The Devil of Whiskey Row

by Renee Rose

  It was a long orgasm and when it was through, he was sure of only one thing.

  Everything had changed.

  * * *

  Daddy Diggs collapsed against her, his lips brushing her neck and sucking lightly. He kissed her there, once. Twice. Then higher, toward her jaw, again on her hairline. She felt the heavy beat of his heart where it pressed against her chest.

  “I'm sorry,” he said hoarsely, stepping back at last, looking stunned and more than a little disturbed. “I didn't mean to—” he swallowed. “I didn't mean for that to happen.” He buttoned his pants and tucked his shirt in as he stared at her with shock. “Are you hurt?”

  His eye fell on her lip, and she touched her tongue to it, tasting blood. He must have bitten down as they had climaxed.

  But no, she was not hurt by his ferocious onslaught, nor had she been afraid. Though it was a new experience, she recognized raw passion and had been as swept away in it as he had.

  Regret in his eyes, he cupped her face tenderly with one hand and lowered his mouth to hers, licking the blood from the corner as he buried his hands in her hair. “Did I hurt you?” he asked with real pain in his voice.

  She shook her head, still unable to speak.

  “I'm sorry,” he rasped.

  She circled her arms around his neck. “I'm not,” she managed to whisper.

  He stumbled back but she held her arms fast, staying his retreat. He looked down at her, as if wondering who she was. His arm circled her waist and he stroked her cheek with his thumb. He started to lower his head to hers, checked the movement, then started again, delivering the softest, sweetest kiss of her entire life. His lips were gentle, supple, exploring her mouth with a tenderness she'd never before experienced. She stood on her tiptoes, giving back what she was receiving, leaning into him and his delicious kisses.

  “Diggory?” A loud knock at the door interrupted their embrace and they both flew apart, startled. It was Hank's voice.

  Daddy Diggs ran his hand through his hair. “What is it?”

  “Sheriff's here. Said he wants to ask you some questions.”

  Daddy Diggs cleared his throat, rubbing his face. “All right. I'll be right out.” He looked at her, then around at her clothing on the floor.

  “Go ahead,” she urged. “I'll get myself together.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes. Go on.”

  He gave her one last uncertain look before opening the door only wide enough to step through, then closing it tightly behind him. She stood stock still for a moment, listening to her body. It felt as if it were made of pudding—her legs wobbled and her arms were heavy. Her sex still throbbed from excitement and rough use and she had a feeling she'd have more than a few bruises. But it had been worth every small pain she'd earned.

  That was what sex was about. She'd never really understood, and had never enjoyed it, or wanted it, even with the customers who tried to satisfy her. She'd rather prided herself on her disinterest, and had used it to keep Smoochy off her, by lying as still as a corpse underneath him, until he cursed and slapped her and sent her away.

  Now, it was as if some new part of her had been awakened. She'd experienced the power of inspiring passion in a man and she was proud, somehow, that she had been the one Jake Diggory had finally taken. She wanted to be that inspiration to him again. And again.

  She dressed slowly and then left the saloon to go for a walk, wanting to be alone to fully experience this change in herself. That night she chose not to work the floor. She rationalized that it was because she was too sore, but the truth was she didn't want anyone else to touch her. Her body belonged to Diggory, or so it felt.

  She sat in the bunk room, reading The Scarlet Letter, a new book she'd found in Diggory's extensive library. Joaquin was curled up at her feet, reading an encyclopedia, spelling words to her now and again to inquire their meaning.

  Daddy Diggs entered. “May I have a word with you?” he asked.

  “Yes, sir,” she said, standing up, feeling a little rush of excitement as she crossed the room to the door where he stood. He stepped back to allow her through the doorway, then put his hand at her waist and guided her down the corridor to his room. She liked the proprietary feel of his arm around her, being close enough to feel his warmth.

  He kept a simple room, consisting of a bed and armoire, another bookshelf filled with books, and a trunk. The quilt was a beautiful pattern of deep red, orange, and brown silk. It was masculine, but had a rich and luxurious feel to it. Her heartbeat picked up speed as she wondered if he was already wanting another round with her.

