Outlaw Hearts(53)

Jake frowned, pulling the blanket away from her to see that the cot was soiled and she was naked. She had urinated, and Nemus had not cleaned her up. “No,” she whimpered. “Please…don’t…”

In all the horror he had seen his father inflict on others, Jake had never known such fury, except during the incident between his father and Santana. There was no damn reason for her to be lying here naked other than to allow Nemus and the others to get a good look at her whenever they wanted, probably more than a look. He spotted dirty fingerprints around her breasts, and his anger was so intense that he thought he might black out. He covered her again and pulled the blanket away from her feet to see that her left foot was badly swollen and discolored. A cut in the form of an X was scabbed over, and he could still see fang marks near the cut. He touched the foot lightly, and Miranda groaned and shuddered.

Jake looked at Nemus and the fury in his eyes made the man begin to sweat. “Who lanced the bite?”

“One of them traders with Jennings. He sucked out the venom, enough that she lived, anyway.”

“It’s infected. Have you done anything to try to stop the infection?”

The man shrugged, blood still running down his jaw and neck from where Jake’s bullet had grazed him. “What the hell can you do?”

Jake left her and walked over to Nemus, whipping out his revolver and setting it against the man’s throat. “You sonofabitch! There’s plenty you could do! But all you found time for was giving her a good feel! What the hell else did you do, Nemus?”

The man swallowed and trembled. “N…n…nothin’. I swear. I ain’t that bad, mister. But, hell, she was burnin’ up with fever. I had to get her clothes off, don’t you know?”

Jake stood up. Unable to control his rage a moment longer, he brought the barrel of the gun down hard across the unwounded side of the Nemus’s face, opening another deep gash. Nemus’s body tumbled backward from the blow, chair and all, and the man cried out when the back of the chair smashed into his arms. The awkward position made the fall even more painful.

“Goddamn it, untie me, Turner! Let me up from here!”

Jake cocked his gun and placed the end of the barrel against the man’s ear. “You’re fucking lucky I don’t blow your brains out, Nemus, but I can promise you I will if that woman dies! I’m taking her out of here and I’m going to try to save her. If she dies on me, I’ll be coming back! You can bet on it! I’ve killed enough men that it won’t bother me in the least to let you die slowly, the way you’re letting that poor woman die!” He raised a booted foot and brought it down hard between Nemus’s legs. The man screamed, but because he was tied to the chair he could do little to help his position or find any comfort.

Jake moved to a window to check on the other three men. They stood just outside the cabin with rifles in their hands. He broke out a window and cocked his revolver. “Put those guns down or they’ll just go down with you when you fall from my bullets,” he warned. “One of you has already died. Why add any more to the list?”

“What did you do to Jack?” one of them asked.

“He’ll live. The rest of you get me that buckboard over there by the corral. Hitch it up to my two horses and put all the supplies from the horses into the wagon, along with Mrs. Hayes’s trunk. Who owns the wagon and harness?”

They looked at each other. One started to raise his rifle, and Jake fired. The man grunted and fell, a hole in his head. Before he hit the ground and before the other two could react, Jake had fired again, deliberately grazing the arm of the second man, just enough to frighten him but not do much damage. The man yelled and dropped his rifle, grabbing his arm.

“Don’t either of you move!” Jake commanded, “or you’re dead! Now drop that other rifle,” he ordered the third man. “I don’t aim to kill either of you if you do what I say. Now, I asked you a minute ago who owns that wagon out there?”

“Nemus owns the wagon,” the wounded one answered.

“Good. In that case I don’t have to pay for it. If he gets out of this with nothing more than a good beating and sacrificing a wagon, he’ll be goddamn lucky! Now go hitch my horses to the wagon like I said in the first place!” He left the window and quickly went to the door, opening it and stepping out, still pointing the revolver. “Do what I ask and you’ll live. Get going!”

The one called Stanton hesitated. “Who the hell are you, mister? Really?”

“None of your damn business. Just get that wagon ready!”