go after her until Isaac gets here. And I don’t know when that will be.”

Ranger pulled his fist back. Zach swerved in time and got it on the shoulder. Hammer raged by the bar, unable to get through the melee.

“You go up,” said Josh. “I’ll stagger into the kitchen and pass out.”

A quick nod and Max slipped around to the stairs. Trace nodded abruptly at him before turning back to the fight. Zach’s fist slammed into Ranger’s cheek. Max slipped up the stairs. Zach and Ranger were both about six foot three, muscular, and headstrong. The fight would last as long as it needed to.

The crack of a table smashing brought another roar.

Max reached the gaudily decorated second floor. The third door on the right was bolted from the outside. He yanked it open and looked inside. Sam, eyes flashing fire, glared at him from the floor. A bruise darkened his cheek. Blood had dripped from one nostril. It was black, meaning it had happened some time ago. His wrists and ankles were tied with twine.

“Doesn’t looked like your nose was broken,” said Max. “Too bad. I’d hoped there’d be a way to tell us apart.” He pulled out his pocketknife, knelt, and cut through the gag before freeing his hands.

“They’ve got Sophie,” gasped Sam. “I don’t know where. She was out cold.” He grabbed the knife from Max’s hand. “I’ll do this. You go after her. We have to catch him.”

Max saw the deep indentations on Sam’s wrists where he’d fought to escape. Another proof he’d been tied for some time.

“Can you walk?”

“I’ll crawl if I have to. Now, go!”

Max went. He pulled the door almost closed, though the noise from below suggested no one was going to check the room anytime soon. He turned back toward the stairs. He’d have to check every room. The first was open. He looked in, found it empty, and went to the next. It was locked. Should he use his lock picks?

He snarled, lifted his foot, and slammed his boot against the door.

At first Sophie thought the soft footsteps might be in her mind. It felt like she’d been waiting for years. As they got closer, her need to scream and run wound her tighter and tighter. She’d had nightmares worse than this. But whoever Mr. Isaac was, he was human. That meant he was a man, and men could be killed.

So could women.

Isaac had killed many, and tortured more, but he was not going to add her to the list. A faint light appeared in the doorway from down the short hall. She heard labored breathing. She peered between strands of hair as the light, the shuffled steps, and the heavy breathing came closer.

An old woman dressed in black, a shawl over her head and shoulders, stopped in the doorway. Sophie almost called out to her until the woman straightened. She pushed off the shawl and Sophie saw the mask. It was made of dark leather. Darker drops—of blood?—dripped on each cheek. It was hideous, terrifying even. But she would not let herself give in to fear. She could do that later, with Josh’s, Sam’s, and Max’s arms around her.

Was Mr. Isaac a woman? No wonder no one had ever caught her! But who? She was tall for a woman, about the same height as Tess.

Sophie’s mind raced at the possibilities. If she died and Isaac got away, no one would ever know. Had this woman been attacked, and therefore wanted to attack others in the same way in an odd form of revenge?

The white hands slowly unbuttoned the loose dress. It only took three before it fell. Sophie clenched her teeth to keep from gasping. This was no woman!

He stepped into the room, leaving the dress and shawl where they fell. His dark hair could be dyed, but his size could not be hidden. Isaac was on the shorter side for a man. The hands weren’t callused, either. He did not labor for his food, like so many here. That would rule out any talk of crazed miners or ranchers.

He didn’t speak, which matched what Molly and Sarah had said. He took three steps into the room, stopping at the foot of the bed. He didn’t stride like most men, almost mincing as he walked. But perhaps that was part of his disguise. He wore a dark suit and white shirt. Nothing any different from a hundred men. But the shirt was clean and crisp, the suit also. If he was a dandy, that would make it easier to catch him. He would need money for cleaning as well as buying the fairly new set of clothing. It fit him well, so was not a hand-me-down.

His tongue darted out as he looked at her. It was pointed, like that of a lizard. It struck a familiar chord. Did she know the man? Had she served him in her hotel?

Oh, God, did he know
her
?

No. He couldn’t. No one would associate the owner of a respectable hotel with the naked, slatternly woman sprawled on a bed in the cellar of a brothel.

“I knew there was a slut under those tight clothes,” he whispered.

It took everything she had not to scream and fight to escape. Maybe he meant the clothes she wore in Ruby’s Saloon. The periwinkle-blue dress had been tight, though the flame was less so.

“You thought you could treat me with disdain. I knew I would get an opportunity to submit evidence to the contrary. Evidence that will permanently be part of your sneering face.”

He knew her! What little she had in her stomach congealed. He looked around the room as if surveying his personal dungeon. She took the chance to open her mouth to get air. She panted too fast to breathe normally. Would he notice the sheet rising and falling so quickly?

“Abby said not to mark you permanently, but I will not allow such an alluring circumstance pass me by.”

He walked past the bed and placed something in the brazier. Its handle stuck out, but not as far as the poker. Was it the brand he’d used on Sarah’s hip?

He turned and reached for her. She tried to shrink back but stopped herself. His hand grasped the sheet. One tug and it was tossed onto the floor. That tongue darted out again.

