Sam’s Creed (10 page)

“Even if you broke them to avoid being raped?”

She jerked her hand free. “Yes.”

Assumption counted sometimes more than reality. To avoid Tejala she had broken her family’s rules, the church’s rules, and society’s rules. There was a price to be paid. “And if I’m going to be condemned regardless—” she met his gaze squarely “—then I wish to experience the pleasure.”

The corner of his mouth quirked in a smile. “You never stray far from that subject, do you?”

“It is dear to my heart.”

“I told you you’re safe.”

And she’d told him that she wouldn’t let him sacrifice himself for her. “Thank you.”

She glanced toward the town, the rooftops getting larger with every clop of the horses’ hooves. She licked her lips, thinking of the woman he sought. “She may not want to come back with you. She may be more comfortable in her position now than the one being rescued would put her in.”

He glanced sharply at her. “What makes you think so?”

“It is another subject on which I have thought.”

He pulled his horse up short and then leaned over and caught Sweet Pea’s reins.

“When—” she began.

“If.”

She ignored the correction. “
When
Tejala catches me, my world will change. About this I do not fool myself.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“When he does what he feels he must, I will no longer be seen by myself or those around me the way I am now. I will be dirty, soiled. It will change everything.”

Sam swore, low and vicious. His hand cupped her chin, jerking her face up, nearly unseating her. “Explain.”

“I will not live with his touch on my skin.”

“Fuck.”

She blinked. Even in her sheltered upbringing she knew the filth of that word. “You will not use such language around me.”

“Then you’d better not be spouting such nonsense around me.”

Sam might think it was nonsense but he was not the one who would have to live through the rape, live with the sense of violation, bear the lingering imprint of the man’s touch. She had experienced enough of Tejala’s touch to know it was not something she could endure. Breeze tossed his head and pranced away, breaking Sam’s hold. She held his gaze as the distance grew between them. “I will not give him that victory.”

“The hell you won’t.”

Breeze spun around in response to his master’s command, easily countering her pull on her mount’s reins. In a blink, she was yanked off her horse’s back to land painfully across Sam’s lap. His arm was a steel band around her waist, the fingers on her chin a vise, but his eyes, it was his eyes that put the fear of God into her. They blazed anger down at her from the shadows of his hat, the thunderous blue-gray of a violent storm. And that fury was focused on her.

She shivered, but it didn’t change her resolve.

“I will not.”

“You goddamned well will.”

“You cannot make me.”

“The hell I can’t.”

She threw the truth out. “You won’t always be around.”

Sam looked into Isabella’s small face, large brown eyes, soft creamy caramel-colored, finely grained skin and wanted to shake her. He’d never leave her while Tejala was a threat. The thought of another man touching her burned his gut. The thought of Tejala raping her was obscene. The thought of her taking her own life over it was even more obscene. “I’ll always be there when you need me.”

“No, you will not. You will be far away arresting criminals, making love with other women, living your life and I will be wherever you leave me, living mine.”

The woman wielded the truth with the sharp edge of a razor. “But you will be living.”

“I’ve seen the women Tejala uses. I will not want to live when he is done with me.”

Sam didn’t let her duck away. “But you will live. For me.”

She shook her head. “So I can see the disgust in your eyes too? I do not think so.”

“There won’t be any disgust in my eyes.”

“But maybe there will be pity? This I will not live to see either.”

“Damn it, Isabella. If you ever need me, I’ll come.”

The anger left her expression and she palmed his cheek, her hand a soft counterpoint against his morning beard. “I know.”

He didn’t like the acceptance in her voice. It said more than anything else that she didn’t believe him. Shit. He had to tell her the truth.

“After I return you to your home, I’m going after Tejala.”

She stiffened. “I do not want this from you.”

“I don’t recall asking your permission.”

“He is very dangerous.”

She was afraid for him. “So am I.”

“He is also crazy.”

“Then it will be up to me to put the bastard out of his misery.” He stroked his thumb over her lips.

He loved her mouth, always rosy, always full, always tempting, and when it touched his skin, it always burned like fire. He couldn’t stand the thought of that fire being extinguished.

“But you, Bella, you’re not crazy. You’re smart, courageous and a hell of a lot more than anything that could ever be forced on you.”

“You do not underst—”

He didn’t let her finish. “I’m not saying rape wouldn’t be a hard thing to get past, but you’d try and I’d be waiting on the other side.”

