Saviours of Oestend Oestend 2 (22 page)

It only took Dante a minute to check the nearest outbuildings, but there was no sign of her. He found Aren and Deacon in the courtyard.
“She’s definitely not in the house, or anywhere in the yard,” Aren said. “Alissa and Uma have been looking.”
Deacon sighed. “I hate to sound like an ass,” he said to Aren, his voice low, “but how do we know she didn’t leave?” He glanced at Dante, then back to Aren. “Maybe she had her reasons for not wanting to be here.”
Just the suggestion filled Dante with rage. Especially coming from Deacon. But Aren jumped in and cut him off before he could protest.
“No,” Aren said emphatically. “She loved it here. She said she’d never been happier. She and I talked about how we’d both come west and found a home. She told me how much she loved Dante, and how she couldn’t wait to go back to Brighton.”
Dante had known all along she wouldn’t have left him—not without an explanation at least—but hearing Aren confirm it was still a relief. Deacon looked sceptical. “Maybe she went back to Brighton, then.”
“On her own? Without telling Dante?” Aren shook his head. “There’s no way.”
Deacon stared at Aren. Dante couldn’t tell what was passing between them. Only that Deacon seemed to be sizing Aren up, weighing his words. In the end, he sighed. “Fuck. You’re right. Tell one of the women to ring the supper bell, and don’t stop until the men are here. Somebody has to have seen something.”
But nobody had. Even after all the men and women were gathered in the courtyard, nobody could tell them anything. But Dante did notice one thing…
Foster wasn’t there.
Once they quit asking about Cami and started asking about Foster, they learned a bit, but nothing helpful. Yes, Foster and his crew had left early that morning. They’d had a wagon. Yes, they seemed to be in a hurry. No, Cami hadn’t been with them.
It all seemed to add up to one thing for Dante—Foster had found her. He’d done something to her. And then he’d run. Dante tried to hang onto some shred of hope, but as the sun fell low in the sky, he fell into despair.
He looked out across the prairie, an endless sea of grass. She was somewhere in that expanse, lying on the ground. Beaten. Broken. Dead. It was the only thing that made sense. Whatever Foster had done to her, she hadn’t survived. The man had dumped her body somewhere and run.
“We’ll find her,” Aren said, but Dante could tell by his voice that he didn’t expect them to find her alive.
Part of him wanted to get on a horse and hunt Foster down. He wanted to beat it out of him, to make him pay. But he couldn’t leave without knowing. What if they found her the moment after he left? What if by some miracle, she was still alive? He couldn’t risk it.
He barely slept. The generators whined, and Dante wondered if she could hear them. He wondered if she was within their protective net, somehow near enough to be safe yet still unfound.
No. They’d looked everywhere. Which meant she was out in the prairie. She had nothing to protect her from the wraiths.
As soon as the sun was up, he was back out in the field, searching. He saw the way the men began to glance at him then quickly away, their eyes full of pity. Nobody expected to find her alive.
He went back to the house at midday. Aren made him eat, although it tasted like dirt and nearly made him sick. The chances of finding her alive were negligible and falling fast. One more night, and that slim chance would be reduced to zero. Between the wraiths and the wolves, and thirst and whatever injuries she might have suffered, he knew there was no chance she would survive that long.
Olsa stared at him with her spooky white eyes, but he imagined he could see sympathy in them. “Do you know where she is?” he asked.
“How would I?”
“I don’t know! You always know crazy shit you shouldn’t.”
She shook her head. “I’ve looked. She’s beyond my sight.”
“Does that mean she’s dead?”
“Nothing is certain.”
But he was certain—she was dead. He knew the minute he faced it, he’d break. He’d be lost, and he’d never find his way back. The only thing that kept him going was the idea of finding Foster. His entire world narrowed to a single point—vengeance. He’d take every ounce of his pain out on the man then he’d do it again. He’d already decided that he was leaving in the morning.
He went to his room. He lay down on his bed. He was too exhausted to think about anything. In the morning, he’d go after Foster.
It was the last thought he had before sleep took him.

If Simon had worried that things would be different between them, Frances quickly put his doubts at ease in the morning. Everything between them was exactly as it had always been. Frances may have smiled more than usual, but other than that, things were unchanged. It was as if, by mutual agreement, their relationship changed with the sun. During the daytime, they would live on Simon’s terms, but the night would be defined by Frances.