  “You're not working tonight.”

  She looked up to gauge his expression. “No, sir.”

  He touched her shoulder. “Because I hurt you?”

  She hesitated. She didn't want him to regret what had happened between them. She shook her head stubbornly and shrugged. “You said I didn't have to if I didn't want to.”

  His brows came together as he studied her. “Aye.”

  She lifted her shoulders again. “I just didn't want to.”

  “Fair enough. But I know how eager you were to earn money, and if it's because of me…” he trailed off, reaching into his pocket and drawing out a ten dollar bill.

  It had the same effect as a javelin through her heart. She stumbled back from him, a searing pain in her chest and a flashing light before her eyes. Hurt quickly turned to fury. “You're paying me for this afternoon?”

  * * *

  He realized at once he'd given a horrible offense.

  “No,” he said quickly. “No, I'm not. No money in the world could pay for that, Cora,” he assured her, watching her face soften as his words sunk in. He held both her shoulders, looking down into her beautiful, upturned face. “What we shared—that's never happened before. Not for me, anyway. And… there are no words I can find to… to thank you for giving yourself to me that way.”

  She lifted a trembling hand to stroke back the lock of hair that had fallen in his eyes. He caught her wrist and brought the little hand to his lips, kissing each of her fingers. Her eyes filled with tears and he drew her close. “Why are you crying?” he asked, a lump in his throat making him sound gruffer than he intended.

  She blinked rapidly. “I'm not,” she said, shaking her head.

  “Tell me,” he insisted.

  “No.”

  He bent his head toward hers and kissed the top of it.

  “Jake?”

  “Aye.”

  “Who is it you said I reminded you of?”

  He released her, taking a step back.

  “What?”

  “My first night here. You said I reminded you of someone you once knew.”

  He shook his head, taking another step back, feeling dizzy.

  “Who is it?”

  “Eliza.” His voice cracked on the name of the woman whose ghost had tormented his thoughts for fifteen long years.

  “Is that why… is that why you picked me?”

  Anger flared, making him clench his fists, though there was no rational cause for it.

  “No—I didn't pick you. I didn't pick you at all. It was just something that happened. It's something we both should forget.”

  “I see,” she said, her expression turning cold.

  He knew he had hurt her, but couldn't make himself stop. Better to end this thing now, once and for all. He pulled the ten dollar bill out of his pocket again and tossed it on the bed. “It's not payment. It's not anything. Take it if you want it. I don't really care,” he said and strode from the room, slamming the door behind him.

  He went downstairs and threw back three shots of whiskey before sitting at his piano to lose himself.

  Cora came down during his first song, dressed to work. She didn't look at him as she passed, sashaying into the gambling hall with the air of royalty greeting her people. And if the drunken gamblers were her people, they certainly paid attention. Every eye followed the beautiful blonde and several men held up
dollars to wave her over to sit with them.

  She joined a man at his table, accepted a drink, and waved a black fan, watching the bets with feigned interest. He lowered his head and closed his eyes, letting his fingers dance over the keys to help him slip away from the stink hole that had become his life.

  “She's settling in nicely, isn't she?” Olive's chipper voice pulled him out of his reverie. She was leaning on his piano, her lifted breasts spilling out of her corset.

  He scowled and didn't answer.

  “Something going on between you two?”

  “No,” he growled.

  “Really?”

  “Shut it, Olive.”

  She smiled a slow, knowing smile. “That's what I thought,” she said smugly, drifting away.

  To complete his misery, Sam Stryker walked in, looked around, and made a beeline for Cora. Feeling sick, Jake stopped playing abruptly and stood, stalking to the bar to toss back another shot of whiskey. The burn had barely cleared his throat before Stryker paid Hank and escorted Cora upstairs.

  Well, good. She had a regular. He swallowed the overwhelming urge to punch Stryker in the gut and walked outside, standing on the wooden porch and gazing down Whiskey Row. He had to get out of this life. He didn't belong here, no matter how successful the business may be.