“You might be married by then.”

“I won’t be.” She was the only one who’d ever tempted him. “And even if I were, I’d still come.”

“Why?”

“Because that’s what friends do for each other.”

The flicker of pain in her eyes hit him straight on his conscience. He should never have touched her. As young as she was, she couldn’t separate passion from love.

“I cannot make you this promise, Sam.”

She would. Before he left her, she would. “You’re so much more than any man’s touch, duchess.”

“Only to you, but you cannot see that, can you?”

“There’s a bigger world than you know just waiting for you, Bella.”

“I do not care about that.”

“Only because you don’t know what you’re missing.”

She sighed and wiggled up, her elbows gouging into his ribs as the oversized hat slipped off the back of her head, flopping against his arm.

“So you keep telling me.”

T
he town was far from bustling. Buildings stood in disrepair. Few pedestrians walked the streets. About the only life came from the adobe structure midway down the street, in front of which two hitching posts were driven into the ground. Tied to those two posts were five horses. Above the arched doorway was a wooden sign with the word
cantina
painted in red across the rough surface. That would be the place to start asking questions. But first he had to find some way to keep Isabella busy and out of trouble. From beside him came a harsh sound. He glanced over. The hat had fallen over Isabella’s face again which probably meant that sound was a curse she thought too unladylike to say out loud. He smiled. She had some strange notions. Apparently propositioning him right and left was fine, but swearing would ruin her forever.

Bella looked up. The sun kissed her face with bright light. Not a single line blurred the smooth surface. And while there was a world of worry in her eyes, life had yet to touch her face. In contrast he could feel every line life had carved into his. He might be thirty-one, but some days he felt sixty. Today was one of them. Not only because of Bella, but because of what he might find at the cantina. Desi wanted her sister back very badly. So much so she couldn’t conceive of what might be left of the woman she remembered. But he knew. And he didn’t think he could be the one to hurt both of them by forcing a reunion if Ari didn’t want to return.

“It is not much of a town,” Bella said, bringing him back to the present.

Kell whined. Sam snapped his fingers, bringing him closer. “No, it’s not.”

“At least if she is here, it will be easy to find her.”

If Ari was here, they would have her well hidden. Word had gotten around that Hell’s Eight was searching for Ari Blake. It complicated the hunt. “Let’s hope.”

A man stumbled out of the saloon into the dirt street. Too inebriated to stand up, he fell to his knees and immediately started vomiting. Isabella turned her head away and put her hand to her stomach. Sam couldn’t help picturing a man this drunk stumbling to the back room where the whores waited on their customers. Ari was identical to her, Desi had said, yet softer, and Desi was pretty damn fine-boned, all blond hair, big eyes and spirit. It was hard to imagine anyone being softer than Desi, hard to imagine anyone as soft as Desi surviving a line of filthy drunks making use of her body day after day, the poison of their touch eradicating her sense of who she was, the memories of the life she used to have.

I will not live with his touch on my skin.

Bella’s statement became a lot more believable.

Another man came out of the saloon. He wasn’t drunk. He looked up the street, and straightened. It wasn’t hard to figure what had his attention. Bella was more woman than most men saw on their best day. A shiny gold nugget in a pile of dung.

“Bella?”

“What?”

Reaching into his vest pocket, Sam pulled out a couple of gold pieces and handed them to her. She stared at the gold and then at him. He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “Why don’t you go buy yourself a hat that fits.”

“But—”

He shook his head, cutting her off. “I’ll be back for you in a few minutes.” Glancing at the stranger again, he handed her one of his revolvers too. “Wait for me inside.”

To Kell he said, “Guard her.”

Bella bit her lip, but didn’t argue. For that he was grateful. He waited for her to enter the tiny mercantile before directing Breeze down the street toward the stranger. The man didn’t move, just watched his approach. Sam assessed him from the tight black brocade pants to the long dark hair blowing about his shoulders. No gun belt, which more than likely made him a gambler rather than a shootist. Sam dismounted and dropped Breeze’s reins to the ground, tying him as effectively as if he’d hitched him to the post.

“Howdy.”

The man struck a sulphur and nodded. “Gringo.”

Sam took his rifle out of the scabbard.

“Nice horse.”

“I’m fond of him.”

“Not fond enough if you leave him here.”

“Horse thieving a problem ’round these parts?”

The man ground the sulphur out under the heel of his fancy black boots. “No more than any other place in Tejala’s territory.”