Foster and his friends had already left by the time he and Frances made it to the barn to do chores.
“I heard them leave right at sunrise,” Frances said as they mucked out the stalls in the barn. “They must have been in a hurry.”
“Suits me.” Simon hadn’t wanted to face them again. He didn’t even mind that they’d left the stalls dirty. He was just glad to have them gone. “You in any rush to get back to the BarChi?”
He expected Frances’ answer to be an emphatic
no
. After all, at the BarChi, they had to share the barn with more than a dozen other men. Here, they actually had a real bed to sleep in. So he was surprised when the response he received was, “Uh, Simon?”
He sounded scared, which was odd.
“What’s up?”
“Oh shit. Oh, fuck!”
“
What
?”
“Holy Saints, Simon. This is bad!”
Simon had rarely heard him sound so alarmed. He went out of his stall and down to the last one, where Frances was. Frances turned around and held out his hands. “Look what I found.”
He held a handful of straight, dark hair. Simon’s first thought was that it was from a horse’s tail, although the texture didn’t seem right.
“A lot of it,” Frances said. “And this.”
What he held in his other hand was an ivory comb. Simon couldn’t quite place it, and yet, he knew he’d seen it before.
“It’s Cami’s,” Frances said. “Foster has Cami.”

It made no sense to Simon at all. Why would Foster have kidnapped Cami, and why would there be four other men in on it? He didn’t know, but it hardly seemed to matter. Frances was already saddling the horses.

“You go back to the BarChi. You have to tell Dante. He’s probably freaking out, wondering if she left him, or if she got lost. I bet he’s out of his mind worrying. Fuck! She was here, Simon, and we didn’t do anything!”

“We didn’t know.”
“We should have!”
There was no point in beating themselves up about it now, and even less point in trying

to argue that fact with Frances. “What are you going to do?”
“I’m going after them.”
“
What
? Are you insane? No!”
“Don’t worry. I’m not stupid enough to try to take on five men at once. But I can at least

figure out where they have her, and what they’re doing with her.”
“Frances, I don’t like this.”
“Neither do I, but it’s the best we can do.”

He’d been deep in sleep, too deep to dream, so deep it felt as if he’d barely laid down at all, but the pounding brought him instantly awake.
Not morning yet. He could tell by the light outside that he’d only been asleep a couple of hours. It was probably just past supper time. He still had time before sunset.
He opened the door and found Aren. “Come quick,” he said.
“Did they find her?”
“It’s Simon.”
Dante was still sleep-addled enough to be confused by his words. “Simon took her?” That didn’t make any sense at all.
“No, but I think he knows where she is. He came riding in a few minutes ago from the McAllen Ranch. Almost killed his horse getting here. He’s in the barn. He said for you to come.”
Dante ran, with Aren at his heels. He found Simon in the barn, just as Aren had said. “The hands are eating,” he said. “I didn’t think you’d want them to hear.”
“Where is she?”
“We think Foster has her.”
“You
think
?”
“We didn’t see her, but Foster and his men were there. They must have had her in the wagon. This morning, Frances found this.” It was one of her combs. Dante recognised it immediately. “Hair, too,” Simon said. “They must have cut it in the stall, for some reason.”
“She’s alive?”
Simon shook his head. “Like I said, we didn’t see her. But we didn’t see anything to make us think otherwise, either. Her hair and the comb. Nothing else. No blood.”
“Are they still there?”
“No. They left for town before we found the comb. Frances went after them. He said he’d wait for you in Milton. If you leave tomorrow morning—”
“Fuck that. I’m leaving now.”
Dante went to the strongest horse in the barn and began to saddle it. Simon’s horse was still saddled, but Simon had ridden her hard to bring Dante the news. Dante could tell by looking at her that she’d never survive if he tried to ride her full speed back to the McAllens’.
“There’s not enough daylight,” Simon said. “You’ll never make it to the McAllen ranch before dark.”
“The wraiths don’t want me anyway.”
Simon obviously thought it was a bad idea, but he at least quit trying to argue. To Dante’s surprise, Aren was actually helpful. He went in the house and came back out with a skin of water, a bundle of dry biscuits, and every knife Dante owned.
“I hope you don’t mind that I went in your room,” he said as he handed them over.
“I hope you broke a few things while you were in there. I’d feel like things were a bit more right between us.”
Aren didn’t quite smile, but Dante knew it was only because he was worried about Cami. “I’ll get even later.”
“I’m looking forward to that.” He swung up into the saddle. “If my father asks—”
“If your father asks, I intend to lie through my teeth and say I don’t know a damn thing.”
“Fair enough.”
“I’ll send Red and Ronin at dawn.”
Dante knew what that meant—just in case the wraiths took him tonight, Red and Ronin would still find Foster. They’d still do whatever they could to get Cami back.
“Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me, Just bring her home.”