“You whores are all disgusting,” he said, curling his lip. “So much flesh that it perverts the image God made of Eve. But you couldn’t keep your hands off things that don’t belong to you, either.”

The corners of his mouth dropped to his chin. With the brazier’s red light he looked like a devil.

“Because of a whore, I was banished from the Garden!” He pushed the poker farther into the hot coals. “Only the pure and unblemished can enter Heaven.”

He startled at the sound of distant shouts and screams. He listened for a moment.

“I shall have to see who wins,” he whispered. “After I finish with you.”

He stepped close. Too close. He stood between her knees. She cringed, her most tender parts in his view. But he didn’t look there. He checked her feet and legs without touching her. He leaned over to check her torso and arms. Her face was covered, but he didn’t move her hair. Was he afraid to touch her for fear of being contaminated? She’d heard of those who were so fearful of disease that they wouldn’t allow anyone near.

Did he think she had something to do with Adam and Eve? Or was he saying all women, as daughters of Eve, were unworthy? It didn’t matter what he thought since he was deranged. She set her concentration on keeping still even though it felt like her flesh wanted to crawl away.

“She has no blemishes on this side.” He wrung his hands and pressed his lips together. “She must have some on the other. The mark of the witch whore. But how can I turn her without contaminating myself?”

Sophie was lying on a sheet. If he pulled up one side, he could use it to roll her over. If she cooperated, that is. And that was something she would never do. He paced back and forth, four steps each way, counting them out under his breath. There was something so familiar about him. If he spoke out loud, rather than in a whisper, she might figure it out. She moaned as if in great pain. He backed away, hands pressed away as a fearful child would.

“No!”

His shouted word wasn’t enough to bring help. He crept closer, nearing the end of the bed.

“It doesn’t matter if you are not already blemished,” he whispered. He giggled. “Once I brand you, you will be marked for eternity as unfit for heaven. Sophie McLeod will go to Hell!”

He knew her! She had to attack before he did. She screamed as loud as she could. She pushed off with her feet. She rolled to her left and stood. She grabbed the end of the poker and whirled around.

She ran at him, screaming, poker held high with both hands. He gaped at her, unmoving. She jabbed the red-hot poker at his face. It hit the hard leather mask and slid down to touch the hollow of his cheek. She pushed on it with all her strength.

His scream mingled with the stench of burning meat. He grabbed the poker handle with his hands, screamed again, then wrenched it from her grasp. It flew across the room. She dropped to the floor and reached for the knife. She had to scrabble to find the hilt. She found it and rose to one knee, knife blade pointed at his belly.

He still screamed. She’d burned a hole deep into his cheek. He stared at his shaking hands. Burns were already blistering where he’d grabbed the hot metal.

“You’re the one who’ll roast in Hell!” She roared to be heard over his screams. “The devil will poke you with red-hot iron, just like I just did. Every night you will heal. And every day you will be burned again. For eternity!”

“No!”

He turned and ran from the room. He tripped over the dress and shawl, grabbing the doorway to stay upright. He screamed again when his hands touched the wood. He kicked the clothes out of the way and ran. The whole thing had only taken a moment. A moment that lasted forever.

She stood there, knife in hand, shaking. If he came back, she would kill him. She didn’t care who he was under that mask. He would be dead.

Josh found a spot under the kitchen table where he’d be almost invisible. He grimaced when his palm touched the sticky floor. He did not want to know what it was. As soon as he knew Sophie was safe, that Isaac was locked up tighter than a rich man’s daughter, he’d scrub every inch of his body. He’d get his hair cut and face shaved.

Then he’d put Sophie in a tub of clean, hot water and wash every inch of her from the top of her head to the tips of her dainty toes. He’d scrub the fingerprints and scent of every other man off her. No man other than his brothers would ever touch his woman again.

He thought of what Sophie’s reaction would be, and grumbled. She’d want to dance with other men at their wedding. Fine, no man would touch her without his permission. And he’d only say yes to the married ones.

He hunched his shoulders when the wall behind him boomed from one hefty body slamming another against it. If he’d known about the fight, he’d have put money down on it. Deciding between Ranger or Zach would be difficult, though. Zach had more to prove, being new to the area.

An agonized scream came from nowhere. He scrambled out from under the table. The saloon? He pushed open the door. The only ones screaming were the women, and that was for show. Another scream brought him back to the kitchen. He heard a sound and climbed halfway up the back stairs. Sam, looking the worse for wear, limped down.

“Did you scream?”

Sam scowled, refusing to reply to the insult. “It didn’t sound like Sophie.”

Someone rushed into the kitchen, coming through a doorway at the side. It was a man in a black suit. A hole had been burned in his cheek, below a leather mask. He stopped, looked around, and headed for the back door.

“It’s him!” Sam shoved Josh out of the way. “I’m gonna get that son of a bitch!”

Isaac saw them coming down the stairs. He changed direction, racing for the door into the saloon.

“Sophie must be downstairs. I’m going after her,” shouted Josh.

He ran across the room and rumbled down the stairs, barely managing to keep his feet under him. His heart felt like it would jump out of his chest. He held his breath. She couldn’t be hurt. Couldn’t be dead. He needed her in his life. Dammit, he loved her!