  An hour later, when Cora and Stryker descended the stairs together, he was downing another shot of whiskey and had turned downright surly. He expected Stryker to leave but instead he pulled Cora down to sit with him at the faro table. Cursing under his breath, he stood and strode over, sitting down on the other side of her.

  “You punting, Diggory?”

  Jake shook his head. “No. Just watching.”

  “Watching who? Do you think I'm cheating?” Stryker demanded with a vehemence that wasn't called for.

  Jake raised one eyebrow. That sort of defensiveness didn’t come out of nowhere. He crossed his legs and interlaced his fingers over one knee. “Actually, the thought hadn't occurred to me.” He paused long enough to watch that sink in. “Should it have?”

  Stryker chose to ignore him, turning his attention back to Cora. “I have a proposition for you, little girl. How'd you like to be my regular mistress? I'll keep you in fancy clothes, you'll live over at my manor.”

  Only a pompous ass would call his ranch house a manor. Jake's lips pressed into a thin line and his gut clenched, waiting to hear her answer.

  She smiled prettily. “That's a very nice offer, Mr. Stryker, but I can't accept it.”

  The pinching grip he had on his knee loosened slightly.

  “Why not?” Stryker demanded, clearly offended.

  “Being a man's mistress is like being a slave—all the duties of a wife, but none of the benefits.”

  “What benefits are there to being a wife?” Stryker scoffed.

  Cora looked coolly around the room, not deigning to answer.

  “How is it any different from what you do here? You're Diggory's slave now, aren't you?”

  Cora stiffened and Jake's hands left his knee, a fist clenching so tightly his knuckles turned white. But he waited, needing to hear Cora's answer.

  Her eyes flicked to him, her expression still cool from their earlier encounter. She turned back to Stryker and said with perfect confidence, “I'm not Diggory's slave. He doesn't keep slaves. Do you, Mr. Stryker?”

  Stryker's face flushed. “Of course I don't,” he snapped, though the silence that followed seemed to contradict his statement. Everyone knew Stryker's miners ended up in more debt for their living expenses than they earned from him.

  Stryker pushed his chips toward Magdalena with a curt, “Cash me out,” and receiving his money, stalked out without another word.

  Chapter Five

  Jake had avoided her all week. Which was perfectly fine, since she'd been giving him the cold shoulder ever since he'd reduced what happened between them to a cheap monetary transaction. She knew it meant more than he'd made it seem. She'd pressed Olive for every detail of Diggory's love life, and Olive had sworn Daddy Diggs had never been with any woman as far as she knew. Which sounded right, considering the uncontrollable need with which he'd taken her—he certainly had seemed like a man starved for a woman's touch.

  She was falling into a rhythm at the brothel. Gigi and Olive allowed her into their fun, gossiping and teasing her as if she were an old friend. They'd made an attempt to teach her their can-can dance, but when it became apparent dance was not her forte, they told her to keep up her practicing on the piano so she could play at Spank-a-loons if she decided to leave with them. Margaret was friendly too, but was simple-minded. Cora decided Margaret was lucky that Daddy Diggs had taken her and cared for her, since she obviously couldn't find her own way out of a potato sack if her life depended on it. The only sore spot was Marie, the other French girl, who seemed to resent Cora.

  Mr. Stryker hadn't returned since she'd insulted him, but she didn't care. There were plenty of customers, and she was starting to catch her stride with how to work them the way Olive and the rest of the girls did. She had already saved forty dollars. Soon she would have enough to leave Dorado Hills for good.

  When Stryker entered the hall that evening, she made her way to him with a smile pasted on her face, sitting down next to him without an invitation. He was at the faro table, an oval-shaped table with a cutout for Magdalena, a stout Mexican woman who acted as both banker and dealer. Stryker had his chips all over the table, placing multiple bets each hand. She watched as Magdalena pulled the banker's card and then the player's card.