Considering the odd weather that had been plaguing Oestend, the night was eerily still and silent. Dante rode straight through it. He pushed his horse hard, unafraid of the wraiths, unamazed by the giant expanse of stars overhead. He could do nothing but worry. Why had Foster taken her and what had he done to her while he’d had her? Every time Dante spotted a strange shadow on the road ahead, he grew tense, sure it was Cami’s lifeless body, dumped on the road like garbage, but each time, the shadow resolved into something far more benign. Still, he couldn’t stop worrying.

He made it to the McAllen ranch sometime in the small hours of the night. He swapped his horse for one of the others in the barn and set out again. It was a shorter trip from there to Milton, and he made it there midmorning. He didn’t have to look far for Frances. He was waiting at the edge of town, along with a boy from one of the stables who took Dante’s horse and led it way.

Frances’ cheeks began to turn red, but he levelled a steady gaze on Dante. “Well, maybe.”
“What the fuck’s that supposed to mean?”
“Dante, don’t get mad now, but I have to ask you a question. Is Cami a man?”
Dante’s impulse was to be defensive and tell Frances it was none of his business, but he took a deep breath and made himself think. Frances hadn’t known, and he wouldn’t be asking now if it weren’t somehow pertinent.
“Yes.”
Frances nodded. “All right. Then yes, I know where they took him.”
Dante was too relieved to care about Frances’ pronoun blunder. “Thank the Saints. Where is she?”
“This way.” He started walking down the street, and Dante hurried to keep up. “I been asking around, and everybody tells me the same thing. There’s a man from Francshire here. He was in Milton back in the fall looking for his son, but nobody knew where he was. He came back again a few weeks ago. He’s staying down at the inn. He was offering a reward for word of his son, and he must have got it because everybody says he hired a group of men to go get him and bring him back. Nobody’s seen the son, but the rumours say those men came back last night.”
“And they’re at the inn?”
“Yes.”
“So we just got to get in there, get her, and get back out. Doesn’t sound too hard. Where’d that kid take the horses?”
“I figured we might be trying to leave in a hurry. They’ll keep our two at the stable. I already have three fresh horses ready for us at the inn.”
“How’d you arrange that?”
Frances smiled. “Your family has good credit. Stablemaster said Aren’s the only man in Oestend who pays his debts before they’re due.”
Dante shook his head. “I guess that’s one more thing I have to thank Aren for.”
They’d reached the inn, and Frances turned to face Dante. “You should take this, too.” He held out a pistol Dante recognised as his father’s. He wasn’t sure why Frances had it, but he was sure glad to see it. “It’s loaded.”
“Well, if that don’t help them see things my way, nothing will.”
Dante took the gun, and Frances reached down and pulled a knife out of his boot. “I was asking enough questions, they probably know we’re coming.”
“Listen, kid, this ain’t your fight. I won’t hold it against you if you choose to stay out of it.”
Frances didn’t even blink. “I’m right behind you.”
“All right then,” Dante said. “Let’s do this.”
He pushed open the door and went in, the gun a comfortable weight in his right hand. It was immediately evident that Frances was right—they had known he was coming. Most of the people seemed to be cowering behind the bar at the other end of the room. Two men stood just inside the door, barring his way.
Dante pointed his gun at the first man’s forehead. “Where is she?”
The man smirked. “There’s no ‘she’ here.”
Dante pulled the trigger. The shot was still resounding in the air when he turned the gun on the second man. “Where is she?”
The man held his hands up in surrender. He looked at the dead man on the floor. A wet stain began to spread across the crotch of his pants.
“Where is she?”
“Up…upstairs,” he stammered. “Last room on the right.”
“Do yourself a favour, friend, and stay the fuck out of my way.”
Dante found another man at the midpoint landing of the staircase. He appeared to be unarmed. He held both hands up defensively. “Look, mister. This really isn’t your concern. Cameron’s dad is taking him home—”
Dante didn’t even slow down. He backhanded the man with the handle of the pistol as he went past, knocking him to the ground.
“Not sure why I thought you needed my help,” Frances said from behind him.
“We ain’t through yet.”
There were only a few rooms upstairs. Another man stood in front of the two at the end of the hall, but Dante didn’t even have time to raise his pistol before the man ran into the room on the left. He slammed the door shut and Dante heard the bolt slide home.
“I suggest you stay in there,” Dante called to him. He turned to Frances. “Stay back a bit.”
Frances nodded his understanding and moved to stand out of sight, with his back against the wall next to the door. Dante turned and kicked it open—
And found himself staring down the barrel of a pistol.