Sam touched his finger to his hat. “I thank you for the warning but I think I’ll take my chances.”

“Your kind always does.”

“My kind?”

The man sneered around the thin brown stalk of the cigarillo as the spicy smoke curled around his face. “Gringos who think everyone owes them something.”

“Careful your back doesn’t break under the weight of that chip on your shoulder.”

“I am not the one that needs to be careful.”

“As I said, thank you for the warning.”

Sam stepped around the drunk leaning against the hitching post. The scent of vomit and urine followed him into the dark interior, intensifying in the close quarters. Too many bodies left too long in this small room imprinted the scent of desperation into the very walls. He walked up to the makeshift bar which was little more than boards laid across crates. “Tequila.”

The bartender put a none-too-clean glass on the board and filled it with liquor. It probably was a good thing it was dark inside. Sometimes didn’t pay a man to look too closely at what he was ingesting.

From outside came Breeze’s scream of outrage followed quickly by the sound of a man swearing, ending with the distinct tattoo of hooves finding their target and then a more distant thump. Sam smiled and tossed back the liquor. Breeze wasn’t fond of strangers either. The liquor hit his stomach. His lips peeled back at the raw burn. Quality was not in that bottle. He tossed the bartender a gold piece. It clinked against a nail embedded in the board. “Any chance a man could find some female company around here?”

The bartender exchanged a look with the man sitting at the end of the boards.

A strange smile curved his lips. “
Sí.
There is a chance.”

Sam pushed his hat back. “And that chance would depend on what?”

“It would depend on how picky you are.”

“Well, I am partial to pretty little blondes.”

“Tired already of
la mujer
you rode in with?”

Sam pushed his glass forward. “Nothing wrong with a little variety.”

The bartender exchanged another look with the man at the end of the bar as he refilled the glass. The hairs on the nape of Sam’s neck stood on end. Retrieving his glass, he took a sip with a nonchalance he didn’t feel.

The bartender asked too casually, “Would you be interested in a trade?”

“For what?”

“Our blonde for the
puta
you came in with.”

“I’m not that interested in variety permanent like. I just thought I’d take a poke with my drink.”

He put the glass precisely down on the bar. It settled with a soft click. “Now, are you offering comfort to men here or not?”

“Yes, but she will cost you more than this gold piece.” He tossed the coin in the air. “Blondes are rare, as you know.”

“Natural ones are.” Many a saloonkeeper forced his girls to bleach their hair. And many a man didn’t care that it was an illusion any more than they cared that the women weren’t looking forward to servicing them.

Another look and then, “She’s as natural as you’re going to get.”

Probably the first honest thing said today. Sam finished off the last of his drink, taking another gold piece out of his vest and tossing it on the counter. “That ought to cover it.”

The gold piece disappeared into the man’s dirty hand. “Follow me.”

There wasn’t much need for a guide to follow. The room was ten steps across, the dirt floor partitioned off by a moth-eaten blanket.

“Betty is a hot one,” the bartender tossed over his shoulder with a leering grin as he held the curtain back. “So whenever you’re ready, don’t be afraid to just climb on and get to it.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” He stepped through the small opening, keeping his eye on the bartender. No window lit the tiny space just big enough for a mattress laid on the floor. The only light was cast by a near sputtered-out candle. On the mattress a woman lay unmoving, covered by a blanket as ratty as the one that served as the door. Definitely white based on her skin color. Strawlike strands of blond hair stuck out from the edges of the black mask that covered her face.

Looking back over his shoulder, he jerked his thumb toward her face. “What’s with the mask?”

“Sally is a sweet lady of mystery.”

“Why isn’t she moving?”

“She is trained to wait on instruction.”

Maybe, but Sam wouldn’t bet his share of the Hell’s Eight on it. He waved to the doorway. “Do you mind? I don’t fancy an audience.”

“You can earn back some of your fee if you can stomach one.”

Taking two steps to the door, Sam muscled the other man backwards. “No thanks.”

He yanked the curtain closed, noting as he did several of the eyeholes were at face level. “And in case anyone’s interested, if I even think I see peeping I’m going to plug a bullet in the son of a bitch first and ask for explanations later.”

“As you wish,
señor.
”

Yes, it would be. “Glad to hear it.”

He turned back. “Ma’am?”

There was no response. Bracing his rifle against the wall, he hunkered down by her side. “Ma’am?” He touched her arm. “Ari?”