  “Ah, tough break,” Stryker cajoled a player who'd bet on the losing card. At the same time he directed focus to that player, she saw his elbow deftly nudge his chips toward the winning card.

  Her jaw dropped. He was a cheater. She'd heard the innuendo from Jake the last time he was here, and now it was confirmed. She considered telling on him, but that could result in a scene, even gunfire, which Daddy Diggs’ saloon could do without.

  Instead, she reached a hand into his pocket, slipped out his wad of bills and stealthily withdrew several. Smoochy had taught her the trick. He used to require it—they were to palm anything they could and turn it over to him.

  Magdalena looked toward the bar, nodded, and then caught her eye. “Daddy Diggs wants a word with you at the bar.”

  “Wha—? Oh!” She exclaimed, whirling around, wondering how he'd communicated that to Magdalena.

  She stood up and walked to the bar where Diggory was leaning, face out. When she drew close enough, he reached out and wrapped his large hand around the nape of her neck, drawing her head close to speak evenly into her ear.

  “Put it back, the same way you took it. Then excuse yourself and wait for me in my room.”

  Without waiting for her to answer, he turned her around and sent her off with a sharp slap on her backside. She scowled a little, but it was only to cover her fear. Her whole body trembled. Was he angry? It certainly sounded that way. But she'd only been taking what Stryker had stolen from Daddy Diggs'. Maybe he thought she was keeping it for herself. She sat back down, weak-kneed, and waited for the right moment to slip the bills back in Stryker's pocket. It was a long, agonizing fifteen minutes before sufficient diversion occurred and she was able to complete the act. Then she nonchalantly stood up and excused herself. Walking toward the stairs, she stopped and looked toward the back door for a moment. She could just leave. She had the money she'd earned stuffed in her corset, not trusting enough to leave it lying in the bunk room. It wasn't a lot, but it was enough to get her a start out of town.

  She looked around and saw Diggory staring at her as if he knew exactly what she was thinking. Swallowing, she turned and slowly walked up the stairs to his room. She turned the handle and found it locked. Then, remembering where the key was kept for the bunkhouse, she reached above the doorframe, finding he kept his key there too. Clearly Diggory trusted his staff. It seemed the security was just to keep out thieving customers.

  She pa
ced the room, stopping to look out the window at the darkened road below. She could hear the snort of horses hitched below and the din of loud, drunken voices carried up from the saloon.

  She sucked in her breath when she heard the door open behind her, but she didn't turn until Diggory's curt voice summoned her. “Come here, Cora.”

  She walked slowly to him. He'd opened his trunk and had pulled out thin rope, curled in a loop with the ends tied together to make a handle. She'd never seen such an implement, but the sight of it turned her fingers to ice.

  “My girls don't steal, Cora,” Diggory said heavily. He looked truly displeased.

  “But he was cheating! Let's talk to Magdalena—he moved his chips! I was only taking what he stole from you. I was going to hand it over to you, I swear.”

  “I don't care. You let me deal with the cheaters. You don't steal. I'll not have it known that any customer was robbed at Daddy Diggs’. Do you understand me?”

  She jutted her chin forward, but after a moment, she muttered, “Yes, sir.”

  “I'm going to punish you with the loop, but I want you to know something, Cora.”

  She lifted her eyes, but could not bring herself to ask him what.

  “If you had thieved from me or anyone else who lives here, you'd be out on your ear. Period. I won't tolerate someone I can't trust. Is that perfectly clear?”

  She made herself nod. Shame enveloped her, tears already smarting her eyes. At the sight of them, Diggory's shoulders slumped, but he kept the same determined set of his mouth.

  “Take off your clothes.”

  She swallowed. When he'd spanked her before, he had removed her clothing. To undress herself under his stern gaze daunted her. She kicked off her boots, and then plucked at the laces of her bodice with trembling fingers, pulling the dress awkwardly over her head. The girls didn't wear a chemise while working, but the cut-out petticoats followed, then the corset. She shivered in the cool evening air, pulling at the string to her drawers and feeling utterly ashamed as they fell to her ankles.