“Well, well, well,” Foster said. “Look who’s here. Come to save your whore?”
“I should have killed you when I had the chance.”
“Probably.” Foster backed up, motioning with the piston for Dante to follow. As Dante stepped into the room, Foster took his gun. “Looks like it’s my turn, now.”
His eyes had a sadistic glint in them. He hadn’t pulled the trigger yet, though, which meant he wanted to spend a while gloating and acting superior. It boosted Dante’s confidence. In his experience, the longer somebody talked, the less likely they were to actually shoot.
Dante looked around the room. There was a bed against the right wall, and on the other end, a small table, with two chairs. In one sat an older man, dressed in a suit, and in the other was Cami. Her ankles were tied to the legs of her chair and her hands bound in her lap. Her lip was swollen. Her long dark hair had been hacked off and hung in uneven chunks around her face. And she was dressed as a boy.
“You all right?” he asked.
She nodded, but she looked terrified.
“I’m getting you out of here,” Dante said.
“Don’t you move!” Foster said, but Dante ignored him. He crossed and knelt at her feet. He began undoing the ropes that bound her ankles. He still had knives on him. He could have taken one out and cut her free, but he didn’t want to spook Foster too much.
“I could shoot you now,” Foster said.
“Dante?” Cami whispered.
“Or maybe I should bash your head in with a chair. How would that be?”
Dante pitched his voice as low as he could. “Is he still pointing the gun at me?”
She nodded.
“Good.” That was what he’d hoped. It meant that Foster had turned his back on the door. “Don’t watch.”
“Or maybe we should try some of the Wild Justice you talk—
grgll
…”
Cami’s face had gone white, and her eyes were shut. Dante turned around in time to see Foster fall to the floor. His throat had been cut from ear to ear.
“
That’s
why I needed you with me,” Dante said to Frances.
“Glad I could help.” Frances looked down at the blood on his cuff. “Shit! Son of a bitch has ruined two of my shirts now!”
Dante finished cutting Cami free and pulled her into his arms. He buried his face in her ravaged hair and held her as tight as he could. “Holy hell, honey, you scared me to death. I’m never letting you out of my sight again.” He pulled away enough to look into her eyes. “Are you all right?”
“I will be.”
“Did they hurt you?”
She touched her swollen lip. “Nothing worse than what you see.”
“I’ll kill every last one of them—”
“Don’t bother. Just take me home.”
“You got it.” He kissed her once, then let her go. He bent to pick his gun up off the floor where it had landed next to Foster.
There was still one man left in the room, sitting in the chair. He hadn’t moved, but he spoke. “Cameron, this is madness! You can’t live like this forever!”
Dante turned and pointed his gun at him. “Is this your father?”
“Yes. Don’t hurt him.”
“I ain’t exactly feeling friendly towards him.”
“I don’t know who you think you are,” her father said, “but this is none of your business.”
“You send men to
my
family’s ranch to kidnap the woman
I
love, and you think it’s none of my business?”
“He’s not a woman. He’s my son, and I’m taking him back to Francshire with me.”
“Like hell you are.”
“Trust me, young man. He’s not what you think.” He turned to Cami. “Why don’t you show him what you really are, Cameron? Undo those breeches and show him what’s between your legs.”
“There’s no surprises for me there,” Dante said. “I’ve seen every inch of her.”
“Then you know he’s a man!”
Dante shrugged. “I know she don’t look like other women.”
“He has a cock! It’s called a ‘manhood’ for a reason!”
“Is that right?” Dante asked. He lowered his gun. “You think it’s that simple?”
“Of course it’s that simple!”
Dante grinned. He holstered his gun. “In that case, I think I’ll let you live.” He reached into his boot and pulled out his knife. “As a woman.”
“Dante, don’t!” Cami said.
“Don’t worry.” Dante stepped forward to point the blade at the old man’s groin. “It won’t hurt him much. Just one little cut, and I suppose he’ll suddenly be wearing dresses. Maybe a nice man will take him home and make him his wife.”
The blood had drained from her father’s face, but he didn’t say a word.
“Still think it’s so simple, old man?”
“Dante,” Cami said again. She no longer sounded alarmed. It was more of a scolding tone. “That’s enough.”
Dante almost laughed. Now that the threat had passed and he knew she was safe, his anger was gone. He found himself feeling reckless and giddy. Almost drunk.
He sheathed his knife. “Well, looks like your daughter’s managed to save both your life and your ‘manhood’. I hope you appreciate it. And for the record, the next time you send men onto my family’s land, I’ll send their heads back in a box. Then I’ll hunt you down and skin you alive. I don’t care how much she begs for your life.”
“You can’t get away with this. The law will catch up with you.”
“What law? This ain’t Francshire.”
“You can’t barge into a hotel and start killing people, and then just walk away!”
“I sure as hell can.” Dante gave the man his wickedest smile. “Welcome to the Wild.”