The woman’s torso heaved in a convulsive jerk. He slid his arm behind her back, feeling the cut of bone. There wasn’t a spare ounce on the woman. She jerked again, her ribs expanding spasmodically. She was trying to breathe. The blanket, stiff with dirt, slipped down her chest revealing the hollowed-out dent over her breastbone and an open sore.

“Fuck.”

The buckles on the mask were stubborn, her body so much dead weight. Sam grunted as he hefted her torso up against his knee.

“Betty giving you a good time,
señor?
”

He didn’t answer, just grunted again with a sense of urgency. The bottom buckle gave. He got the next undone with a lot less work. He lifted the edge in time to hear a very distinctive breath rattle in her throat. “Sweet Jesus.”

The woman went completely limp, sliding off his leg. He caught her shoulders, easing her to the floor. Steeling himself, he unbuckled the rest of the straps until he could lift the mask from her face, revealing gaunt bones, red open sores and hazel eyes staring past his shoulder to a place the living couldn’t see. “Son of a bitch.”

It wasn’t Ari. That was some consolation, but not much.

He took a breath, rage rising cold and deadly, and placed his fingers on the woman’s lids and carefully closed them. Something he’d learned to do when he was thirteen when the soldiers had finished with his mother. Only then he’d been closing her eyes so he wouldn’t have to see the lingering horror and his failure reflected back at him.

He sighed and shook his head. “I’m sorry, darling.”

Sorry for whatever quirks of fate that landed her here, sorry he hadn’t found her earlier, sorry he hadn’t gotten the goddamn mask off in time so her last breath hadn’t been smothered. Sorry men were such callous asses. Pulling the blanket up over her disease-ravaged body, he made her a promise. “If I can find your kin, I’ll let them know.”

Not where she’d died or how she’d looked—the woman deserved better than that—but he’d let them know she passed. Opening the small chest against the wall he moved items around, searching for any clue as to who she was, any hint of where he could find her people. There was nothing beyond the items of her trade, highlighting more than anything else how small her world had become, extending no further than this dusty, dingy room.

The curtain slid back with a scrape of metal on metal. “You killed our Betty.”

They’d set him up. The knowledge came first and then the rage, coiling and tightening to a point of focus. His shotgun was an arm’s reach away. He’d given his revolver to Bella. Sam palmed his knives from his boots.

“She wasn’t nearly the hot ride you promised. I think you owe me my money back.”

“And you owe us a new whore.”

Bella. They wanted Bella. He smiled. “Now, there I disagree.”

A gun cocked. “That is of no importance.”

“I don’t suppose it would be.”

He spun, releasing the first knife in the direction of that metallic click. It landed with a satisfying thud in the chest of the man who’d been at the end of the bar. Movement out of the corner of his eye had him diving to the right. A gunshot exploded as he hit the floor. He rolled to a crouch, the bullet crease burning anew. Chunks of adobe fell over him as he spun and released the second knife. Too wide. It lodged in the bartender’s shoulder. Not an incapacitating blow. Shit. His rifle was too far away. He’d never make it. Gathering his feet beneath him, Sam dove for the other man’s knees, hitting him hard, driving him back through the curtain into the main room. The fabric ripped and came down over their heads, tangling them in its rank folds. As rapidly as the sound came at him, Sam processed it, tables being pushed back, booted feet beating a retreat. And others, coming in.

Shit.
It was going to be a free-for-all.

With a snap of his head against the bartender’s chin, Sam freed himself. Tossing the blanket to the side, he grabbed for the gun as the bartender stumbled backwards into the makeshift bar and slid to the floor clutching his shoulder and moaning. Sam only had a split second. Shock wouldn’t hold the man forever. He was halfway to his feet when the order stopped him.

“Drop it, gringo.”

Sam looked up. The man who’d tried to steal Breeze stood in the doorway, blood trickling from his lip. He was favoring his left side. His grip on the gun was all too steady, however, and the barrel centered on his chest guaranteed a lethal shot.

“Shit.”

“
Sí,
you are in shit. We do not like rangers down here.”

“Funny, we have the same feeling about no-account chicken-shit outlaws back at Hell’s Eight.”

There was the barest flicker of the man’s eyelids. So he hadn’t known who he was. “So you just go on ahead and pull that trigger and see how much is left of you and Tejala when the Eight come riding for vengeance.”